THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES POEMS BY ALEXANDER BLAIR THAW JOHN LANE LONDON AND NEW YORK MDCCCCI Printed by Richard Folkard & Son, Devonshire Street, London, W.C. 95 AUTHOR'S NOTE To the Editors of The Critic, The New England Magazine, The Overland, The Cosmopolitan, and The Atlantic Monthly ', I give my best thanks for their kind permission to republish Poems which have appeared in their Magazines. A. B. T. Santa Barbara, California. r.TRRAHY TABLE OF CONTENTS PAGE With Burning Hearts I When Chaos Dwelt on Earth 2 .To the Great God Pan 3 Time 4 To Homer 5 Love's Quickening Fire 8 The Silent Heart 9 To Shakspeare 15 Shakspeare's Sonnets 16 The Earth Song 17 To Poetry . . 18 Close, Close my Heart 21 Love the Gardener 22 Beyond Sight and Sound 23 A Lyric 25 Through Nights and Days 27 When Love Lay Dying 30 The Life of the Rose 31 The Stream of Life 33 Love's Net 35 Deathless Days 37 The Singer at the Door 39 The Singer Watcheth 41 The Web of Fate 43 The Key 45 In the Wilderness. ...... 47 By this Last Door 49 The Blood of the Rose 51 vii. Vlll TABLE OF CONTENTS PAG* The Life Spirit 53 To F. T 55 In French Forms 57 My Rustic Muse 59 For You and Me 61 You Whispered, Love ...... 62 Under the Sun 63 Give Us More Life 64 Love's Blind Eyes 65 The Sun of Love 67 A Garland for Fame 69 To Robert Louis Stevenson . . . . . 71 In Memoriam Robert Louis Stevenson (The Light house Builder's Son) 72 To a Laureate of Empire 76 Fulfilment 82 Not Peace, but a Sword De Profundis 86 Sursum Corda 89 Our Ship of State 91 A Song of Freedom 95 Sowing 101 A Fragment 106 Form and Freedom 108 Love and Liberty . . . . . . .109 The White Gods no Venus Victrix . 1 1 1 To " The Venus of Milo " (Venus Genetrix) . . 112 An Epilogue 113 Fire and Dew 115 WITH BURNING HEARTS WITH burning hearts for ever we aspire To pour love's precious metal, like pure gold, Within the lips of life's immortal mould. And though our hands have shaken with desire, And spilled some drops, and failed to make entire The perfect image ; even so, behold, We are Life's artisans ! The world were cold But that our hearts have burned with such a fire. And since for beauty's sake my soul hath burned, Though I the perfect mould may never fill, Yet shall I feed that fire, with fire, until, When the great master's hand hath overturned The clay, perchance in these poor drops I spill Shall be my hope ; and I may not be spurned. I B WHEN CHAOS DWELT ON EARTH WHEN chaos dwelt on earth, a mighty god Was born ; an infant god and blind. No gleam Of light was there ; and darkly, as a dream, Did life appear, and fearful shapes that trod One on another down into the sod, Whence others rose, a never-ending stream. And still great Love is blind, and life doth seem To come and go, while he, asleep, doth nod. But lo ! that infant god who seemeth blind, He only from vain dreaming shall awake A wondering world. Oh, must we strive to break These bonds, whereby our vision is confined, Yet many weary years ; or simply take The word of Love for all that lies behind ? TO THE GREAT GOD PAN THOU ancient one of earth, thou god of all Who breathe, hear thou our cry ! Upon this crust Of crumbling earth we lie, as we were thrust, All naked, forth. On thy dark world we fall ; Around thine altar, infant-like, we crawl. Come forth from out thy groves! Surely, thou must ! We cannot see ; our eyes are filled with dust, We hearken, trembling, for thine answering call. We are but mortal, made of this bare mould Whereon we live, and die, and make our moan ; Which thou hast heard, and on thy pipes hast blown Faint answering sounds ! Thy voice, now, as of old, Though seeming but an echo of our own, Remotest secrets of thy heart hath told. 3 TIME TIME is the mighty master of us all : Upon his coming and his going wait Love, and swift death, and day and night, and fate. Princes and flowers before his sickle fall, Who round kings' gardens builds a prison wall ; Beggars by him are brought to high estate : And his alone the skill to modulate Life's broken stops to measures musical. So Life's true singers shall of Time go free, His minstrels, over all the world to range, Till they shall find, past waters deep and strange, Their native land, and that pure liberty, Last born of the quick womb of time and change, Whose breath is life's alternate harmony. 4 TO HOMER BLIND singer of the world's desire, Thy world is ours. Thy song Troy town Built, burned ; and then thy lyre Burst in a blaze of fire Seas shall not drown. First kindled in a woman's eyes, Fire burned high Troy ; and beckoned meri From home; and from the skies The gods. Those flames yet rise, Yea, now as then. Yea, now as then, the world's desire, Though hidden from us, still doth dwell In Helen's heart of fire, And breathes upon thy lyre Her mighty spell. 5 6 TO HOMER Against new gods we wage our wars, New cities build or burn with fire ; And still, beneath the stars, We beat against the bars Of blind desire. Our world is thine. New wars we wage Under old skies. Our richest wine Hath savour of thine age : We write on life's last page; The book was thine. Of life's brave book the leaves are turned, And as we read we wonder how Thy blinded eyes discerned Life's hidden fires, that burned Even then as now. TO HOMER 7 Oh thou who first, when earth was young, Sang fate defied and mortals slain, Upon that honeyed tongue How sweet thy songs, though sung Of mortal pain ! What songs have we thou dost not sing, What fates thy heart hath not foretold ? Breathe thou the songs we bring ! Bees on thy mouth still cling, Now, as of old. LOVE'S QUICKENING FIRE BY the strange virtue of love's quickening fire, Life's early visions, lost and long forgot, In forms material are born, begot Of one swift burning moment of desire, Beauty's first-born to Love ; nor shall expire As do earth's children ; nay, and they shall not Within the fatal urn of Time be caught, Till earth's last singer break the deathless lyre. Conceived in ecstasy ethereal, Begot of passion that swift perisheth, And born of the warm earth, one subtle breath, Suspiring from this source material, Leaps to the sun on wings aerial, And through love's fire escapes the night of death. 8 THE SILENT HEART A BALLADE UPON what mortal lips this air hath stirred, This air we breathe in laughter or with sighs, In what immortal strains, or with what word Of life, that dies not though the sweet song dies ! Though the bright morning stars in the still skies Stay their sweet singing, sphere answering sphere, Hush ! from the world's deep heart doth ever rise That song your silent hearts alone shall hear. How long the stars for all the ages hurled Silent through space, while yet no mortal tongue Had told the secrets that the murmuring world Whispered her many children, as they clung 9 IO THE SILENT HEART Close to her bosom ! Ye whom fate hath flung Prostrate upon the ground ! Oh ye with ear Pressed close to earth, what music thence hath sprung ! That song your silent hearts alone shall hear. Beyond the sound of waters, when the sea Beats with a ceaseless thunder on the shore ; And, with unmeaning moan, eternally The senseless passion of his life shall roar, Raging in froth and foam, and evermore Make hollow sound ; hark, to the listening ear Sweet siren voices on the wide air pour That song your silent hearts alone shall hear. Though these were songs no man might hear, and live, What then J Shall you, by fear of death deterred, THE SILENT HEART II Seek death in life ! Oh ye, who dare to give Life and the world, to catch one strain, unheard, Of more than mortal music ; which hath stirred Men's hearts, beyond life's hope, or death's dark fear ! The world awaiteth still that magic word, That song your silent hearts alone shall hear. Ye who, with silent hearts, shall venture where Those siren songs your very souls beguile, Shall not that spell, flung on the breathless air By lovely lips that sing and ever smile, Be very breath of life ? Oh, reconcile Your hearts to silence ! Your reward is near : Though you be bound with burning thongs the while, That song your silent hearts alone shall hear, 12 THE SILENT HEART Ye who would know what many men have sought, In vain, or finding, found therein but death, Though you are bound with thongs that fate hath wrought, Yet be not mutinous ! Lo, every breath You breathe is life : whereof, what mortal saith It is a burden, his harvest falleth, sere, Ere it be ripe. And still life uttereth That song your silent hearts alone shall hear. Winter comes soon and swift the year grows old, But ye whose hearts are still an hungering, Who, sowing, reap not, but with love untold Give all your treasure for love's offering ! The very winds shall do your garnering : And while our harvests perish with the year, The seed you sow shall make another spring. That song your silent hearts alone shall hear. THE SILENT HEART 13 Ye who, desiring much, have given more ! Lo, all your harvest, on the wide air sown, The winds that scatter shall again restore, An hundred fold ; yea, and to you alone Shall be the secrets of the sweet earth known, Borne on this air, far sounding, faint and clear, In strains that Pan upon his pipes hath blown ; That song your silent hearts alone shall hear. Among the groves, and up the mountain, still We follow, where you lead, with eager feet ; Yet hear we naught, though Echo from the hill Answer your hearts with music wondrous sweet. But you go far, till at the last you meet The very soul of things ; as you draw near The world's deep joy within your hearts shall beat. That song your silent hearts alone shall hear. 14 THE SILENT HEART ENVOI YE who in silence suffer for love's gain, And swift surrender what you buy so dear, This is your gift, which princes seek in vain, That song your silent hearts alone shall hear. TO SHAKSPEARE THY sun, circling our world from age to age, Lighting our little moons that wax and wane, Still blinds our eyes. Ah ! though we strive in vain To pierce that central fire, whose fearful rage And fierce white light beat down upon the stage, Thy throne, oh King, the flames that were thy pain Give us our life ; thy grief becomes our gain ; And our free kingdom, this that was thy cage. Though thou wouldst put aside thy royal crown, Full abdication of thy throne pronounce, Thy wonder-working wand of power put down, With this, thy mighty magic all renounce, Making thyself no more than others are, Still, in our sky, burns but one central star. 1900. IS SHAKSPEARE'S SONNETS IN this thy little book, on every page Where, putting off thy motley, thou wouldst fain The hidden anguish of thy heart assuage, Behold the secrets of thy mortal pain ! Though all the host of earth and hell engage To fix upon thy soul a burning stain, Still upon earth thou heaven's war dost wage, With heavenly fire from burning tortures ta'en. No shame of dark or daylight didst thou shun ; Thy heart's last treasure freely didst thou spend. Nature to thee was ne'er the veiled nun, Whose frail virginity thou must defend : She was thy mistress ; thou, her subject, still Hast all her kingdom subject to thy will. 1900, 16 THE EARTH SONG EARTH sings her song ; wherein, if any sound Of seeming discord dwells, 'tis thus life shows The imperfection of each thing that grows. The sweetest fruit in all earth's garden found Was bitter once. Born from the blackest ground, And blooming on her thorny tree, the rose, The fairest flower that in the garden blows, Bears a sweet balm to heal life's deepest wound. Though weary be our toil, our wanderings long, At last, concealed within life's fallen fruit, May fall some fertile seed, whereof shall shoot Life's healing flower, to make our faint hearts strong. The sweetest herbs have oft a bitter root, And out of grief shall rise our sweetest song. 17 c TO POETRY I THE love I bore all these to thee I bring, And with Love's harvest in my hand I wait, Content to kneel beside the outer gate Of thy dear shrine. And if thou, opening The door, shouldst bid me follow thee, and fling My little handful in, or soon or late, Lo ! it is thine. To thee is consecrate The last grain gleaned of love's own garnering. Oh ! take the gift, and open wide the door : Pierce me with all the magic of thine eyes, And in mine ears thy deathless music pour ! When this my heart within thy bosom lies, But one small seed is added to thy store ; And thy rose-garden fills the farthest skies ! 18 TO POETRY IQ II AH ! hard it is to win thy meed of worth, The consecration born of service true ! The sweetest flower that e'er thy garden knew From Life's dark bed and bosom had its birth : And who would serve thee well upon this earth The inmost heart of the world's life must woo, From Life's hot blood distilling purest dew, Lest Love's bright arrows bring us woe and dearth. I fain would serve thee well, with skill in craft To send each arrow singing to its aim. But, oh ! that some true breath of life may waft My words in secret ways, unknown to fame, So that to one warm heart some slender shaft Bear its swift message from Life's central flame. / C 2 2O TO POETRY III CONDEMN me not that in my heart concealed One mighty love lies hid ; nay, though thy wrath Should stay my footsteps on thy garden path, The seed that blows from summer's richest field Springs where it falls : and so my heart must yield Some scant sweet harvest for Life's aftermath ; Too warm to wait the winter's cold, it hath, Within thy walls, Love's living flower revealed. Though buried deep beneath the winter snows Love's plant may perish not, but still persists, And through each seeming change of life must bring Forth seed, and increase in its kind. So grows The mystery more strange, while Love resists The hand of fate, and summer follows spring. 1895- CLOSE, CLOSE MY HEART CLOSE, close my heart within thy heart hath lain, Some few brief days, some few sweet hours and brief. What fear we then of fate, that black-winged thief? Who feeds on lifeless seeds of scattered grain, Dead hearts, that ne'er have known love's burning pain, The birth of that new life, whose root and leaf And flower and fruit are ours ; yea, ours the grief Of fallen fruit, and tears that fall like rain. Our souls, long severed, now shall never thirst, Since from our hearts, that long in silence sobbed, The very blood of love and life hath burst In one pure stream. Ah love, fate hath not robbed Us of love's fruit, and we are not accurst, Since deep within thy heart my heart hath throbbed. 21 LOVE, THE GARDENER THY beauty was a bud of Love's true graft, Flower-like of birth, as flooding all thy face The quick blood rushed to meet his swift embrace, When to thy heart, deep even to the haft He sent his piercing blade. Oh, perfect craft ! That grievous wound hath added further grace To beauty's self ! And when he set that trace Of tears in those deep eyes the great god laughed. The heavenly gardener gazed into those eyes, And in the look that lay there he hath known His master touch, the life that is his own. So, serving him, I too have looked where lies Thy beauty's source, reaping, where Love hath sown, The heavenly harvests from his wounds that rise. 1897. 22 SINCE I have looked on thee with eyes made clear By love, how shall thy mortal beauty blind Them so ; that they must ever fail to find Thy beauty's heart, or, finding it, still fear Such naked loveliness ! Nay, though thy sheer Bright beauty's self escape me now, unkind Fate cannot be for ever ; I would bind My strength with yearning, so to hold thee near. Thou art, like Aphrodite from the wave Of ocean born, a daughter of the light And shining air. What though these lips yet rave, Mine eyes one day may know Love's second sight ! From Death's dark shadow then these hands shall save Thy beauty's heart, enshrined for earth's delight. 23 24 BEYOND SIGHT AND SOUND II CLASPED to thy heart I feel the living beat Of blood, behold it leaping to thy fair And perfect brow, till even the bright air About thee seems to throb with Love's most sweet, Most ardent fire. In passion's purest heat Thy spirit lives ; but mine thou dost ensnare As in the meshes of thy winding hair; And in thy breath my soul and senses meet. With no more mighty voice sounds that great Word, Which even soul and spirit sundereth, Pierced with the passing of a mystic sword. The wordless music of thy quickening breath Gives body to a soul ; yea, hath restored A spirit unto sense, life unto death. A LYRIC IF grieving be love's guerdon, Art thou then blest, Who bearest but love's burden, By love possessed ; Who on thy heart hast worn This rose, with bloody thorn, Which my poor heart hath torn, staining thy breast ! Were love's bright sun quite vanished, There in the West, And all these shadows banished At love's behest, 25 26 A LYRIC When all is dark around, How should one flower be found That falleth on the ground ? Daylight is best. When night's pale flowers are perished, Since, on thy breast, This rose thy heart hath cherished, Thy hand caressed, Still bears the crimson stain Thy heart from mine hath ta'en One fadeless flower in vain shall fate molest. THROUGH NIGHTS AND DAYS I WHAT though by suffering risen from the ground Into the light of air, yet did I fail To see one glory in the world's dark trail, Until mine eager eyes at last had found The fire of dawn in thine ; and all unbound Thy dark hair covered thee. How shall prevail The sun above thy praise, or speech avail To utter it, or song thy praise to sound ! While many silent hours my heart must wait To hear the glory and the upward rush Of the lark's song, which shall at heaven's gate Welcome the dawn, and, with the first faint flush Of the new day, drive forth dark night and fate, My heart lies still beneath love's holy hush. 27 28 THROUGH NIGHTS AND DAYS II LONG, long had I my lonely watch been keeping, With weary eyes awaiting the first spark Of a new day ; and still the nesting lark Was silent : but, as the sad hours went creeping Slowly by, Time, with his swift sickle reaping, Woke me ; and swiftly there thro' all the dark I saw where joyous love hath set his mark, Upon thy mouth ; but lo, thine eyes were weeping! Oh, shall this darkness spread uplifting wings, Or these dark hours that make our night so drear Bring forth the dawn, when we may see full near The vision hid behind the veil of things ? Or must we perish, that we dare to peer Too deep within life's inmost sacred springs ! THROUGH NIGHTS AND DAYS 2 9 III ABOUT my heart thy wondrous hair is wound : And wrapt in those bright bonds thy being clings To mine ; and from those heavenly strings Which thou upon my beating heart hast bound, All trembling in an ecstasy of sound, Rises thy beauty's praise on love's bright wings. So that sweet bird which in high heaven sings, Bears my heart's burden upward from the ground. Thy beauty in my fleeting breath shall live. For I, who long so silent was and dumb, Have caught the secret spell: I am become Thy voice. Almighty Love hath grace, to give To some swift silent joy, but grief to some, And a deep joy, nor dumb nor fugitive. 1899, WHEN LOVE LAY DYING WHEN Love lay dying, and from the world desire Of life and all delight were vanished, Since Beauty too must be earth-banished, A singer laid his heart, a broken lyre, With passion's flowers enwreathed, upon Love's pyre. But Beauty came she whom Love's hand once led Unto the double throne of Life and said, " Let my heart burn to feed Love's holy fire." Then Beauty took the singer's offerings Ere they had perished in that fatal flame ; And wreathed her body with the flowers he gave. Her heart burns still in that sweet song he sings Unto the broken lyre ; how Beauty came, To die with Love, and lived, his life to save. 30 THE LIFE OF THE ROSE " The rose said, ' I am the Yusuf Flower, for my mouth is full of gold and jewels.' I said, ' If thou art the Yusuf Flower, show me a certain sign thereof,' and she made answer, ' Perchance that I am garbed in a blood-drenched garment.' " THE SACRED STREAM OF LIFE YE purple flowers that maidens love so well, What mysteries in your deep blushes dwell, What secrets whispered in the silent night, What hidden things ye know and may not tell ! The lily hideth nothing from the rose, Whose inmost heart the whole wide garden knows Since she doth bear within her bosom white A cruel crimson wound, and from it flows The sacred stream of life. So she doth mount Love's royal colors. Nay, nor stops to count Her loss, while you and all your sisters drink Deep drafts of love from that immortal fount. 33 D 34 THE LIFE OF THE ROSE Ye virgin violets, would you deny The red rose for your queen ? That crimson dye Marks you her subjects still. Ah, though you think ' Tis but for secrets of the distant sky That maidens hold you dear, beneath that pure Bright azure veil you wear, behold, the lure Of love's desire doth lie. So that fair net Of heavenly blue shall serve to make more sure The secret spell of love. Ye maids who wear Love's mystic purple blossoms, oh, beware ! About your hearts your well-loved violet Hath cast love's veil and caught you unaware. LOVE'S NET LOVE'S net is made of divers colors blent ; Crimson the warp, with love's deep passion pent, And wrapped about with fine ethereal threads Of mystic blue, from farthest heaven sent. A double mesh ! Ah ! fast and sure it holds Our hearts at last. Beneath its purple folds The joy of life with love's strange sorrow weds, And all our grief the joy of love beholds. Such mysteries in your sweet blossoms hide Ye purple flowers ! When as the red rose died, Ye violets, thou heavenly heliotrope, How deep you mourned her ! Yet that crimson tide 35 D ~ 2 36 THE LIFE OF THE ROSE Of life flows on. For you the rose hath bled ; You are her heirs, so all the garden said. Her love is yours, and all love's better hope, Whose flower hath never from the garden fled. From life's dull house though love's sweet joy doth fly. Swift as the day, or fate, or flowers that die, Love's hand still holds our hearts in that strange mesh Which fate doth weave beneath the silent sky. Though fate should turn our joy to mute despair, And all the house of life grow dark and bare, Still in the garden groweth ever fresh That flower of love. Oh, let us seek it there ! DEATHLESS DAYS THE House of Life were but a place of gloom Did not that wondrous web fill every room, Whose woof of fleeting day and night is made, Whose warp love's hand did lay upon time's loom. Fate plies the silent shuttle ; aye ! and yet A mightier hand the mystic loom hath set, That these thin threads of shifting light and shade Should hold our throbbing hearts in one weak net. Some souls there be, who, looking on life's wall, Would seek to read the meaning for us all Of sundry subtle pictures, which, they say, Fate weaves within that fabric mystical. 37 38 THE LIFE OF THE ROSE And some there be who all their days have spent In wondering how the stuff was made : they meant To ravel out the darkness, but the day Of love they missed, nor knew they where it went. Ye maids whose hands this wondrous web do bring ! What part is theirs who serve you still and sing The songs first heard within your garden sweet, Content, while your fair arms about them cling, For some few days to lie within the net Of your bright hair ! These days may die, and yet, Like the fair flowers that blossom at your feet, These are the days that Death may not forget. THE SINGER AT THE DOOR " THROUGH golden days Fate's flashing shuttle flies. In loops of light dropped from the very skies Some threads are thrown ; and far beyond the roof Behold the rose-trees in the garden rise ! " All through that warp, which from the rose tree's root Love spins so strong, swift doth the shuttle shoot, And of these golden days weaving a woof Makes a fair net to hold Life's flower and fruit. " Ye maids who wait on Love, to you belong Both fruit and flower : your tender hands are strong To hold that net wherein my heart is caught : Say, would ye sell it for an idle song ? 39 4-O THE LIFE OF THE ROSE " Idle are all my songs, whom Fate immures In this cold house. Yet all my heart is yours, Yours the sweet flowers I had so vainly sought, And that one song which to the end endures." The voice is hushed. Loud, loud Time's loom doth roar Through all the house. But now, at last, the door Bursts open wide. A white hand beckons him, And he goes forth. Hear ye the song once more ? " Oh love, though seeming dark this is not night : Though, as we look upon this wondrous light That makes the golden day, our eyes grow dim, Must we then fear, or fall from Love's last height ? " THE SINGER WATCHETH " ARISE, ye sleepers in the house, arise ! If ye would see the light, before it flies And in the shadow of dark yesterdays To-day is gone where no to-morrows rise. " Think ye the watch without the door mistakes An earth-born vapour for the dawn that breaks Beyond the verge of earthly nights and days ? Can he but dream who all the house awakes ? " And ye fair virgins who Love's fires do keep, Are your lamps filled where noisome vapors creep ? Do you in wantonness our hearts deceive ? And must we wish we might forever sleep ? 41 42 THE LIFE OF THE ROSE " Or do you keep your vigils all in vain, Leading our lives into a tangled skein, While blindly through the night your hands still weave Threads we may break but may not mend again ! " That silken skein is spun with love's deep skill ; The golden bowl to the bright brim you fill. And ere I drink this cup of earth's pure wine Here on sweet earth some precious drops I spill. " Robed in life's garments shall I stand afraid To touch this stuff whereof all life is made, And shall I dare to think the weave too fine, Or blame the Maker, though the stuff be frayed ? " THE WEB OF FATE OH ye, who ponder o'er Life's pictured wall, Tell us the meaning of the flowers that fall, The days that leave Love's shadow on the grass, What say you of these songs and singers all ? What ! When the songs and flowers are all forgot Then you may see the visions Time hath wrought Within these hangings wonderful ! Alas ! Wonder remains, but wisdom cometh not. And ye who study how the stuff was made, Whence came those colors there, so soon to fade ! If dark the web that from Time's loom doth roll Where is the light that casts so deep a shade ? 43 44 THE LIFE OF THE ROSE The whole great fabric just a veil to hide Our eyes that weep ! Is there no other side Which Love's handmaidens see as they unroll The web that Fate this day doth cast aside ? Oh, tell us, thou, who serving Love dost climb, Setting to-day above the days of Time, What are Time's secrets then ? With smiling lips He singeth still a song of simple rhyme ; And bears Fate's mystic web so high that we May follow not, yet the whole fabric see. The light bursts in as through the door he slips : But he is gone ; and gone the garden key. THE KEY " I HEARD a voice; thy white hand beckoned me : The door swung open wide. I saw no key, But through my heart the world's untold desire Poured like a flood as first I looked on thee. " I caught from thy dear lips a spell to ope Life's farthest gates. I am content to grope : The master-key is mine, and this strange fire That burns shall be the light of all my hope. " A single thread still leads me through the maze Love built within thy garden ; all his ways Lead through thine eyes: how shall I fear or doubt, I that have known the wonder of thy gaze ? 45 46 THE LIFE OF THE ROSE " Though I may never hear thy lovely name Within these gates, it burneth as a flame Here in my heart, and never shall die out While flowers bloom to crown Love's endless fame. " Since thou hast led me to thy secret place Beyond the garden wall, still give me grace To keep the golden key, lest Fate's dread powers Should bar me from the heaven of thy face. " Beyond these walls, in earth's great wilderness, Under some spell of deep forgetfulness Though I be lost, let me behold the flowers Wherein love wreaths thy wondrous loveliness." IN THE WILDERNESS " I SERVE thee only : by the living fire That dwells among the roses of desire, Here in the desert let me still deserve Thy heavenly love, and ask no earthly hire ! " Nay, though my path to life's dull house return, This golden key the secret lock shall turn, And I shall win once more a way to serve Thee : yea, and love shall stranger things discern. " For now unto love's wondrous peace thou hast Shown me the way. Aye, though we twain are cast Out from the garden, what sword is there so sharp To part us now or slay us at the last ? 47 48 THE LIFE OF THE ROSE " Though none may break the threads whereof the weft Of fate is woven, yet are we not bereft ; For who shall break the thread of love's strong warp, Or change that look love in thine eyes has left ? " Love made thy hands upon Time's loom to tend, Thine eyes behold Love's weaving hath no end, And though our lives be hither thither tost Love gave thee skill his subtle thread to mend. " Oh love, were life a wilderness of sin, One thread still leadeth to the shrine within, Wreathed all in roses that the years had lost. And violets to veil love's sorrows in." BY THIS LAST DOOR " BY this last door, where still I stand and grope, I found a budding spray of heliotrope : And here I wait, for here or late or soon, Thy hand shall pluck that fragrant flower of hope, " Like to this flower thy heart still constant turns Unto love's sun, whose rosy daybreak bums All day ; and in the lingering afternoon, Lo, to her purple throne love's rose returns. " Borne on the shining wheels of time and change High noon hath gone: here on the heights we range, And far below, a soul bewildering sight, Our life's fair garden lies, a vision strange, 49 E 5O THE LIFE OF THE ROSE " How the swift shadows lengthen, love! Yet see, The falling shades unfold more mystery, Till, through their shifting bars of broken light, Gleams the full length of Time's great tapestry. "Our day slips by: the sun's far slanting rays Throw deeper shade : but to our wondering gaze How clear the vision of the garden there As through the dark'ning hours we walk love's maze! " That thread which in the garden first I found, And followed, groping blindly o'er the ground, Swift as the night leaps through the breathless air, A line of light, that knows no bar nor bound." THE BLOOD OF THE ROSE " WHEN the swift day is gone, hope's distant star Shines through the dark : and must we, borne so far On the dark wings of love's unuttered woes, Hover, still hopeless, here at heaven's bar ! " When that our shadows, lengthening, confuse The threads of love and fate ; when fate doth bruise Our hearts upon Time's loom, and very love Brings us to fear, the way how shall I choose ? " From thy sweet lips half parted in surprise, And the strange light within those silent eyes, Fear came to me, but now they shall reprove My faltering heart and teach me to be wise. SI E 2 52 THE LIFE OF THE ROSE " The light that was must ever be my guide, And lead me still far up the mountain side, By winding paths to win life's perilous slope, that last height, where joy and peace abide. " When the day dieth, ere the sun is set And joy and sorrow merge, behold there yet Poth glow the wondrous light of love's great hope ; And all the earth is robed in violet.