rhe Love Sonnets 
 
 of Proteus
 
 THE LOVE SONNETS OF PROTEUS
 
 SIXTH EDITION.
 
 THE LOVE SONNETS 
 OF PROTEUS 
 
 BY 
 
 WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT 
 
 LONDON 
 KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH, & CO. 
 
 MDCCCXC
 
 CHISW1CK PRESS : C. WHITTINGHAM AND CO., TOOKS COURT, 
 CHANCERY LANE.
 
 PREFACE TO FOURTH EDITION. 
 
 No life is perfect that has not been lived, 
 youth in feeling, manhood in battle, old age in 
 meditation. 
 
 Again, no life is perfect that is not sincere. 
 
 For these two reasons I have decided to add my 
 name to the title-page of this the Fourth Edition 
 of the Sonnets of Proteus. 
 
 W. S. B. 
 
 CRABBET PARK, SUSSEX. 
 March i^th, 1885. 
 
 2037880
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 The author of these sonnets, styling himself 
 Proteus, acknowledges thereby a natural mood of 
 change. He here lays bare what was once his 
 heart, to the public, but what for good or evil is his 
 heart no longer, thus closing for ever his account 
 with youth. He stands upon the threshold of 
 middle life, and already his dreams are changed. 
 The gods of his youth have ceased to be his gods. 
 Yet, while looking back upon the feelings here por- 
 trayed as things now foreign to his life, and recog- 
 nizing the many errors and exaggerations of his 
 youth, he finds it impossible wholly to regret the 
 past, knowing that those only are beyond all hope 
 of wisdom who have never dared to be fools. 
 
 August iJtA, 1880.
 
 TABLE OF CONTENTS. 
 
 No. PAGE 
 
 PREPACK v 
 
 1. Dedication. To one in a high position . . xi 
 
 PART I. MANON. 
 
 2. To Manon, comparing her to a Falcon ... 3 
 
 3. To the Same, on his Fortune in loving Her . . 4 
 
 4. To the Same, in Praise of his Fate . . 5 
 
 5. To the Same, on the Power of her Beauty . . 6 
 
 6. To the Same, depreciating her Beauty ... 7 
 
 7. To the Same, on her Vanity 8 
 
 8. To the Same, as to his Choice of Her ... 9 
 
 9. To the Same, on her Waywardness . . . 10 
 10. To the Same, on her Forgiveness of a Wrong . n 
 n. To the Same, on her Lightheartedness . . xa 
 
 12. He has fallen from the Height of his Love . . 13 
 
 13. To his Friend, complaining that he had fallen 
 
 among Thieves 14 
 
 14. He argues with his Life 15 
 
 15. Joy's Treachery 16 
 
 16. He laments that his Love is dead . . .17 
 
 17. He protests, notwithstanding, his Love . . 19 
 iS. On falling ill through Grief ..... 21
 
 viii TABLE OF CONTENTS. 
 
 PART II. JULIET. 
 No. PAGE 
 
 19. To Juliet, on the Nature of Love ... 25 
 
 20. To Juliet, asking for her Heart .... 26 
 
 21. The Same, continued ...... 97 
 
 22. To Juliet, asking the Fulfilment of her Love . 28 
 
 23. To the Same, in Answer to a Question . . 29 
 
 24. To the Same, who would Comfort Him . . 30 
 
 25. The Religion of Love 31 
 
 26. To One who Loved Him . . ... 32 
 
 27. To Juliet, exhorting Her to Patience ... 33 
 
 28. To Juliet, reminding Her of a Promise . . 34 
 
 29. The Same, continued 35 
 
 30. The Same, continued . . ... 36 
 
 31. To Juliet, Fear has cast out Love . . 37 
 
 32. To One who would " Remain Friends" . . 38 
 
 33. To One now Estranged ...... 39 
 
 34. Farewell to Juliet . . . . ' . .40 
 
 35. The Same, continued . . . .41 
 
 36. The Same, continued ..... . 42 
 
 37. The Same, continued ...... 43 
 
 38. The Same, continued ...... 44 
 
 39. The Same, continued ...... 45 
 
 40. The Same, continued ...... 46 
 
 41. The Same, continued ...... 47 
 
 42. The Same, continued ...... 48 
 
 43. The Same, continued . ... . . 49 
 
 44. The Same, continued ...... 50 
 
 45. The Same, continued 51 
 
 46. The Same, continued ...... 52 
 
 47. The Same, continued ...... 53 
 
 48. The Same, continued . . ... . -54
 
 TABLE OF CONTENTS. 
 
 PART III. GODS AND FALSE GODS. 
 
 No. PAGE 
 
 49. He desires the Impossible ..... 57 
 
 50. St. Valentine's Day ...... 58 
 
 51. To One whom he dared not Love ... 59 
 
 52. On a Lost Opportunity 60 
 
 53. To One on her Waste of Time .... 62 
 
 54. The Haunted House ...... 63 
 
 55. The Triumph of Love .64 
 
 56. To One Excusing his Poverty .... 65 
 
 57. To One who vould make a Confession . . 66 
 
 58. The Pleasures of Love 67 
 
 59. He Appeals against his Bond . . . . 68 
 
 60. To One who spoke ill of Him . . . . 69 
 
 61. The Three Ages of Woman 70 
 
 62. The Same, continued ...... 71 
 
 63. The Same, continued 72 
 
 64. Sibylline Books 73 
 
 65. On Reading the Memoirs of M. D'Artagnan . 75 
 
 66. The Two Highwaymen ..... 76 
 
 67. From the French of Anvers ..... 77 
 
 68. To One to whom he had been Unjust ... 78 
 
 69. The Mockery of Life, a Triple Sonnet ... 79 
 
 70. The Same, continued . . . '. .80 
 
 71. The Same, continued 81 
 
 72. Who would Live again ...... 82 
 
 73. Cold Comfort 84 
 
 74. Amour Oblige . 85 
 
 75. To One Unforgotten . . . .... 86 
 
 76. To One whom he had Loved too Long . . 87 
 
 77. He would lead a better Life 88
 
 x TABLE OF CONTENTS. 
 
 PART IV. VITA NOTA. 
 
 No. PACK 
 
 78. A Day in Sussex 91 
 
 79. la Anniversario Mortis ..... 92 
 
 80. The Same, continued ...... 93 
 
 81. The Same, continued ...... 94 
 
 8a. The Same, continued 95 
 
 83. The Limit of Human Knowledge ... 96 
 
 84. The Pride of Unbelief 97 
 
 85. Laughter and Death 98 
 
 86. Written in Distress 99 
 
 87. A Disappointment 100 
 
 88. A Year Ago 101 
 
 89. He is not a Poet 102 
 
 90. On the Shortness of Time ..... 103 
 
 91. Chanclebury Ring ..... . 104 
 
 92. Sonnet in Assonance 105 
 
 93. Youth 106 
 
 94- Age 107 
 
 95. The Same, continued 108 
 
 96. The Venus of Milo 109 
 
 97. Written at Florence . . . : . . .no 
 
 98. The Same, continued . . . . . in 
 
 99. Palazzo Pagan! 112 
 
 100. The Sublime . . . . . . .113 
 
 101. The Same, continued 114 
 
 102. A Forest in Bosnia 115 
 
 103. Roumeli Hissar, a Sonnet 116 
 
 104. The Oasis of Sidi Khaled 118 
 
 105. To the Bedouin Arabs . . . . . .119 
 
 106. Gibraltar ........ 120
 
 I. 
 
 DEDICATION. 
 
 TO ONE IN A HIGH POSITION. 
 
 To you, a poet, glorious, heaven-born, 
 
 One who is not a poet but a son 
 
 Of the earth earthy, sick and travel-worn 
 
 And weary with a race already run, 
 
 A battle lost e'er yet his day is done, 
 
 Comes with this tribute, shattered banners torn 
 
 From a defeat. You reign in Macedon, 
 
 My Alexander, as at earlier morn 
 
 You reigned upon Parnassus, hero, king. 
 
 I reign no more, not even in those hearts 
 
 For which these songs were made, and if I sing 
 
 'Tis with a harsh and melancholy note 
 
 At which my own heart like an echo starts. 
 
 Yet sometimes I can deem you listening, 
 
 And then all else is instantly forgot
 
 PART L 
 M A N O N.
 
 II. 
 
 TO MANON, 
 
 COMPARING HER TO A FALCON. 
 
 Brave as a falcon and as merciless, 
 
 With bright eyes watching still the world, thy prey, 
 
 I saw thee pass in thy lone majesty, 
 
 Untamed, unmated, high above the press. 
 
 The dull crowd gazed at thee. It could not guess 
 
 The secret of thy proud aerial way, 
 
 Or read in thy mute face the soul which lay 
 
 A prisoner there in chains of tenderness. 
 
 Lo, thou art captured. In my hand to-day 
 
 I hold thee, and awhile thou deignest to be 
 
 Pleased with my jesses. I would fain beguile 
 
 My foolish heart to think thou lovest me. See, 
 
 I dare not love thee quite. A little while 
 
 And thou shalt sail back heavenwards. Woe is me J
 
 4 THE LOVE SONNETS 
 
 III. 
 
 TO THE SAME, 
 
 ON HIS FORTUNE IN LOVING HER. 
 
 I did not choose thee, dearest. It was Love 
 That made the choice, not I. Mine eyes were blind 
 As a rude shepherd's who to some lone grove 
 His offering brings and cares not at what shrine 
 He bends his knee. The gifts alone were mine ; 
 The rest was Love's. He took me by the hand, 
 And fired the sacrifice, and poured the wine, 
 And spoke the words I might not understand. 
 I was unwise in all but the dear chance 
 Which was my fortune, and the blind desire 
 Which led my foolish steps to love's abode, 
 And youth's sublime unreasoned prescience 
 Which raised an altar and inscribed in fire 
 Its dedication " to the unknown god."
 
 OF PROTEUS. 5 
 
 IV. 
 
 TO THE SAME, 
 
 IN PRAISE OF HIS FATE. 
 
 When I hear others speak of this and that 
 
 In our fools' lives which might have better gone, 
 
 Complaining idly of too niggard fate 
 
 And wishing still their senseless past undone, 
 
 I feel a childish tremor through me run, 
 
 Stronger than reason, lest by some far chance 
 
 Fate's ear to our sad plaints should yet be won 
 
 And these our lives be thrown back on our hands. 
 
 I tremble when I think of my past years, 
 
 My hopes, my aims, my wishes. All these days 
 
 I might have wandered far from love and thee. 
 
 But kind fate held me, heedless of my prayers, 
 
 A prisoner to its wise mysterious ways, 
 
 And forced me to thy feet ah fortunate me !
 
 6 THE LOVE SONNETS 
 
 V. 
 
 TO THE SAME, 
 
 ON THE POWER OF HER BEAUTY. 
 
 I am lighthearted now. An hour ago 
 There was a tempest in my heaven, a flame 
 Of sullen lightning under a bent brow 
 And a dull muttering which breathed no name. 
 Now all is changed. The very winds are tame, 
 And the birds sing aloud from every bough, 
 And my heart leaps. What empire dost thou claim, 
 Child, o'er this earth, that nature serves thee so? 
 Sublime magician ! Well may earth and heaven 
 Change at thy bidding, and the hearts of men. 
 Didst thou but know the power that beauty hath, 
 The sea should leave his bed, the rocks be riven, 
 And wise men, deeming chaos come again, 
 Should kneel before thee and conjure thy wrath.
 
 OF PROTEUS. 7 
 
 VI. 
 
 TO THE SAME, 
 
 DEPRECIATING HER BEAUTY. 
 
 I love not thy perfections. When I hear 
 Thy beauty blazoned, and the common tongue 
 Cheapening with vulgar praise a lip, an ear, 
 A cheek that I have prayed to ; when among 
 The loud world's gods my god is noised and sung, 
 Her wit applauded, even her taste, her dress, 
 Her each dear hidden marvel lightly flung 
 At the world's feet and stripped to nakedness 
 Then I despise thy beauty utterly, 
 Crying, " Be these your gods, O Israel ! " 
 And I remember that on such a day 
 I found thee with eyes bleared and cheeks all pale, 
 And lips that trembled to a voiceless cry, 
 And that thy bosom in my bosom lay.
 
 8 THE LOVE SOX NETS 
 
 VII. 
 
 TO THE SAME, 
 
 ON HER VANITY. 
 
 What are these things thou lovest ? Vanity. 
 To see men turn their heads when thou dost pass ; 
 To be the signboard and the looking glass 
 Where every idler there may glut his eye ; 
 To hear men speak thy name mysteriously, 
 Wagging their heads. Is it for this, alas, 
 That thou hast made a placard of a face 
 On which the tears of love were hardly dry ? 
 What are these things thou lovest ? The applause 
 Of prostitutes at wit which is not thine ; 
 The sympathy of shop-boys who would weep^ 
 Their shilling's worth of woe in any cause, 
 At any tragedy. Their tears and mine, 
 What difference ? Oh truly tears are cheap I
 
 OF PROTEUS. 9 
 
 VIII. 
 TO THE SAME, 
 
 AS TO HIS CHOICE OF HER. 
 
 If I had chosen thee, thou shouldst have been 
 
 A virgin proud, untamed, immaculate, 
 
 Chaste as the morning star, a saint, a queen, 
 
 Scarred by no wars, no violence of hate. 
 
 Thou shouldst have been of soul commensurate 
 
 With thy fair body, brave and virtuous 
 
 And kind and just ; and, if of poor estate, 
 
 At least an honest woman for my house. 
 
 I would have had thee come of honoured blood 
 
 And honourable nurture. Thou shouldst bear 
 
 Sons to my pride and daughters to my heart, 
 
 And men should hold thee happy, wise, and good. 
 
 Lo, thou art none of this, but only fair, 
 
 Yet must I love thee, dear, and as thou art.
 
 io THE LOVE SONNETS 
 
 IX. 
 
 TO THE SAME, 
 
 ON HER WAYWARDNESS. 
 
 This is rank slavery. It better were 
 To till the thankless earth with sweat of brow, 
 Following dull oxen 'neath a goad of care 
 To a boor's grave agape behind the plough. 
 It better were to linger in some slow 
 Unnatural case, the sport of flood or fire, 
 To be undone by some inhuman vow 
 And robbed in youth of youth and its desire. 
 It better were to perish than thus live 
 Thy pensioner and bondsman, day by day 
 Doing fool's service thus for love of thee. 
 How shall I save thee if thou wilt not grieve 
 Even for shames like these ? How shall I slay 
 The foes thou lovest, thou, their enemy ?
 
 OF PROTEUS. XI 
 
 X. 
 
 TO THE SAME, 
 
 ON HER FORGIVENESS OF A WRONG. 
 
 This is not virtue. To forgive were great 
 
 If love were in the issue and not gold. 
 
 But wrongs there are 'tis treason to forget, 
 
 And to forgive before the deed was cold 
 
 Was a strange jest. Ah, Manon, you have sold 
 
 The keys of heaven at a vulgar rate, 
 
 A sum of money for the wealth untold 
 
 Of a just anger and the right to hate. 
 
 Well. It is done and the price paid. Now make 
 
 Haste to betray them as you me betrayed. 
 
 These are no longer foes to be forgiven. 
 
 Remember they are friends, that peace is made, 
 
 That you are theirs Then rend them for love's sake, 
 
 And let your hatred with your love be even.
 
 12 THE LOVE SONNETS 
 
 XI. 
 
 TO THE SAME, 
 
 ON HER LIGHTHEARTEDNESS. 
 
 I would I had thy courage, dear, to face 
 This bankruptcy of love, and greet despair 
 With smiling eyes and unconcerned embrace, 
 And these few words of banter at " dull care." 
 I would that I could sing and comb my hair 
 Like thee the morning thro', and choose my dress, 
 And gravely argue what I best should wear, 
 A shade of ribbon or a fold of lace. 
 I would I had thy courage and thy peace, 
 Peace passing understanding ; that mine eyes 
 Could find forgetfulness like thine in sleep ; 
 That all the past for me like thee could cease 
 And leave me cheerfully, sublimely wise, 
 Like David with washed face who ceased to weep.
 
 OF PROTEUS. 13 
 
 XII. 
 
 HE HAS FALLEN FROM THE HEIGHT 
 OF HIS LOVE. 
 
 Love, how ignobly hast thou met thy doom ! 
 Ill-seasoned scaffolding by which, full-fraught 
 With passionate youth and mighty hopes, we clomb 
 To our heart's heaven, fearing, doubting, naught ! 
 Oh love, thou wert too frail for such mad sport, 
 Too rotten at thy core, designed too high : 
 And we who trusted thee our death have bought, 
 And bleeding on the ground must surely die. 
 I will not see her. What she now may be 
 I care not. For the dream within my brain 
 Is fairer, nobler, and more kind than she 
 And with that vision I can mock at pain. 
 God ! Was there ever woman half so sweet, 
 Or death so bitter, or at such dear feet ?
 
 XIII. 
 TO HIS FRIEND, 
 
 COMPLAINING THAT HE HAD FALLEN AMONG 
 THIEVES. 
 
 Oh, L , I have gambled with my soul, 
 
 And, like a spendthrift, pawned my heritage 
 
 To pitiless Jews, and paid a monstrous toll 
 
 To knaves and usurers, and all to wage 
 
 Fair war with black-legs, men who dared to gauge 
 
 My youth's bright honour as an antique thing, 
 
 A broadsword to their fencing point and edge. 
 
 So the game went. And even yet I cling 
 
 To my mad humour, reckoning up each stake, 
 
 Each fair coin lost. O miserable slaves, 
 
 Who for the sake of gold, the poorest thing 
 
 Man ever won from the earth's bosom, take 
 
 To rope or poison, and who labour not 
 
 Even to "dig dishonourable graves," 
 
 See one who has lobt a pound for every groat, 
 
 For every penny of your squandering !
 
 OF PROTEUS. 15 
 
 XIV. 
 HE ARGUES WITH HIS LIFE. 
 
 My life, what strange mad garments hast thou on, 
 
 Now that I see thee truly and am wise, 
 
 Thou wild, lost Proteus, strangling and undone ! 
 
 What shapes are these, what metamorphoses 
 
 Of a god's soul in pain ? I hear thy cries 
 
 And see thee writhe and take fantastic forms, 
 
 And strike in blindness at the destinies 
 
 And at thyself, and at thy brother worms. 
 
 Ah, foolish worm, thou canst not change thy lot, 
 
 And all like thee must perish 'neath the sun. 
 
 Why struggle with thy fellows ? Nay, be kind, 
 
 Kinder than these. Behold, the flower-pot 
 
 Of fate is emptied out, and one by one 
 
 The fisher takes you, and his hooks are blind.
 
 16 THE LOVE SONNETS. 
 
 XV. 
 JOY'S TREACHERY. 
 
 I had a live joy once and pampered her, 
 
 For I had brought her from the "golden East," 
 
 To lie when nights were cold upon my breast 
 
 And sit beside me the long days and purr, 
 
 Until her whole soul should be lapped in fur, 
 
 Deep as her claws ; a beautiful sleek beast, 
 
 Which I might love. But, when I deemed it least, 
 
 Her topaz eyes were on my stomacher, 
 
 Athirst for blood. Thus, for I loathed her since 
 
 I learned her guile, one night I had her slain 
 
 And thrown upon a dunghill to the flies, 
 
 Who bred in her fair limbs a pestilence, 
 
 Whereof I sickened. Thus it ever is : 
 
 Dead joys unburied breed us death and pain.
 
 OF PROTEUS. 17 
 
 XVI. 
 
 HE LAMENTS THAT HIS LOVE 
 IS DEAD. 
 
 My love is dead, dead and in spite of me, 
 Dead while I lived, while yet my blood was rife 
 With hope and pleasure and the pride of life. 
 For my love ended unexpectedly 
 During the winter, stricken like a tree 
 By a night's cold, and frozen to the blood, 
 Whose leaves fell off and never were renewed 
 By any promise of the years to be. 
 And, when the spring came, and the birds, to mate 
 Among its branches, lo ! they found it bare, 
 Though all around was summer in the wood. 
 Yet they took heart awhile, incredulous 
 That such a tree should be for ever dead. 
 " Tis early yet," they cried. " The spring Is late, 
 c
 
 i8 THE LOVE SONNETS 
 
 It shall still be as in the days that were." 
 
 But summer came and went while the tree stood 
 
 Bare in the sun like a deserted house. 
 
 Then the birds suddenly despaired and fled.
 
 OF PROTEUS. 19 
 
 XVII. 
 
 HE PROTESTS, NOTWITHSTANDING, 
 HIS LOVE. 
 
 To be cast forth from the fair light of heaven 
 Into the outer darkness and there lie, 
 Through unrecorded years of agony, 
 Unseen, unheard, unpitied, unforgiven; 
 To be forgotten of the earth and sky, 
 Forgotten of the womb that once did bear, 
 The eyes that cheered, the voice that comforted, 
 The very breast where love had laid his head ; 
 To be alone with darkness and despair, 
 Alone with endless death, and not to die ; 
 All these be punishments within the hand 
 Of an avenging deity to deal. 
 To these I bow in weakness as behoves. 
 Yet not in anger but in love I stand
 
 20 THE LOVE SONNETS 
 
 'Gainst heaven, a new Prometheus, and appeal 
 From God to my own soul which ceaseless loves. 
 His be the wrath, the burning and the rod. 
 Hell shall not make me traitor to my God.
 
 OF PROTEUS. 21 
 
 XVIII. 
 ON FALLING ILL THROUGH GRIEF. 
 
 Truce to thee, Soul, I have a debt to pay, 
 Which I acknowledge and without thy pleading. 
 I like thee little that thou barrest my way 
 With prayers too late for one well past thy heeding. 
 Truce to these tears ! Thy fellow lieth bleeding, 
 Wounded by thee ; and thou, forsooth, dost say, 
 " I have a servant who is sick and needing 
 Care at men's hands. " The care was thine to pay. 
 When this same Soul was sick, a while ago, 
 The Body watched her, till his eyes grew dun 
 And his cheeks pale for very sympathy, 
 Because she grieved. His love has wrought him woe, 
 For he is sick and she despiseth him. 
 Poor Body, I must take some thought of thee.
 
 PART II. 
 
 JULIET.
 
 LOVE SONNETS OF PROTEUS. 25 
 
 XIX. 
 TO JULIET. 
 
 ON THE NATURE OF LOVE. 
 
 You ask my love. What shall my love then be? 
 
 A hope, an aspiration, a desire ? 
 
 The soul's eternal charter writ in fire 
 
 Upon the earth, the heavens, and the sea ? 
 
 You ask my love. The carnal mystery 
 
 Of a soft hand, of finger-tips that press, 
 
 Of eyes that kindle and of lips that kiss, 
 
 Of sweet things known to thee and only thee ? 
 
 You ask my love. What love can be more sweet 
 
 Than hope or pleasure ? Yet we love in vain. 
 
 The soul is more than joy, the life than meat. 
 
 The sweetest love of all were love in pain, 
 
 And that I will not give. So let it be. 
 
 Nay, give me any love, so it be love of thee.
 
 26 THE LOVE SONNETS 
 
 XX. 
 
 TO JULIET, 
 
 ASKING FOR HER HEART. 
 I. 
 
 Give me thy heart, Juliet, give me thy heart ! 
 
 I have a need of it, an absolute need, 
 
 Because my own heart has thus long been dead. 
 
 I live but by thy life. The very smart 
 
 Of this new pain which has been born of thee 
 
 Is thine, thy own great pleasure's counterpart. 
 
 I stand before thee naked. Clothe thou me. 
 
 Bring out a robe, thy truth, thy chastity. 
 
 Put rings upon my fingers, honour's meed. 
 
 For thou canst give, nor ever reck the cost, 
 
 Being the royal creature that thou art, 
 
 The fountain of all honour, whose high boast 
 
 Is to be greatest when thou givest most.
 
 OF PROTEUS. 27 
 
 XXI. 
 
 THE SAME 
 
 (Continued}. 
 
 II. 
 
 Give me thy soul, Juliet, give me thy soul I 
 I am a bitter sea, which drinketh in 
 The sweetness of all waters, and so thine. 
 Thou, like a river, pure and swift and full 
 And freighted with the wealth of many lands, 
 With hopes, and fears, and death and life, dost roll 
 Against the troubled ocean of my sin. 
 Thou doubtest not, though on these desert sands 
 The billows surge against thee black with brine, 
 Unwearied. For thy love is fixed and even 
 And bears thee onward, and thy faith is whole. 
 Though thou thyself shouldst sin, yet surely heaven 
 Hath held thee guiltless and thou art forgiven.
 
 28 THE LOVE SONNETS 
 
 XXII. 
 TO JULIET, 
 
 ASKING THE FULFILMENT OF HER LOVE. 
 
 I ask for love who famished am in plenty, 
 
 Not scorning the dear manna of your tears 
 
 But being vexed with that too froward twenty 
 
 Which heads the sum of my rebellious years. 
 
 My soul is fallen "in lust of cucumbers, 
 
 Offish, of melons," through its long abstaining. 
 
 Unworthy Egypt yet enslaves my fears. 
 
 Ah, love, I thirst, but not for heaven's raining. 
 
 Why speak to me, alas, of heavenly joys 
 
 Who ask for joys of earth these cannot cheat? 
 
 What are these clouds, these pillars of fire to me ? 
 
 The wilderness is long. Youth cannot be 
 
 For ever fed on these unnatural toys 
 
 And needs must murmur if it have not meat.
 
 OF PROTEUS. 29 
 
 XXIII. 
 TO JULIET, 
 
 IN ANSWER TO A QUESTION. 
 
 Why should I hate you, love, or why despise 
 For that last proof of tenderness you gave ? 
 The battle is not always to the brave, 
 Nor life's sublimest wisdom to the wise. 
 True courage often is in frightened eyes, 
 And reason in sweet lips that only rave. 
 There is a weakness stronger than the grave, 
 And blood poured out has overcome the skies, 
 Nay, love, I honour you the more for this, 
 That you have rent the veil, and ushered in 
 A fellow soul to your soul's holy place. 
 And why should either blush that we have been 
 One day in Eden, in our nakedness ? 
 'Tis conscience makes us sinners, not our sin.
 
 30 THE LOVE SONNETS 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 TO THE SAME, 
 WHO WOULD COMFORT HIM. 
 
 I did not ask your pity, dear. Your zeal 
 I know. It cannot cure me of my woes. 
 And you, in your sweet happiness, who knows, 
 Deserve it rather I should pity feel 
 For what the coming years from you conceal. 
 I did but cry, thou dear Samaritan, 
 Out of my bitterness of soul. Each man 
 Hath his own sorrow treading on his heel, 
 Ready to strike him, and must keep his shield 
 To his own back. Fate's arrows thickly fly, 
 And, if they strike not now, will strike at even. 
 And so I ask no pity. On life's field 
 The wounded crawl together, but their cry 
 Is not to one another but to Heaven.
 
 OF PKOTEUS. 31 
 
 XXV. 
 
 THE RELIGION OF LOVE. 
 
 .So thou but love me, dear, with thy whole heart 
 What care I for the rest, for good or ill ? 
 What for the peace of soul good deeds impart, 
 What for the tears unholy dreams distil ? 
 These cannot make my joy, nor shall they kill. 
 Thou only perfect peace and virtue art 
 And holiness for me and strength and will 
 So thou but love me with a perfect heart 
 I ask thee now no longer to be wise ; 
 No longer to be good, but loving me. 
 I ask thee nothing now but only this. 
 Henceforth my Bible, dear, shall be thine eyes, 
 My beads thy lips, my prayers thy constancy, 
 My heaven thine arms, eternity thy kiss.
 
 32 THE LOVE SONNETS 
 
 XXVI. 
 TO ONE WHO LOVED HIM. 
 
 I cannot love you, love, as you love me, 
 
 In singleness of soul, and faith untried : 
 
 I have no faith in any destiny, 
 
 In any heaven, even at your side. 
 
 Our hearts are all too weak, the world too wide, 
 
 You but a woman. If I dare to give 
 
 Some thought, some tenderness, a little pride, 
 
 A little love, 'tis yours, love, to receive. 
 
 And do not grieve, though now the gift appear 
 
 A drop to your love's ocean. Time shall see. 
 
 Oh, I could prophesy : That day is sure, 
 
 Though not perhaps this week, nor month, nor year, 
 
 When your great love shall clean forgotten be, 
 
 And my poor tenderness shall yet endure. 
 
 'Tis not the trees that make the tallest show, 
 
 Which stand out stoutest when the tempests blow.
 
 OF PROTEUS. 33 
 
 XXVII. 
 TO THE SAME, 
 
 EXHORTING HER TO PATIENCE. 
 
 Why do we fret at the inconstancy 
 Of our frail hearts, which cannot always love ? 
 Time rushes onward, and we mortals move 
 Like waifs upon a river, neither free 
 To halt nor hurry. Sweet, if destiny 
 Throws us together for an hour, a day, 
 In the back-water of this quiet bay, 
 Let us rejoice. Before us lies the sea, 
 Where we must all be lost in spite of love. 
 We dare not stop to question. Happiness 
 Lies in our hand unsought, a treasure trove. 
 Time has short patience of man's vain distress ; 
 And fate grows angry at too long delay ; 
 And floods rise fast, and we are swept away.
 
 34 THE LOVE SONNETS 
 
 XXVIII. 
 TO JULIET, 
 
 REMINDING HER OF A PROMISE. 
 I. 
 
 Oh, Juliet, we have quarrelled with our fate, 
 And fate has struck us. Wherefore do we cry ? 
 We prayed for liberty, and now too late 
 Find liberty is this, to say " good-bye." 
 The winter which we loved not has gone by, 
 And spring is come. The gardens, which were bare 
 When we first wandered through them, you and I, 
 The prisoners of our own vain wishes, are 
 Now full of golden flowers. The very lane 
 Down to the sea is green. The cactus hedge 
 We saw cut down has sprouted new again, 
 And swallows have their nests on the cliff's edge 
 Where we so often sat and dared complain 
 Because our joy was new, and called it pain.
 
 OF PROTEUS. 35 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 THE SAME 
 (Continued). 
 
 II. 
 
 Yes, Spring is come, but joy alas is gone, 
 Gone ere we knew it, while our foolish eyes, 
 Which should have watched its motions every one 
 Were looking elsewhere, at the hills, the skies, 
 Chasing vain thoughts, as children butterflies, 
 Until the hour struck and the day was done, 
 And we looked up in passionate surprise 
 To find that clouds had blotted out our sun. 
 Our joys are gone and what is left to us, 
 Who loved not even love when it was here ? 
 What but a voice which sobs monotonous 
 As these sad waves upon the rocks, the dear 
 Fond voice which once made music with our own, 
 And which our hearts now ache to think upon.
 
 36 THE LOVE SONNETS 
 
 XXX. 
 
 THE SAME 
 (Continued). 
 
 ill. 
 
 Old memories are sweet, but these are new 
 And smart like wounds yet green. But one there is 
 Which, for the cause that it was dear to you 
 In days which counted upon greater bliss, 
 Is fairer now and dearer far than these ; 
 And this the memory is of some hours spent 
 One afternoon when, seated at your knees, 
 I made narration (it was middle Lent 
 And you with, Judas flowers had filled your lap), 
 Of the wise secret of these rhymes of mine, 
 And gave a promise, which behold I keep, 
 To write them out for you, each idle line, 
 Throwing you all my rubbish in one heap. 
 Poor stuff perhaps ; and yet it made you weep.
 
 OF PROTEUS. 37 
 
 XXXI. 
 TO JULIET. 
 
 FEAR HAS CAST OUT LOVE. 
 
 'Tis not that love is less or sorrow more 
 Than in the days when first these things began. 
 Even then you doubted, and our hearts were sore 
 And you rebelled because I was a man. 
 Even then you fought and wrestled with my plan 
 Of earthly bliss ; what bitter anguish too 
 When at the hour decreed our passion ran 
 Out of our keeping and love claimed its due. 
 'Tis not love's fault we part, or griefs. Alas, 
 One mightier now compels us with his nod. 
 The fire ol heaven has touched us, and we pass 
 From pleasure's chastenings to a fiercer rod ; 
 And fear has cast out love, for flesh is grass 
 And we are withered with the wrath of God.
 
 38 THE LOVE SONNETS 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 TO ONE WHO WOULD "REMAIN 
 FRIENDS." 
 
 What is this prate of friendship ? Kings discrowned 
 
 Go forth, not citizens but outlawed men. 
 
 If love has ceased to give a loyal sound, 
 
 Let there at least be silence. Once again 
 
 I go, proscribed, exiled, doininionless 
 
 Out of your coasts, yet scorning to complain. 
 
 I grudge not your allegiance nor my bliss, 
 
 I yield the pleasure as I keep the pain. 
 
 Rebellion's rights are limited though strong. 
 
 The right to take gives not the right to give. 
 
 Mine were the sole right and prerogative 
 
 To give a title or forgive a wrong. 
 
 This gift of friendship was not yours to bring. 
 
 As I have lived in love I still will live 
 
 Or die, if needs must, and without reprieve, 
 
 Your lover yet, and kingdomless a king.
 
 OF PROTEUS. 39 
 
 XXXIII. 
 TO ONE NOW ESTRANGED. 
 
 Why did you love me ? Was it not enough 
 That the world loved you, all the world and I, 
 Or was your heart of so sublime a stuff 
 That it might trifle with inconstancy 
 And love and cease to love and yet not die ? 
 Heaven was your throne by right of happiness 
 And earth your footstool. All things great and high 
 Waited your bidding, love itself no less. 
 Yet, if you deigned to love, if from your place 
 In heaven you stooped, if, when your heart was 
 
 moved, 
 
 A thrill of human pleasure tinged your face, 
 If 'twas in weakness not in strength you loved, 
 Then there was cause to blush. Yet, loving, how 
 Shall you blush less to be apostate now ?
 
 40 THE LOVE SONNETS 
 
 ' XXXIV. 
 
 FAREWELL TO JULIET. 
 I. 
 
 Juliet, farewell. I would not be forgiven 
 
 Even if I forgave. These words must be 
 
 The last between us two in earth or heaven, 
 
 The last and bitterest You are henceforth free 
 
 For ever from my bitter words and me. 
 
 You shall not at my hand be further vexed 
 
 With either love, reproach or jealousy, 
 
 (So help me heaven), in this world or the next. 
 
 Our souls are single for all time to come 
 
 And for eternity, and this farewell 
 
 Is as the trumpet note, the crack of doom, 
 
 Which heralds an eternal silence. Hell 
 
 Has no more fixed and absolute decree. 
 
 And heaven and hell may meet, yet never we.
 
 OF PROTEUS. 41 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 THE SAME 
 
 {Continued), 
 
 II. 
 
 Tis strange we are thus parted, not by death 
 Or man's device, but by our own mad will, 
 We who have stood together on life's path 
 Thro' half a youth of good repute and ill, 
 Friends more than lovers. See, love's citadel 
 We held so stoutly 'gainst a world in arms 
 Lies all dismantled now, a sight to fill 
 The earth with lamentations and alarms. 
 Whose was the fault ? I dare not ask nor say. 
 If there was treachery, 'tis best untold. 
 The price of treason we receive to-day 
 Is paid to both of us in evil gold. 
 Ay, take thy bitter freedom. 'Tis the fee 
 Of love betrayed and faith's apostacy.
 
 42 THE LOVE SONNETS 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 THE SAME 
 
 (Contintied). 
 
 III. 
 
 We may not meet. I could not for pride's sake 
 Dissemble further, and I suffer pain, 
 A palpable distinct and physical ache, 
 When our eyes meet by accident, and wben 
 I hear you talk in your pathetic strain 
 Which always moved me. Only yesterday, 
 As I was standing with a crowd of men 
 In the long corridor, you came my way 
 And chanced to stop, and thus by chance I heard 
 A score of phrases uttered in that sad 
 Half-suppliant voice which once my spirit stirred 
 To its foundations. Yet your theme was glad- 
 Strangers your hearers. What was in these spells 
 To move me still ? A trick, and nothing else !
 
 OF PROTEUS. 43 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 THE SAME 
 
 (Continued). 
 
 IV. 
 
 We vex each other with our presence, I 
 
 By my regrets and by my mocking face, 
 
 You by your laughter and mad gaiety, 
 
 And both by cruel thoughts of happier days. 
 
 Is then the world so narrow that we pace 
 
 These streets like prisoners still with eyes askance, 
 
 As bound together in the fell embrace 
 
 Of a dark chain which bars deliverance ? 
 
 Nay, go your ways. I will not vex you more. 
 
 Make your own terms with life, while you are fair. 
 
 There is none better learned in woman's lore. 
 
 You yet may take revenge on grief and care, 
 
 And 'twas your nature ever to be gay. 
 
 Why should I scoff ? Be merry while you may.
 
 44 THE LOVE SONNETS 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 THE SAME 
 
 (Continued). 
 
 V. 
 
 I do not love you. To have said this once 
 
 Had seemed to both of us a monstrous lie, 
 
 An idle boast, love's last extravagance 
 
 Or the mere paradox of vanity. 
 
 Now it is true and yet more hideously 
 
 More strangely monstrous. I, no less than you, 
 
 Here own at length the worm which cannot die, 
 
 The burden of a pain for ever new. 
 
 This is the "pang of loss," the bitterest 
 
 Which hell can give. We are shut out from heaven 
 
 And never more shall look upon love's face, 
 
 Being with those who perish unforgiven. 
 
 Never to see love's face ! Ah, pain in pain, 
 
 Which we do well to weep and weep again.
 
 OF PROTEUS. 45 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 THE SAME 
 
 (Continiud). 
 
 VI. 
 
 Yet we shall live without love, as some live 
 Without their limbs, their senses, maimed or deaf. 
 We even shall forget love, and shall thrive 
 And prosper and grow fat upon our grief. 
 You are consoled already more than half, 
 And wear your sorrow lightly. I will boast 
 No longer the refusal of relief 
 Than as a decent mourner of hopes crossed. 
 We yet shall laugh, and laughter is more loud 
 When following tears. The men who drive a hearse 
 Are not the least lighthearted of the crowd. 
 See, we have made love's epitaph in verse 
 And fairly buried him. God's ways are best. 
 Then home to pleasure and the funeral feast.
 
 46 THE LOVE SONNETS 
 
 XL. 
 
 THE SAME 
 
 (Continued), 
 
 VII. 
 
 Do you remember how I laughed at you 
 In the Beaulieu woods, and how I made my peace ? 
 It was your thirtieth birthday, and you threw 
 Stones like a school-girl at the chestnut trees. 
 The heavens were light above us and the breeze. 
 Your Corydon and all the merry crew 
 Had wandered to a distance busier bees 
 Than we, who cared not where the hazels grew. 
 We were alone at last. I had been teasing 
 You with the burden of years left behind. 
 You were too fair to find my wit displeasing, 
 And I too tender to be less than kind. [word 
 
 Your pebbles struck me. " Wretch," I cried. The 
 Entered our hearts that instant like a sword.
 
 OF PROTEUS. 47 
 
 XLI. 
 
 THE SAME 
 
 (Continued^. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Thrice happy fools I What wisdom shall we learn 
 In this world or the next, if next there be, 
 More deep, more full, more worthy our concern 
 Than that first word of folly taught us ? We 
 Had suddenly grown silent I could see 
 Your cheek had lost a little of its hue, 
 And your lips trembled, and beseechingly 
 Your blue eyes turned to mine, and well I knew 
 Your woman's instinct had divined my speech, 
 The meaning of a word so lightly spoken. 
 The word was a confession, clear to each, 
 A pledge as plain and as distinct a token 
 As that of Peter at his master's knees, 
 " Thou knowest that I love thee more than these."
 
 48 THE LOVE SONNETS 
 
 XLII. 
 
 THE SAME 
 (Continued), 
 
 IX. 
 
 I see you, Juliet, still, with your straw hat 
 Loaded with vines, and with your dear pale face, 
 On which those thirty years so lightly sat, 
 And the white outline of your muslin dress. 
 You wore a little fichu trimmed with lace 
 And crossed in front, as was the fashion then, 
 Bound at your waist with a broad band or sash, 
 All white and fresh and virginally plain. 
 There was a sound of shouting far away 
 Down in the valley, as they called to us, 
 And you, with hands clasped seeming still to pray 
 Patience of fate, stood listening to me thus 
 With heaving bosom. There a rose lay curled. 
 It was the reddest rose in all the world.
 
 OF PROTEUS. 49 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 THE SAME 
 
 {Continued). 
 
 x. 
 
 I think there never was a dearer woman, 
 A better, kinder, truer than you were, 
 A gentler spirit more divinely human 
 Than yours with your sweet melancholy air 
 Of tender gaiety, which seemed like care, 
 And in your voice a sob as of distress 
 At the world's ways, its sin and its despair, 
 Being yourself all strange to wickedness. 
 Now you are neither gentle, kind, nor good, 
 And you have sorrows of your own to grieve, 
 And in your mirth compassion has no mood ; 
 You wear no more your heart upon your sleeve v 
 And if your voice still sobs 'tis with a sense 
 Of sorrow's power, griefs wealth, experience.
 
 50 THE LOVE SONNETS 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 THE SAME 
 
 (Continued). 
 
 XI. 
 
 A "woman with a past." What happier omen 
 Could heart desire for mistress or for friend ? 
 Phoenix of friends, and most divine of women, 
 Skilled in all fence to venture or defend 
 And with love's science at your fingers' end, 
 No tears to vex, no ignorance to bore, 
 A fancy ripe, the zest which sorrows lend ! 
 I would to God we had not met before. 
 I would to God ! and yet to God I would 
 That we had never met. To see you thus 
 Is grief and wounds and poison to my blood. 
 Oh, this is sacrilege and foul abuse. 
 You were a thing for honour not vile use, 
 Not for the mad world's wicked sinks and stews.
 
 OF PROTEUS. 51 
 
 XLV. 
 
 THE SAME 
 
 (Continued). 
 
 XII. 
 
 What have I done ? What gross impiety 
 Prompted my hand thus against God and good ? 
 Was there not joy on Earth enough for me 
 That I must scale the Heaven where you stood, 
 And with my sinful blood pollute your blood ? 
 You were the type of wise sweet sanctity, 
 Of that unearthly half of womanhood 
 Which well redeems the rest. Oh, Juliet, we 
 Sinned in a temple, and our tears to-day 
 Appeal in vain to heaven which dares not hear. 
 God is not always mocked. And thus we pay 
 Our uttermost debt unheeded, tear on tear 
 And scoff on scoff and sin heaped up on sin, 
 While there is justice on the earth to men.
 
 52 THE LOVE SONNETS 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 THE SAME 
 
 (Continued). 
 
 XIII. 
 
 We planted love, and lo it bred a brood 
 Of lusts and vanities and senseless joys. 
 We planted love, and you have gathered food 
 Of every bitter herb which fills and cloys. 
 Your meat is loud excitement and mad noise, 
 Your wine the unblest ambition of command 
 O'er hearts of men, of dotards, idiots, boys. 
 These are the playthings fitted to your nand, 
 These are your happiness. You weep no more, 
 But I must weep. My heaven has been defiled. 
 My sin has found me out and smites me sore, 
 And folly, justified of her own child, 
 Rules all the empire where love reigned of yore, 
 Folly red-cheeked but rotten to the core.
 
 OF PROTEUS. 53 
 
 XLVII. 
 
 THE SAME 
 
 (Continued). 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Lame, impotent conclusion to youth's dreams 
 Vast as all heaven ! See, what glory lies 
 'Entangled here in these base stratagems, 
 What virtue done to death ! O glorious sighs, 
 Sublime beseechings, high cajoleries, 
 Fond wraths, brave raptures, all that sometime was 
 Our daily bread of gods beneath the skies, 
 How are ye ended, in what utter loss ! 
 Time was, tune is, and time is yet to come, 
 Till even time itself shall have its end. 
 These were eternal and behold, a tomb. 
 Come, let us laugh and eat and drink. God send 
 What all the world must need one day as we, 
 Speedy oblivion, rest for memory.
 
 54 LOVE SONNETS OF PROTEUS. 
 
 XLVIII. 
 
 THE SAME 
 
 (Continued}. 
 
 XV. 
 
 Farewell, then. It is finished. I forego 
 
 With this all right in you, even that of tears. 
 
 If I have spoken hardly, it will show 
 
 How much I loved you. With you disappears 
 
 A glory, a romance of many years. 
 
 What you may be henceforth I will not know. 
 
 The phantom of your presence on my fears 
 
 Is impotent at length for weal or woe. 
 
 Your past, your present, all alike must fade 
 
 In a new land of dreams where love is not 
 
 Then kiss me and farewell. The choice is made 
 
 And we shall live to see the past forgot, 
 
 If not forgiven. See, I came to curse, 
 
 Yet stay to bless. I know not which is worse.
 
 PART III. 
 
 GODS AND FALSE GODS.
 
 LOVE SONNETS OF PROTEUS. 57 
 
 XLIX. 
 HE DESIRES THE IMPOSSIBLE. 
 
 If it were possible the fierce sun should, 
 Standing in heaven unloved, companionless, 
 Enshrined be in some white-bosomed cloud, 
 And so forget his rage and loneliness ; 
 If it were possible the bitter seas 
 Should suddenly grow sweet, till at their brink 
 Birds with bright eyes should stoop athirst and 
 If these were possible ; and if to these [drink ; 
 It should be proved that love has sometimes been 
 'Twixt lambs and leopards, doves and hawks, that 
 
 snow 
 
 Clasps the bare rocks, that rugged oaks grow green 
 In the west wind, that pinkest blossoms blow 
 Upon May's blackest thorn ; then, only then, 
 I might believe that love between us two 
 Was still in heaven's gift, sweet child. And you?
 
 58 THE LOVE SONNETS 
 
 L. 
 ST. VALENTINE'S DAY. 
 
 To-day, all day, I rode upon the down, 
 With hounds and horsemen, a brave company. 
 On this side in its glory lay the sea, 
 On that the Sussex weald, a sea of brown. 
 The wind was light, and brightly the sun shone, 
 And still we galloped on from gorse to gorse. 
 And once, when checked, a thrush sang, and my horse 
 Pricked his quick ears as to a sound unknown. 
 I knew the Spring was come. I knew it even 
 Better than all by this, that through my chase 
 In bush and stone and hill and sea and heaven 
 I seemed to see and follow still your face. 
 Your face my quarry was. For it I rode, 
 My horse a thing of wings, myself a god.
 
 OF PROTEUS, 59 
 
 LI. 
 TO ONE WHOM HE DARED NOT LOVE. 
 
 As one who, in a desert wandering 
 Alone and faint beneath a pitiless sky, 
 And doubting in his heart if he shall bring 
 His bones back to his kindred or there die, 
 Finds at his feet a treasure suddenly 
 Such as would make him for all time a king, 
 And so forgets his fears and with keen eye 
 Falls to a-counting each new precious thing, 
 So was I when you told me yesterday 
 The tale of your dear love. Awhile I stood 
 Astonished and enraptured, and my heart 
 Began to count its treasures. Now dismay 
 Steals back my joy, and terror chills my blood, 
 And I remember only "we must part."
 
 60 THE LOVE SONNETS 
 
 LII. 
 ON A LOST OPPORTUNITY. 
 
 Wemight, if you had willed, have conquered heaven. 
 Once only in our lives before the gate 
 Of Paradise we stood, one fortunate even, 
 And gazed in sudden rapture through the grate. 
 And, while you stood astonished, I, our fate 
 Venturing, pushed the latch and found it free. 
 There stood the tree of knowledge fair and great 
 Beside the tree of life. One instant we 
 Stood in that happy garden, guardianless. 
 My hands already turned towards the tree 
 And in another moment we had known 
 The taste of joy and immortality 
 And been ourselves as gods. But in distress 
 You thrust me back with supplicating arms
 
 OF PROTEUS. 61 
 
 And eyes of terror, till the impatient sun 
 Had time to set and till the heavenly host 
 Rushed forth on us with clarions and alarms 
 And cast us out for ever, blind and lost.
 
 62 THE LOVE SONNETS 
 
 v LIII. 
 
 TO ONE, 
 
 ON HER WASTE OF TIME. 
 
 Why practise, love, this small economy 
 Of your heart's favours ? Can you keep a kiss 
 To be enjoyed in age ? and would the free 
 Expense of pleasure leave you penniless ? 
 Nay, nay. Be wise. Believe me, pleasure is 
 A gambler's token, only gold to-day. 
 The day of love is short, and every bliss 
 Untasted now is a bliss thrown away. 
 'Twere pitiful, in truth, such treasures should 
 Lie by like miser's crusts till mouldy grown. 
 Think you the hand of age will be less rude 
 In touching your sweet bosom than my own ? 
 Alas, what matter, when our heads are grey, 
 Whether you loved or did not love to-day ?
 
 OF PROTEUS. 63 
 
 LIV. 
 THE HAUNTED HOUSE. 
 
 How loud the storm blew all that bitter night ! 
 
 The loosened ivy tapping on the pane 
 
 Woke me and woke, again and yet again, 
 
 Till I was full awake and sat upright. 
 
 I listened to the noises of the night, 
 
 And presently I heard, disguised yet plain, 
 
 A footstep on the stair which mounted light 
 
 Towards me, and my heart outbeat the vain. 
 
 I knew that it was you. I knew it even 
 
 Before the door, which by design ajar 
 
 Waited your coming, had disclosed my fate. 
 
 I felt a wind upon my face from heaven, 
 
 I felt the presence of a life. My hair 
 
 Was touched as by a spirit. Insensate 
 
 I drew you to my bosom. Ah, too late ! 
 
 I clutched the darkness. There was nothing there.
 
 64 THE LOVE SONNETS 
 
 LV. 
 THE TRIUMPH OF LOVE. 
 
 Ah Love, dear Love. In vain I scoff. In vain 
 I ply my barren wit, and jest at thee. 
 Thou heedest not, or dost forgive the pain, 
 And in thy own good time and thy own way, 
 Waiting my silence, thou dost vanquish me. 
 Thou comest at thy will in sun or rain 
 And at the hour appointed, a spring day, 
 An autumn night and lo, I serve again. 
 Forgive me, touch me, chide me. What to thee, 
 God that thou art, are these vain shifts of mine ? 
 Let me but know thee. Thou alone art wise. 
 I ask not to be wise or great or free 
 Or aught but at thy knees and wholly thine, 
 Thus, and to feel thy hand upon mine eyes.
 
 OF PROTEUS. 65 
 
 LVI. 
 TO ONE, 
 
 EXCUSING HIS POVERTY. 
 
 Ah ! love, impute it not to me a sin 
 That my poor soul thus beggared comes to thee. 
 My soul a pilgrim was, in search of thine, 
 And met these accidents by land and sea. 
 The world was hard, and took its usury, 
 Its toll for each new night in each new inn ; 
 And every road had robber bands to fee ; 
 And all, even kindness, must be paid in coin. 
 Behold my scrip is empty, my heart bare. 
 I give thee nothing who my all would give. 
 My pilgrimage is finished, and I fare 
 Bare to my death, unless with thee I live. 
 Ah ! give, love, and forgive that I am poor. 
 Ah ! take me to thy arms and ask no more.
 
 66 THE LOVE SONNETS 
 
 LVII. 
 
 TO ONE WHO WOULD MAKE A 
 CONFESSION. 
 
 Oh ! leave the Past to bury its own dead. 
 The Past is naught to us, the Present all. 
 What need of last year's leaves to strew Love's bed ? 
 What need of ghosts to grace a festival ? 
 I would not, if I could, those days recall, 
 Those days not ours. For us the feast is spread, 
 The lamps are lit, and music plays withal. 
 Then let us love and leave the rest unsaid. 
 This island is our home. Around it roar 
 Great gulfs and oceans, channels, straits, and seas. 
 What matter in what wreck we reached the shore, 
 So we both reached it ? We can mock at these. 
 Oh ! leave the Past, if Past indeed there be. 
 T would not know it. I would know but thee.
 
 Of PROTEUS. 67 
 
 LVIII. 
 
 THE PLEASURES OF LOVE. 
 I 
 
 I do not care for kisses. Tis a debt 
 We paid for the first privilege of love. 
 These are the rains of April, which have wet 
 Our fallow hearts and forced their germs to move. 
 Now the green corn has sprouted. Each new day 
 Brings better pleasures, a more dear surprise, 
 The blade, the ear, the harvest and our way 
 Leads through a region wealthy grown and wise. 
 We now compare our fortunes. Each his store 
 Displays to kindred eyes of garnered grain, 
 Two happy farmers, learned in love's lore, 
 Who weigh and touch and argue and complain 
 Dear endless argument \ Yet sometimes we 
 Even as we argue kiss. There ! Let it be.
 
 68 THE LOVE SONNETS 
 
 LIX. 
 HE APPEALS AGAINST HIS BOND.' 
 
 In my distress Love made me sign a bond, 
 
 A cruel bond. 'Twas by necessity 
 
 Wrung from a foolish heart, alas, too fond, 
 
 Too blindly fond, its error to foresee. 
 
 And now my soul's estate, in jeopardy, 
 
 Lies to a pledge it never can redeem. 
 
 Love's loan was love, one hour of ecstasy, 
 
 His penalty eternal loss of him. 
 
 See, I am penniless, the forfeit paid, 
 
 And go a beggar forth from thy dear sight, 
 
 My pound of more than flesh too strictly weighed 
 
 And cut too near the heart. Fair Israelite, 
 
 Thy plea was just. Thy right has been confessed. 
 
 And yet a work of mercy were twice blessed.
 
 OF PROTEUS. 69 
 
 LX. 
 
 TO ONE WHO SPOKE ILL OF HIM. 
 
 What is your quarrel with me, in love's name, 
 
 Fair queen of wrath? What evil have I done, 
 
 What treason to the thought of our dear shame 
 
 Subscribed or plotted ? Is my heart less one 
 
 In its obedience to your stern decrees 
 
 Than on the day when first you said " I please," 
 
 And with your lips ordained our union ? 
 
 Am I not now, as then, upon my knees ? 
 
 You bade me love you, and the deed was done, 
 
 And when you cried "enough " I stopped, and when 
 
 You bade me go I went, and when you said 
 
 " Forget me " I forgot. Alas, what wrong 
 
 Would you avenge upon a loyal head, 
 
 Which ever bowed to you in joy and pain, 
 
 That you thus scourge me with your pitiless tongue?
 
 70 THE LOVE SONNETS 
 
 LXI. 
 THE THREE AGES OF WOMAN. 
 
 I. 
 
 Love, in thy youth, a stranger, knelt to thee, 
 With cheeks all red and golden locks all curled, 
 And cried, " Sweet child, if thou wilt worship me, 
 Thou shalt possess the kingdoms of the world. " 
 But you looked down and said, " I know you not, 
 Nor want I other kingdom than my soul." 
 Till Love in shame, convicted of his plot, 
 Left you and turned him to some other goal. 
 And this discomfiture which you had seen 
 Long served you for your homily and boast, 
 While, of your beauty and yourself the queen, 
 You lived a monument of vain love crossed, 
 With scarce a thought of that which might have been 
 To scare you with the ghost of pleasures lost.
 
 OF PROTEUS. 71 
 
 LXII. 
 
 THE SAME 
 
 (Continued], 
 
 II. 
 
 Your youth flowed on, a river chaste and fair, 
 
 Till thirty years were written to your name. 
 
 A wife, a mother, these the titles were 
 
 Which conquered for you the world's fairest fame. 
 
 In all things you were wise but in this one, 
 
 That of your wisdom you yourself did doubt. 
 
 Youth spent like age, no joy beneath the sun. 
 
 Your glass of beauty vainly running out. 
 
 Then suddenly again, ere well you knew, ' 
 
 Love looked upon you tenderly, yet sad : 
 
 " Are these wise follies, then, enough for you ? " 
 
 He said ; " Love's wisdom were itself less mad." 
 
 And you : " What wouldst thou of me ? " " My 
 
 In token of what joys may yet be had." [bare due,
 
 72 THE LOVE SONNETS 
 
 LXIII. 
 
 THE SAME 
 
 {Continued}* 
 
 HI. 
 
 Again Love left you. With appealing eyes 
 You watched him go, and lips apart to speak. 
 He left you, and once more the sun did rise 
 And the sun set, and week trod close on week 
 And month on month, till you had reached the goal 
 Of forty years, and life's full waters grew 
 To bitterness and flooded all your soul, 
 Making you loathe old things and pine for new. 
 And you into the wilderness had fled, 
 And in your desolation loud did cry, 
 " Oh for a hand to turn these stones to bread i " 
 Then in your ear Love whispered scornfully, 
 "Thou too, poor fool, thou, even thou," he said, 
 11 Shalt taste thy little honey ere thou die."
 
 OF PROTEUS. 73 
 
 LXIV. 
 SIBYLLINE BOOKS. 
 
 When first, a boy, at your fair knees I kneeled, 
 
 Twas with a worthy offering. In my hand 
 
 My young life's book I held, a volume sealed, 
 
 Which none but you, I deemed, might understand. 
 
 And you I did entreat to loose the band 
 
 And read therein your own soul's destiny. 
 
 But, Tarquin-like, you turned from my demand, 
 
 Too proudly fair to find your fate in me. 
 
 When now I come, alas, what hands have turned 
 
 Those virgin pages ! Some are torn away, 
 
 And some defaced, and some with passion burned, 
 
 And some besmeared with life's least holy clay. 
 
 Say, shall I offer you these pages wet 
 
 With blood and tears ? and will your sorrow read 
 
 WTiat your joy heeded not ? Unopened yet
 
 74 THE LOVE SONNETS 
 
 One page remains. It still may hold a fate, 
 A counsel for the day of utter need. 
 Nay, speak, sad heart, speak quick. The hour is 
 Age threatens us. The Gaul is at the gate. [late.
 
 OF PROTEUS. 75 
 
 LXV. 
 
 ON READING THE MEMOIRS OF 
 M. D'ARTAGNAN. 
 
 Why was I born in this degenerate age ? 
 
 Or rather why, a thousand times, with soul 
 
 Of such degenerate stuff that a mute rage 
 
 Is all its reason, tears the only toll 
 
 It takes on life, and impotence its goal ? 
 
 Why was I bom to this sad heritage 
 
 Of fierce desires which cannot fate control, 
 
 Of idle hopes life never can assuage ? 
 
 Why was I born thus weak ? Oh to have been 
 
 A merry fool, at jest with destiny ; 
 
 A free hand ready and a heart as free ; 
 
 A ruffler in the camps of Mazarin. 
 
 Oh for the honest soul of d'Artagnan, 
 
 Twice happy knave, a Gascon and a man !
 
 76 THE LOVE SONNETS 
 
 LXVI. 
 THE TWO HIGHWAYMEN. 
 
 I long have had a quarrel set with Time, 
 
 Because he robbed me. Every day of life 
 
 Was wrested from me after bitter strife, 
 
 I never yet could see the sun go down 
 
 But I was angry in my heart, nor hear 
 
 The leaves fall in the wind without a tear 
 
 Over the dying summer. I have known 
 
 No truce with Time nor, Time's accomplice, Death. 
 
 The fair world is the witness of a crime 
 
 Repeated every hour. For life and breath 
 
 Are sweet to all who live ; and bitterly 
 
 The voices of these robbers of the heath 
 
 Sound in each ear and chill the passer by. 
 
 What have we done to thee, thou monstrous 
 
 Time? 
 What have we done to Death that we must die ?
 
 , 
 
 ;inct 
 
 are: 
 
 - who can- 
 know. 
 
 rig as life may las' 
 I shall win nothii - 
 
 .vhom God has made so kind and 
 
 her way with stov. 
 
 faithful as a 
 
 te lines, all fl 
 u-as this wo 
 
 \y J/,',v. K. W. Latin 
 
 -r- -4- -T- 
 
 Alas I shall have lived unseen tho"' ever near, 
 For ever at her side, for ever too alone. 
 I shall have lived my life unknowing and unknown, 
 Asking naught, daring naught, receiving naught 
 from her. [fair, 
 
 And she, whom heaven made kind and chaste and 
 Shall go undoubting on, the while upon her way 
 The murmur of my love shall fill the land. 
 Till, reading here perchance severe and unaware 
 These lines so full of her, she shall look up and say 
 " Who was this woman then ?" and shall not un- 
 derstand.
 
 But I was angry in my near , nor hear 
 
 The leaves fall in the wind without a tear 
 
 Over the dying summer. I have known 
 
 No truce with Time nor, Time's accomplice, Death. 
 
 The fair world is the witness of a crime 
 
 Repeated every hour. For life and breath 
 
 Are sweet to all who live ; and bitterly 
 
 The voices of these robbers of the heath 
 
 Sound in each ear and chill the passer by. 
 
 What have we done to thee, thou monstrous 
 
 Time? 
 What have we done to Death that we must die ?
 
 OF PROTEUS. 77 
 
 LXVII. 
 FROM THE FRENCH OF ANVERS. 
 
 My heart has its secret, my soul its mystery 
 A love which is eternal begotten in a day. [day ? 
 The ill is long past healing. Why should I speak to 
 For none have ears to hear, and, least of all, she. 
 Alas I shall have lived unseen tho' ever near, 
 For ever at her side, for ever too alone. 
 I shall have lived my life unknowing and unknown, 
 Asking naught, daring naught, receiving naught 
 from her. [fair, 
 
 And she, whom heaven made kind and chaste and 
 Shall go undoubting on, the while upon her way 
 The murmur of my love shall fill the land. 
 Till, reading here perchance severe and unaware 
 These lines so full of her, she shall look up and say 
 " Who was this woman then ?" and shall not un- 
 derstand.
 
 78 THE LOVE SONNETS 
 
 LXVIII. 
 
 TO ONE TO WHOM HE HAD BEEN 
 UNJUST. 
 
 If I was angry once that you refused 
 The bread I asked and offered me a stone, 
 Deeming the rights of bounty thus abused 
 And my poor beggary but trampled on, 
 Believe me now I would that wrong atone 
 With such submission as a heart can show, 
 Asking no bread of life but that alone 
 Your dear heart proffered and my pride let go. 
 Give me your help, your pity, what you will, 
 Your pardon for a sin, your act of grace 
 For a rebellion vanquished and undone, 
 The stone I once refused, that precious stone 
 Your friendship, so my thoughts may serve you still 
 Even if I never more behold your face.
 
 OF PROTEUS. 79 
 
 LXIX. 
 THE MOCKERY OF LIFE, 
 
 A TRIPLE SONNET. 
 I. 
 
 God, what a mockery is this life of ours ! [womb, 
 
 Cast forth in blood and pain from our mother's 
 
 Most like an excrement, and weeping showers 
 
 Of senseless tears : unreasoning, naked, dumb, 
 
 The symbol of all weakness and the sum : 
 
 Our very life a sufferance. Presently, 
 
 Grown stronger, we must fight for standing-room 
 
 Upon the earth, and the bare liberty 
 
 To breathe and move. We crave the right to toil. 
 
 We push, we strive, we jostle with the rest. 
 
 We learn new courage, stifle our old fears, 
 
 Stand with stiff backs, take part in every broil. 
 
 It may be that we love, that we are blest. 
 
 It may be, for a little space of years, 
 
 We conquer fate and half forget our tears.
 
 So THE LOVE SONNETS 
 
 LXX. 
 
 THE SAME 
 (Continued). 
 
 II. 
 
 And then fate strikes us. First our joys decay. 
 Youth, with its pleasures, is a tale soon told. 
 We grow a little poorer day by day. 
 Old friendships falter. Loves grow strangely cold. 
 In vain we shift our hearts to a new hold 
 And barter joy for joy, the less for less. 
 We doubt our strength, our wisdom, and our gold, 
 We stand alone, as in a wilderness 
 Of doubts and terrors. Then, if we be wise, 
 We make our terms with fate and, while we may, 
 Sell our life's last sad remnant for a hope. 
 And it is wisdom thus to close our eyes. 
 But for the foolish, those who cannot pray, 
 What else remains of their dark horoscope 
 But a tall tree and courage and a rope?
 
 OF PROTEUS. 8 1 
 
 LXXI. 
 
 THE SAME 
 
 (Contintud). 
 
 III. 
 
 And who shall tell what ignominy death 
 
 Has yet in store for us ; what abject fears 
 
 Even for the best of us ; what fights for breath ; 
 
 What sobs, what supplications, what wild tears ; 
 
 What impotence of soul against despairs 
 
 Which blot out reason? The last trembling thought 
 
 Of each poor brain, as dissolution nears, 
 
 Is not of fair life lost, of heaven bought 
 
 And glory won. 'Tis not the thought of grief ; 
 
 Of friends deserted ; loving hearts which bleed ; 
 
 Wives, sisters, children who around us weep. 
 
 But only a mad clutching for relief 
 
 From physical pain, importunate Nature's need ; 
 
 The search as for a womb where we may creep 
 
 Back from the world, to hide, perhaps to sleep.
 
 THE LOVE SONNETS 
 
 LXXII. 
 WHO WOULD LIVE AGAIN? 
 
 Oh who would live again to suffer loss ? 
 
 Once in my youth I battled with my fate, 
 
 Grudging my days to death. I would have won 
 
 A place by violence beneath the sun. 
 
 I took my pleasures madly as by force, 
 
 Even the air of heaven was a prize. 
 
 I stood a plunderer at death's very gate, 
 
 And all the lands of life I did o'errun 
 
 With sack and pillage. Then I scorned to die, 
 
 Save as a conquerer. The treasuries 
 
 Of love I ransacked ; pity, pride and hate. 
 
 All that can make hearts beat or brim men's eyes 
 
 With living tears I took as robes to wear. 
 
 But see, now time has struck me on the hip.
 
 OF PROTEUS. 83 
 
 I cannot hate nor love. My senses are 
 
 Struck silent with the silence of my lip. . 
 
 No courage kindles in my heart to dare, 
 
 No strength to do. The world's last phantoms slip 
 
 Out of my grasp, and naught is left but pain. 
 
 Love, life, vain strength . Oh who would live again ?
 
 84 THE LOVE SONNETS 
 
 LXXIII. 
 COLD COMFORT. 
 
 There is no comfort underneath the sun. 
 Youth turns to age ; riches are quickly spent ; 
 Pride breeds us pain, our pleasures punishment, 
 The very courage which we count upon 
 A single night of fever shall break down, 
 And love is slain by fear. Death last of all 
 Spreads out his nets and watches for our fall. 
 There is no comfort underneath the sun ! 
 When thou art old, O man, if thou wert proud 
 Be humble j pride will here avail thee not 
 There is no courage which can conquer death. 
 Forget that thou wert wise. Nay, keep thy breath 
 For prayer, that so thy wisdom be forgot 
 And thou perhaps get pity of thy God.
 
 OF PROTEUS. 85 
 
 LXXIV. 
 AMOUR OBLIGE. 
 
 I could forgive you, dearest, all the folly 
 Your heart has dreamed. Alas, as we grow old, 
 We need more vigorous cures for melancholy, 
 A stronger nutriment for hearts grown cold. 
 We need in face of weakness to be bold. 
 We need our folly to keep fate at bay. 
 Oh, we need madness in the manifold 
 Doubts and despairs which herald our decay. 
 I could forgive you all and more than all, 
 Yet, dearest, though for us fate waves his hand 
 And we accept it as the common lot 
 To meet no more at this life's festival, 
 It were unseemly you should take your stand, 
 Now my heart's citadel is laid in siege, 
 In open field with those who love me not. 
 Love has a rank which surely should oblige.
 
 86 THE LOVE SONNETS 
 
 LXXV. 
 TO ONE UNFORGOTTEN. 
 
 You are not false perhaps, as lovers say 
 Meaning the act, Alas, that guilt was mine. 
 Nor, maybe, have you bowed at other shrine 
 Than the true god's where first you learned to pray. 
 I know the idols round you. They are clay, 
 Mere Dagons to the courage half divine 
 Which bears you scathless still thro' sap and mine 
 And breach and storm upon your virgin way. 
 Alas, I know your virtue ; but your heart, 
 How have you treated it ? I sometimes see, 
 When nights are long, a vision chaste and true 
 Of pale pathetic eyes which gaze on me 
 In love and grief eternal. Then I start, 
 Crying aloud, and reach my arms to you.
 
 OF PROTEUS. 87 
 
 LXXVI. 
 
 TO ONE WHOM HE HAD LOVED TOO 
 LONG. 
 
 Why do I cling to thee, sad love ? Too long 
 Thou bringest me neither pleasure to my soul 
 Nor profit to my reason save in song, 
 My daily utterance. See, thy beggar's dole 
 Of foolish tears cannot my tears cajole ; 
 Thy laughter doth my laughter grievous wrong ; 
 Thy anger angereth me ; thou heapest coal 
 Of fire upon my head the drear night long 
 With thy forgiveness. What is this thou wilt ? 
 Mine ears have ceased to hear, my tongue to speak. 
 And naught is left for my spent heart to do. 
 Love long has left the feast ; the cup is spilt. 
 Let us go too. The dawn begins to break, 
 And there is mockery in this heaven of blue.
 
 88 LOVE SONNETS OF PROTEUS. 
 
 LXXVII. 
 HE WOULD LEAD A BETTER LIFE. 
 
 I am tired of folly, tired of my own ways, 
 Love is a strife. I do not want to strive. 
 If I had foes I now would make my peace. 
 If I less wedded were I now would wive. 
 I would do service to my kind, contrive 
 Something of good for men, some happiness 
 For those who in the world still love and live ; 
 And, as my fathers did, so end my days. 
 I would earn praise, I too, of honest men. 
 I would repent in sackcloth if needs be. 
 I would serve God and expiate my sin, 
 Abjuring love and thee ay, even thee. 
 I would do this, dear love. But what am I 
 To will or do ? As we have lived we die.
 
 PART IV. 
 VITA NOVA.
 
 LOVE SONNETS OF PROTEUS. 91 
 
 LXXVIII. 
 A DAY IN SUSSEX. 
 
 The dove did lend me wings. I fled away 
 From the loud world which long had troubled me. 
 Oh lightly did I flee when hoyden May 
 Threw her wild mantle on the hawthorn tree. 
 I left the dusty high road, and my way 
 Was through deep meadows, shut with copses fair. 
 A choir of thrushes poured its roundelay 
 From every hedge and every thicket there. 
 Mild, moon-faced kine looked on, where in the grass 
 All heaped with flowers I lay, from noon till eve. 
 And hares unwitting close to me did pass, 
 And still the birds sang, and I could not grieve. 
 Oh what a blessed thing that evening was ! 
 Peace, music, twilight, all that could deceive 
 A soul to joy or lull a heart to peace. 
 It glimmers yet across whole years like these.
 
 92 THE LOVE SONNETS 
 
 LXXIX. 
 IN ANNIVERSARIO MORTIS. 
 
 if 
 
 If I can bring no tribute of fresh tears 
 
 To mingle with the dust which covers thee ; 
 
 If in this latest dawn of evil years 
 
 My rebel eyes withhold their sympathy ; 
 
 If of a truth my thoughts so barren be 
 
 Of their old griefs, so numb to tenderness 
 
 That they nor hear nor taste nor feel nor see 
 
 The sweetness of thy presence in this place ; 
 
 If I now drowse, 'tis that the flesh is weak 
 
 More than the spirit. See, by thy dear bed 
 
 Once more I kneel in sorrow and in love. 
 
 See, I still watch by thee if thou shouldst move, 
 
 If thou shouldst raise thy hand or turn thy head, 
 
 Or speak my name, and yet thou dost not speak,
 
 OF PROTEUS. 93 
 
 LXXX. 
 
 THE SAME. 
 
 (Continued). 
 
 n. 
 
 These flowers shall be my offering, living flowers 
 Which here shall die with thee in sacrifice, 
 Flowers from the empty fields which once wereyours 
 And now are mine. No gold, nor myrrh, nor spice, 
 Nor any dead man's offering may suffice. 
 I love not flowers : but thus to deck a grave 
 Which has no need of things of greater price. 
 Life is the only tribute death would have. 
 Ah, thou art dead. Mine is this fair domain 
 With all its living beauty and brave shows 
 Of lawn, and lake, and garden ; mine the increase 
 Of the year's harvest, the slow growth of trees, 
 And that fair natural wealth we loved in vain, 
 Flowers, which shall never more adorn my house.
 
 94 THE LOVE SONNETS 
 
 LXXXI. 
 
 THE SAME 
 (Contimted). 
 
 in. 
 
 It is not true the dead nnhonoured were 
 If they returned to life. Nay, claim thine own, 
 And see how gladly I, thy "thankless heir," 
 Will yield thee back possession of thy throne. 
 I am not so in love with riches grown 
 That such can comfort me. Alas, too long 
 The fields are furrowed and the wheat is sown 
 For my sole grief that these should do thee wrong. 
 I hold these things not wholly as in fee, 
 But thinking that perhaps some happy day 
 We yet may walk together, and devise 
 Of the old lands we loved, in Paradise, 
 And I shall give account, as best I may, 
 How I thy tenant was awhile for thee.
 
 OF PROTEUS. 95 
 
 LXXXII. 
 
 THE SAME 
 
 (Continued}. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Thy ways were not my ways. Thy life was peace, 
 And mine has been a battle. Thou didst store 
 Thy soul's wealth sternly to a sure increase, 
 And thy revenue's much still swelled to more. 
 Thou squanderedst nothing on the pomp of war, 
 The lust of glory. No mad covetous eyes 
 Were thine upon thy neighbour's lands afar, 
 His wealth, his wife, his fenceless vanities. 
 Thou wert a brave, just man, whom all men knew 
 And trusted, and some loved, and thou to me 
 Wert as a tower of strength, a sanctuary 
 To which I fled from the world's maddened crew, 
 Wounded by me, and there with bloodstained hands 
 Clung to the altar of thy innocence.
 
 96 THE LOVE SONNETS 
 
 LXXXIII. 
 THE LIMIT 
 
 OF HUMAN KNOWLEDGE. 
 
 There is a vice in the world's reasoning. Man 
 
 Has conquered knowledge. He has conquered 
 
 He has traced out the universal plan [power ; 
 
 Of the earth's being ; and in this last hour 
 
 He has unmade the God which he had made. 
 
 I cannot doubt but he at length has read 
 
 The riddle of the Earth ; that he is wise. 
 
 He also hath dominion chartered 
 
 Over the lands, the oceans, and the skies, 
 
 Which toil and sweat to give him daily bread. 
 
 Knowledge he hath, and power upon the earth, 
 
 And long ago he had himself been God, 
 
 But for the cruel secret of his birth, 
 
 Which gave him kindred with the dust he trod, 
 
 And for the hideous ending of his mirth, 
 
 A fly-blown carrion festering 'neath the sod.
 
 OF PROTEUS. 97 
 
 LXXXIV. 
 THE PRIDE OF UNBELIEF. 
 
 When I complained that I had lost my hope 
 Of life eternal with the eternal God j 
 When I refused to read my horoscope 
 In the unchanging stars, or claim abode 
 With powers and dominations but, poor clod, 
 Clung to the earth and grovelled in my tears, 
 Because I soon must lie beneath the sod 
 And close the little number of my years, 
 Then I was told that pride had barred the way. 
 And raised this foul rebellion in my head. 
 Yet, strange rebellion ! I, but yesterday, 
 Was God's own son hi His own likeness bred. 
 And thrice strange pride ! who thus am cast away 
 And go forth lost and disinherited.
 
 THE LOVE SONNETS 
 
 LXXXV. 
 LAUGHTER AND DEATH. 
 
 There is no laughter in the natural world 
 
 Of beast or fish or bird, though no sad doubt 
 
 Of their futurity to them unfurled 
 
 Has dared to check the mirth-compelling shout. 
 
 The lion roars his solemn thunder out 
 
 To the sleeping woods. The eagle screams her cry. 
 
 Even the lark must strain a serious throat 
 
 To hurl his blest defiance at the sky. 
 
 Fear, anger, jealousy have found a voice. 
 
 Love's pain or rapture the brute bosoms swell. 
 
 Nature has symbols for her nobler joys, 
 
 Her nobler sorrows. Who had dared foretell 
 
 That only man, by some sad mockery, 
 
 Should learn to laugh who learns that he must die ?
 
 OF PROTEUS. 99 
 
 . LXXXVI. 
 WRITTEN IN DISTRESS. 
 
 We sometimes sit in darkness. I long while 
 Have sat there, in a shadow as of death. 
 My friends and comforters no longer smile, 
 And they who grudge me wrongfully my breath 
 Are strong and many. I am bowed beneath 
 A weight of trouble and unjust reproach 
 From many fools and friends of little faith. 
 The world is little worth, yet troubles much. 
 But I am comforted in this, that I, 
 Although my face is darkened to men's eyes 
 And all my life eclipsed with angry wars, 
 Now see things hidden ; and I seem to spy 
 New worlds above my heaven. Night is wise 
 And joy a sun which never guessed the stars.
 
 ioo THE LOVE SONNETS 
 
 LXXXVII. 
 A DISAPPOINTMENT. 
 
 Spring, of a sudden, came to life one day. 
 
 Ere this, the winter had been cold and chill. 
 
 That morning first the summer air did fill 
 
 The world, making bleak March seem almost May. 
 
 The daffodils were blooming golden gay ; 
 
 The birch trees budded purple on the hill ; 
 
 The rose, that clambered up the window-sill, 
 
 Put forth a crimson shoot. All yesterday 
 
 The winds about the casement chilly blew, 
 
 But now the breeze that played about the door, 
 
 So caught the dead leaves that I thought there flew 
 
 Brown butterflies up from the grassy floor. 
 
 But someone said you came not. Ah, too true ! 
 
 And I, I thought that winter reigned once more.
 
 OF PROTEUS. 101 
 
 LXXXVIII. 
 A YEAR AGO. 
 
 A year ago I too was proud of May, 
 
 I too delighted in the blackbird's song. 
 
 When the sun shone my soul made holiday. 
 
 When the rain fell I felt it as a wrong 
 
 Then for me too the world was fresh and young 
 
 Oh what a miracle each bluebell was I 
 
 How my heart leaped in union with my tongue, 
 
 When first I lit upon a stag's horn moss ! 
 
 A year ago Alas, one summer's fire, 
 
 One autumn's chill, one winter's discontent, 
 
 And now one spring of joy and hope deferred 
 
 Have brought me to this pass of undesire 
 
 That I behold May's veil of beauty rent 
 
 And stand unmoved by sun and flower and bird*
 
 102 THE LOVE SONNETS 
 
 LXXXIX. 
 HE IS NOT A POET. 
 
 I would not, if I could, be called a poet. 
 I have no natural love of the " chaste muse." 
 If aught be worth the doing I would do it ; 
 And others, if they will, may tell the news. 
 I care not for their laurels but would choose 
 On the world's field to fight or fall or run. 
 My soul's ambition will not take excuse 
 To play the dial rather than the sun. 
 The faith I held I hold, as when a boy 
 I left my books for cricket bat and gun. 
 The tales of poets are but scholars' theme?-. 
 In my hot youth I held it that a man 
 With heart to dare and stomach to enjoy 
 Had better work to his hand in any plan 
 Of any folly, so the thing were done, 
 Than in the noblest dreaming of mere dreams.
 
 OF PROTEUS. 103 
 
 xc. 
 
 ON THE SHORTNESS OF TIME. 
 
 If I could live without the thought of death, 
 Forgetful of Time's waste, thy soul's decay, 
 I would not ask for other joy than breath 
 With light and sound of birds and the sun's ray. 
 I could sit on untroubled day by day 
 Watching the grass grow, and the wild flowers 
 
 range 
 
 From blue to yellow and from red to grey 
 In natural sequence as the seasons change. 
 I could afford to wait, but for the hurt 
 Of this dull tick of time which chides my ear. 
 But now I dare not sit with loins ungirt 
 And staff unlifted, for death stands too near. 
 I must be up and doing ay, each minute. 
 The grave gives time for rest when we are in it.
 
 104 THE LOVE SONNETS 
 
 XCI. 
 CHANCLEBURY RING. 
 
 Say what you will, there is not in the world 
 A nobler sight than from this upper down. 
 No rugged landscape here, no beauty hurled 
 From its Creator's hand as with a frown j 
 But a green plain on which green hills look down 
 Trim as a garden plot. No other hue 
 Can hence be seen, save here and there the brown 
 Of a square fallow, and the horizon's blue. 
 Dear checker-work of woods, the Sussex weald. 
 If a name thrills me yet of things of earth, 
 That name is thine. How often I have fled 
 To thy deep hedgerows and embraced each field, 
 Each lag, each pasture, fields which gave me birth 
 And saw my youth, and which must hold me dead.
 
 OF PROTEUS. 105 
 
 XCII. 
 SONNET IN ASSONANCE. 
 
 A thousand bluebells blossom in the wood, 
 Shut in a tangled brake of briar roses, 
 And guarded well from every wanton foot, 
 A treasure by no eye of man beholden, 
 No eye but mine. No other tongue hath spoken 
 Out to the joyless world what hidden joys 
 Lie there untasted, mines of wealth unnoted, 
 While a starved world without lives blank and void. 
 Ah, couldst thou know, poor wretch, what I have 
 See what I saw upon that bank enshrined, [known, 
 Soft pity had not wholly left thy soul 
 And tears had dimmed thy hard eyes uninvited. 
 Eyes that are cruel-bright with hunger's bright- 
 Hunger for beauty, solitude, and peace, [ness, 
 There hadst thou found a beauty and a silence, 
 Such as nor tongue can tell nor fancy dream.
 
 106 THE LOVE SONNETS 
 
 XCIII. 
 YOUTH. 
 
 Youth, ageless youth, the old gods' attribute ! 
 
 To inherit cheeks a-tingle with such blood [flute 
 
 As wood nymphs blushed, who to the first-blown 
 
 Went out in endless dancing through the wood. 
 
 To live, and taste of that immortal food 
 
 After the wild day's waste prepared for us 
 
 By deathless hands, and straightway be renewed, 
 
 Like the god's entrails upon Caucasus. 
 
 To rise at dawn with eye and brain and sense 
 
 Clear as the pale green edge where dawn began, 
 
 While each bold thought full shapen should arise, 
 
 Cutting the horizon of experience, 
 
 Sharp as an obelisk. Ah, wretched man, 
 
 'Tis little wonder that the gods are wise.
 
 OF PROTEUS. 107 
 
 XCIV. 
 AGE. 
 
 O Age, thou art the very thief of joy, 
 
 For thou hast rifled many a proud fool 
 
 Of all his passions, hoarded by a rule 
 
 Of stern economy. Him, yet a boy, 
 
 Harsh wisdom governed. Others turned to toy 
 
 With lusty passion. He was chaste and cool 
 
 As a young Dorian in Lycurgus' school. 
 
 Ah me, that thou such souls shouldst dare annoy. 
 
 Thus did he gather him a store of pleasure, 
 
 Nor cared to touch what he so hardly won, 
 
 But led long years of solitary strife ; [treasure, 
 
 And, when the rest should have consumed their 
 
 He thought to sit him in the evening sun 
 
 And taste the sweet fruits of a sober life.
 
 lo8 THE LOVE SONNETS 
 
 XCV. 
 
 THE SAME 
 (Continwd). 
 
 II. 
 
 But them didst come upon him ere he wist, 
 A silent highwayman, and take his all 
 And leave him naked, when the night should fall 
 And all the road was conjured in a mist. 
 Too well thou keepedst thy unholy tryst, 
 As long ago that eastern seneschal 
 Rode all day long to meet at evenfall 
 Him he had fled ere yet the sun uprist. 
 But I have spent me like a prodigal 
 The treasure of my youth, and, long ago, 
 Have eaten husks among the hungry swine, 
 And when I meet thee I will straightway fall 
 Upon thy neck, and if the tears shall flow, 
 They shall be tears of love for thee and thine.
 
 OF PROTEUS. 109 
 
 XCVI. 
 THE VENUS OF MILO. 
 
 What art thou? Woman? Goddess? Aphrodite? 
 Yet never such as thou from the cold foam 
 Of ocean, nor from cloudy heaven might come, 
 Who wast begotten on her bridal night 
 In passionate Earth's womb by Man's delight, 
 When Man was young. I cannot trace in thee 
 Time's handiwork. Say, rather, where-is he 
 For whom thy face was red which is so white ? 
 Thou standest ravished, broken, and thy face 
 Is writ with ancient passions. Thou art dumb 
 To my new love. Yet, whatsoe'er of good, 
 Of crime, of pride, of passion, or of grace 
 In woman is, thou, woman, hast in sum. 
 Earth's archetypal Eve. All Womanhood,
 
 110 THE LOVE SONNETS 
 
 XCVII. 
 WRITTEN AT FLORENCE. 
 
 I. 
 
 O world, in very truth thou art too young, 
 When wilt thou learn to wear the garb of age ? 
 World, with thy covering of yellow flowers, 
 Hast thou forgot what generations sprung 
 Out of thy loins and loved thee and are gone ? 
 Hast thou no place in all their heritage 
 Where thou dost only weep that I may come 
 Nor fear the mockery of thy yellow flowers? 
 O world, in very truth thou art too young. 
 The heroic wealth of passionate emprize 
 Built thee fair cities for thy naked plains. 
 How hast thou set thy summer growth among 
 The broken stones which were their palaces ? 
 Hast thou forgot the darkness where he lies 
 Who made thee beautiful, or have thy bees 
 Found out his grave to build their honeycombs ?
 
 OF PROTEUS. m 
 
 XCVIII. 
 
 THE SAME 
 
 (Continued). 
 
 II. 
 
 O world, in very truth thou art too young, 
 They gave thee love who measured out thy skies, 
 And, when they found for thee another star, 
 Who made a festival and straightway hung 
 The jewel on thy neck. O merry world, 
 Hast thou forgot the glory of those eyes [furled 
 Which first looked love in thine ? Thou hast not 
 One banner of thy bridal car for them. 
 O world, in very truth thou art too young. 
 There was a voice which sang about thy spring, 
 Till winter froze the sweetness of his lips, 
 And lo, the worms had hardly left his tongue 
 Before thy nightingales were come again. 
 O world, what courage hast thou thus to sing ? 
 Say, has thy merriment no secret pain 
 No sudden weariness that thou art young ?
 
 ii3 THE LOVE SONNETS 
 
 XCIX. 
 PALAZZO PAGANI. 
 
 This is the house where, twenty years ago, 
 
 They spent a spring and summer. This shut gate 
 
 Would lead you to the terrace, and below 
 
 To a rose garden long since desolate. 
 
 Here they once lived. How often I have sat 
 
 Till it was dusk among the olive trees, 
 
 Waiting to hear their coming horse-hoofs grate 
 
 Upon the gravel ; till the freshening breeze 
 
 Bore down a sound of voices. Even yet 
 
 A broken echo of their laughter rings 
 
 Through the deserted terraces ; and see, 
 
 While I am speaking, from the parapet 
 
 There is a hand put forth, and some one flings 
 
 Her very window open overhead, 
 
 How sweet it is, this scent of rosemary ! 
 
 These are the last tears I shall ever shed.
 
 OF PROTEUS. 113 
 
 C. 
 
 THE SUBLIME. 
 
 I. 
 
 To stand upon a windy pinnacle, 
 
 Beneath the infinite blue of the blue noon, 
 
 And underfoot a valley terrible 
 
 As that dim gulf, where sense and being swoon 
 
 When the soul parts ; a giant valley strewn 
 
 With giant rocks ; asleep, and vast, and still. 
 
 And far away. The torrent, which has hewn 
 
 His pathway through the entrails of the hill, 
 
 Now crawls along the bottom and anon 
 
 Lifts up his voice, a muffled tremulous roar, 
 
 Borne on the wind an instant, and then gone 
 
 Back to the caverns of the middle air ; 
 
 A voice as of a nation overthrown 
 
 With beat of drums, when hosts have marched to war.
 
 U4 THE LOVE SONNETS 
 
 CI. 
 
 THE SAME 
 (Continutd). 
 
 II. 
 
 Clutching the brink with hands and feet and knees, 
 With trembling heart,and eyes grown strangelydim, 
 A part thyself and parcel of the frieze 
 Of that colossal temple raised to Time, 
 To gaze on horror, till, as in a crime, 
 Thou and the rocks become accomplices. 
 There is no voice, no life 'twixt thee and them. 
 No life ! Yet, look, far down upon the breeze 
 Something has passed across the bosom bare 
 Of the red rocks, a leaf, a shape, a shade. 
 A living shadow ! ay, above thee there, 
 Weaving majestic circles overhead, 
 Others are watching. This is the sublime : 
 To be alone, with eagles in the air.
 
 OF PROTEUS. 115 
 
 CII. 
 A FOREST IN BOSNIA. 
 
 Spirit of Trajan ! What a world is here. 
 What remnant of old Europe in this wood 
 Of life primaeval rude as in the year 
 When thy first legions by the Danube stood. 
 These are the very Dacians they subdued, 
 Swineherds and shepherds clad in skins of deer 
 And fox and marten still, a bestial brood, 
 Than their own swine begotten swinelier. 
 The fair oak-forest, their first heritage, 
 Pastures them still, and still the hollow oak 
 Receives them in its bosom. Still o'erhead 
 Upon the stag-head tops, grown hoar with age, 
 Calm buzzards sit and ancient ravens croak, 
 And all with solemn life is tenanted.
 
 Ij6 THE LOVE SONNETS 
 
 cm. 
 
 ROUMELI HISSAR. 
 
 A SONNET. 
 
 The empire of the East, grown dull to fear 
 By long companionship with angry fate, 
 In silent anguish saw her doom appear 
 In this dark fortress built upon the strait, 
 And Sultan Mahmoud standing at her gate, 
 For she must perish. Hissar many a year 
 Struck terror into all who gazed thereat, 
 Till in his turn the Turk had learned to wear 
 The purple and fine linen of the State, 
 And fell in impotence. These walls to-day, 
 With Judas tree and lilac overgrown, [power 
 Move all men's hearts. For close on barbarous 
 Tread lust and indolence, and then decay
 
 OF PROTEUS. 117 
 
 Till we forgive. The very German boor, 
 Who in his day of fortune moves our scorn, 
 Purged of his slough, in after ages may 
 Invite the tears of nations yet unborn.
 
 u8 THE LOVE SONNETS 
 
 CIV. 
 THE OASIS OF SIDI KHALED. 
 
 How the earth burns ! Each pebble underfoot 
 Is as a living thing with power to wound. 
 The white sand quivers, and the footfall mute 
 Of the slow camels strikes but gives no sound, 
 As though they walked on flame, not solid ground. 
 Tis noon, and the beasts' shadows even have fled 
 Back to their feet, and there is fire around 
 And fire beneath, and overhead the sun. 
 Pitiful heaven ! What is this we view ? 
 Tall trees, a river, pools, where swallows fly, 
 Thickets of oleander where doves coo, 
 Shades, deep as midnight, greenness for tired eyes. 
 Hark, how the light winds in the palm-tops sigh. 
 Oh this is rest. Oh this is paradise.
 
 OF PROTEUS. 119 
 
 cv. 
 
 TO THE BEDOUIN ARABS. 
 
 Children of Shem ! Firstborn of Noah's race, 
 But still forever children ; at the door 
 Of Eden found, unconscious of disgrace, 
 And loitering on while all are gone before ; 
 Too proud to dig ; too careless to be poor ; 
 Taking the gifts of God in thanklessness, 
 Not rendering aught, nor supplicating more, 
 Nor arguing with Him when He hides His face. 
 Yours is the rain and sunshine, and the way 
 Of an old wisdom by our world forgot, 
 The courage of a day which knew not death. 
 Well may we sons of Japhet in dismay 
 Pause in our vain mad fight for life and breath, 
 Beholding you. I bow and reason not.
 
 120 LOVE SONNETS OF PROTEUS. 
 
 CVI. 
 GIBRALTAR. 
 
 Seven weeks of sea, and twice seven days of storm 
 
 Upon the huge Atlantic, and once more 
 
 We ride into still water and the calm 
 
 Of a sweet evening screened by either shore 
 
 Of Spain and Barbary. Our toils are o'er, 
 
 Our exile is accomplished. Once again 
 
 We look on Europe, mistress as of yore 
 
 Of the fair earth and of the hearts of men. 
 
 Ay, this is the famed rock, which Hercules 
 
 And Goth and Moor bequeathed us. . At this door 
 
 England stands sentry. God ! to hear the shrill 
 
 Sweet treble of her fifes upon the breeze i 
 
 And at the summons of the rock gun's roar 
 
 To see her red coats marching from the hill. 
 

 
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