Swing in thy splendour, O silent sun,
Drawing my heart with thee over the west!
Done is its day as thy day is done,
Fallen its quest!
Drawing my heart with thee over the west!
Done is its day as thy day is done,
Fallen its quest!
Swoon into purple and rose—then sink,
Tho' to arise again out of the dawn.
Sink while I praise thee, ere thro' the dark link
Of death I am drawn!
Tho' to arise again out of the dawn.
Sink while I praise thee, ere thro' the dark link
Of death I am drawn!
Sunk? art thou sunken? how great was life!
I like a child could cry for it again—
Cry for its beauty, pang, fleeting and strife,
Its women, its men!
I like a child could cry for it again—
Cry for its beauty, pang, fleeting and strife,
Its women, its men!
For, how I drained it with love and delight!
Opened its heart with the magic of grief!
Reaped every season—its day and its night!
Loved every sheaf!
Opened its heart with the magic of grief!
Reaped every season—its day and its night!
Loved every sheaf!
Aye, not a meadow my step has trod,
Never a flower swung sweet to my face,
Never a heart that was touched of God,
But taught me its grace.
Never a flower swung sweet to my face,
Never a heart that was touched of God,
But taught me its grace.
Off, from my lids then a moment yet,
Fingering Death, for again I must see
Miraged by memory all that I met
Under Time's lee.
Fingering Death, for again I must see
Miraged by memory all that I met
Under Time's lee.
There!... I'm a child again—fair, so fair!
Under the eyes does a marvel not burn?
Speak they not vision, song, frenzy to dare,
That still in me yearn?...
Under the eyes does a marvel not burn?
Speak they not vision, song, frenzy to dare,
That still in me yearn?...
Youth! my wild youth!—O, blood of my heart,
Still you can answer with whirling the thought!
Still like the mountain-born rapid can dart,
Joyous, distraught!...
Still you can answer with whirling the thought!
Still like the mountain-born rapid can dart,
Joyous, distraught!...
Love, and her face again! there by the wood!—
Come thou invisible Dark with thy mask!
Shall I not learn if she lives? and could
I more of thee ask?...
Come thou invisible Dark with thy mask!
Shall I not learn if she lives? and could
I more of thee ask?...
Turn me away from the ashen west,
Where love's sad planet unveils to the dusk.
Something is stealing like light from my breast—
Soul from its husk ...
Where love's sad planet unveils to the dusk.
Something is stealing like light from my breast—
Soul from its husk ...
Soft!... Where the dead feel the buried dead,
Where the high hermit-bell hourly tolls,
Bury me, near to the haunting tread
Of life that o'errolls.
Where the high hermit-bell hourly tolls,
Bury me, near to the haunting tread
Of life that o'errolls.
ON THE MOOR
1
I met a child upon the moor
A-wading down the heather;
She put her hand into my own,
We crossed the fields together.
A-wading down the heather;
She put her hand into my own,
We crossed the fields together.
I led her to her father's door—
A cottage mid the clover.
I left her—and the world grew poor
To me, a childless rover.
A cottage mid the clover.
I left her—and the world grew poor
To me, a childless rover.
2
I met a maid upon the moor,
The morrow was her wedding.
Love lit her eyes with lovelier hues
Than the eve-star was shedding.
The morrow was her wedding.
Love lit her eyes with lovelier hues
Than the eve-star was shedding.
She looked a sweet goodbye to me,
And o'er the stile went singing.
Down all the lonely night I heard
But bridal bells a-ringing.
And o'er the stile went singing.
Down all the lonely night I heard
But bridal bells a-ringing.
3
I met a mother on the moor,
By a new grave a-praying.
The happy swallows in the blue
Upon the winds were playing.
By a new grave a-praying.
The happy swallows in the blue
Upon the winds were playing.
"Would I were in his grave," I said,
"And he beside her standing!"
There was no heart to break if death
For me had made demanding.
"And he beside her standing!"
There was no heart to break if death
For me had made demanding.
HUMAN LOVE
We spoke of God and Fate,
And of that Life—which some await—
Beyond the grave.
"It will be fair," she said,
"But love is here!
I only crave thy breast
Not God's when I am dead.
For He nor wants nor needs
My little love.
But it may be, if I love thee
And those whose sorrow daily bleeds,
He knows—and somehow heeds!"
And of that Life—which some await—
Beyond the grave.
"It will be fair," she said,
"But love is here!
I only crave thy breast
Not God's when I am dead.
For He nor wants nor needs
My little love.
But it may be, if I love thee
And those whose sorrow daily bleeds,
He knows—and somehow heeds!"
OH, GO NOT OUT
Oh, go not out upon the storm,
Go not, my sweet, to Swalchie pool!
A witch tho' she be dead may charm
Thee and befool.
Go not, my sweet, to Swalchie pool!
A witch tho' she be dead may charm
Thee and befool.
A wild night 'tis! her lover's moan,
Down under ooze and salty weed,
She'll make thee hear—and then her own!
Till thou shall heed.
Down under ooze and salty weed,
She'll make thee hear—and then her own!
Till thou shall heed.
And it will suck upon thy heart—
The sorcery within her cry—
Till madness out of thee upstart,
And rage to die.
The sorcery within her cry—
Till madness out of thee upstart,
And rage to die.
For him she loved, she laughed to death!
And as afloat his chill hand lay,
"Ha, ha! to hell I sent his wraith!"
Did she not say?
And as afloat his chill hand lay,
"Ha, ha! to hell I sent his wraith!"
Did she not say?
And from his finger strive to draw
The ring that bound him to her spell?—
But on her closed his hand—she saw ...
Oh, who can tell?
The ring that bound him to her spell?—
But on her closed his hand—she saw ...
Oh, who can tell?
For tho' she strove—tho' she did wail,
The dead hand held her cold and fast:
The tide crawled in o'er rock and swale,
To her at last!
The dead hand held her cold and fast:
The tide crawled in o'er rock and swale,
To her at last!
Down in the pool where she was swept
He holds her—Oh, go not a-near!
For none has heard her cry but wept
And died that year.
He holds her—Oh, go not a-near!
For none has heard her cry but wept
And died that year.
CALL TO YOUR MATE, BOB-WHITE
O call to your mate, bob-white, bob-white,
And I will call to mine.
Call to her by the meadow-gate,
And I will call by the pine.
And I will call to mine.
Call to her by the meadow-gate,
And I will call by the pine.
Tell her the sun is hid, bob-white,
The windy wheat sways west.
Whistle again, call clear and run
To lure her out of her nest.
The windy wheat sways west.
Whistle again, call clear and run
To lure her out of her nest.
For when to the copse she comes, shy bird,
With Mary down the lane
I'll walk, in the dusk of locust tops,
And be her lover again.
With Mary down the lane
I'll walk, in the dusk of locust tops,
And be her lover again.
Ay, we will forget our hearts are old,
And that our hair is gray.
We'll kiss as we kissed at pale sunset
One summer's halcyon day.
And that our hair is gray.
We'll kiss as we kissed at pale sunset
One summer's halcyon day.
That day, can it fade?... ah, bob, bob-white,
Still calling—calling still?
We're coming—a-coming, bent and weighed,
But glad with the old love's thrill!
Still calling—calling still?
We're coming—a-coming, bent and weighed,
But glad with the old love's thrill!
TRANSCENDED
I who was learned in death's lore
Oft held her to my heart
And spoke of days when we should love no more—
In the long dust, apart.
Oft held her to my heart
And spoke of days when we should love no more—
In the long dust, apart.
"Immortal?" No—it could not be,
Spirit with flesh must die.
Tho' heart should pray and hope make endless plea,
Reason would still outcry.
Spirit with flesh must die.
Tho' heart should pray and hope make endless plea,
Reason would still outcry.
She died. They wrapped her in the dust—
I heard the dull clod's dole,
And then I knew she lived—that death's dark lust
Could never touch her soul!
I heard the dull clod's dole,
And then I knew she lived—that death's dark lust
Could never touch her soul!
THE CRY OF EVE
Down the palm-way from Eden in the moist
Midnight lay Eve by her outdriven mate,
Pillowed on lilies that still told the sweet
Of birth within the Garden's ecstasy.
Pitiful round her face that could not lose
Its memory of God's perfecting was strewn
Her troubled hair, and sigh grieved after sigh
Along her loveliness in the white moon.
Sudden her dream, too cruelly impent
With pain, broke and a cry fled shuddering
Into the wounded stillness from her lips.
Then, cold, she fearfully felt for his hand,
While tears, that had before ne'er visited
Her lids with anguish, stinging traced her cheeks.
Midnight lay Eve by her outdriven mate,
Pillowed on lilies that still told the sweet
Of birth within the Garden's ecstasy.
Pitiful round her face that could not lose
Its memory of God's perfecting was strewn
Her troubled hair, and sigh grieved after sigh
Along her loveliness in the white moon.
Sudden her dream, too cruelly impent
With pain, broke and a cry fled shuddering
Into the wounded stillness from her lips.
Then, cold, she fearfully felt for his hand,
While tears, that had before ne'er visited
Her lids with anguish, stinging traced her cheeks.
"Oh, Adam!" then as a wild shadow burst
Her moan on the pale air, "What have I dreamed?
Now do I understand His words, so dim
To creatures that had quivered but with bliss!
Since at the dusk thy kiss to me, and I
Wept at caresses that were once all joy,
I have slept, seeing through Futurity
The uncreated ages visibly!
Foresuffering phantoms crowded in the womb
Of Time, and all with lamentable mien
Accusing thee and me!
And some were far
From birth, without a name, but others near—
Sodom and dark Gomorrah ... from whose flames
Fleeing one turned ... how like her look to mine
When the tree's horror trembled on my taste!
And Nineveh, a city sinking slow
Under a shroud of sandy centuries
That hid me not from the buried cursing eyes
Of women who gave birth! And Babylon,
Upbuilded on our sin but for a day!
Her moan on the pale air, "What have I dreamed?
Now do I understand His words, so dim
To creatures that had quivered but with bliss!
Since at the dusk thy kiss to me, and I
Wept at caresses that were once all joy,
I have slept, seeing through Futurity
The uncreated ages visibly!
Foresuffering phantoms crowded in the womb
Of Time, and all with lamentable mien
Accusing thee and me!
And some were far
From birth, without a name, but others near—
Sodom and dark Gomorrah ... from whose flames
Fleeing one turned ... how like her look to mine
When the tree's horror trembled on my taste!
And Nineveh, a city sinking slow
Under a shroud of sandy centuries
That hid me not from the buried cursing eyes
Of women who gave birth! And Babylon,
Upbuilded on our sin but for a day!
Ah, to be mother of all misery!
To be first-called out of the earth and fail
For a whole world! To shame maternity
For women evermore—women whose tears
Flooding the night, no hope can wipe away!
To see the wings of Death, as, Adam, thou
Hast not, endlessly beating, and to hear
The swooning ages suffer up to God!
And O that birth-cry of a guiltless child!
In it are sounding of our sin and woe,
With prophesy of ill beyond all years!
Yearning for beauty never to be seen—
Beatitude redeemless evermore!
And I whose dream mourned with all motherhood
Must hear it soon! Already do soft skill,
Low-babbled lulls, enticings and quick tones
Of tenderness—that will like light awake
The folded memory children shall bring
Out of the dark—move in me longingly.
Yet thou, Adam, dear fallen thought of God,
Thou, when thou too shall hear humanity
Cry in thy child, wilt groaning wish the world
Back in unsummoned Void! and, woe! wilt fill
God's ear with troubled wonder and unrest!"
To be first-called out of the earth and fail
For a whole world! To shame maternity
For women evermore—women whose tears
Flooding the night, no hope can wipe away!
To see the wings of Death, as, Adam, thou
Hast not, endlessly beating, and to hear
The swooning ages suffer up to God!
And O that birth-cry of a guiltless child!
In it are sounding of our sin and woe,
With prophesy of ill beyond all years!
Yearning for beauty never to be seen—
Beatitude redeemless evermore!
And I whose dream mourned with all motherhood
Must hear it soon! Already do soft skill,
Low-babbled lulls, enticings and quick tones
Of tenderness—that will like light awake
The folded memory children shall bring
Out of the dark—move in me longingly.
Yet thou, Adam, dear fallen thought of God,
Thou, when thou too shall hear humanity
Cry in thy child, wilt groaning wish the world
Back in unsummoned Void! and, woe! wilt fill
God's ear with troubled wonder and unrest!"
Softly he soothed her straying hair, and kissed
The fever from her lips. Over the palms
The sad moon poured her peace into their eyes,
Till Sleep, the angel of forgetfulness,
Folded again her wings above their rest.
The fever from her lips. Over the palms
The sad moon poured her peace into their eyes,
Till Sleep, the angel of forgetfulness,
Folded again her wings above their rest.
THE CHILD GOD GAVE
"Give me a little child
To draw this dreary want out of my breast,"
I cried to God.
"Give, for my days beat wild
With loneliness that will not rest
But under the still sod!"
To draw this dreary want out of my breast,"
I cried to God.
"Give, for my days beat wild
With loneliness that will not rest
But under the still sod!"
It came—with groping lips
And little fingers stealing aimlessly
About my heart.
I was like one who slips
A-sudden into Ecstasy
And thinks ne'er to depart.
And little fingers stealing aimlessly
About my heart.
I was like one who slips
A-sudden into Ecstasy
And thinks ne'er to depart.
"Soon he will smile," I said,
"And babble baby love into my ears—
How it will thrill!"
I waited—Oh, the dread,
The clutching agony, the fears!—
He was so strange and still.
"And babble baby love into my ears—
How it will thrill!"
I waited—Oh, the dread,
The clutching agony, the fears!—
He was so strange and still.
Did I curse God and rave
When they came shrinkingly to tell me 'twas
A witless child?
No ... I ... I only gave
One cry ... just one ... I think ... because ...
You know ... he never smiled.
When they came shrinkingly to tell me 'twas
A witless child?
No ... I ... I only gave
One cry ... just one ... I think ... because ...
You know ... he never smiled.
MOTHER-LOVE
The seraphs would sing to her
And from the River
Dip her cool grails of radiant Life.
The angels would bring to her,
Sadly a-quiver,
Laurels she never had won in earth-strife.
And from the River
Dip her cool grails of radiant Life.
The angels would bring to her,
Sadly a-quiver,
Laurels she never had won in earth-strife.
And often they'd fly with her
O'er the star-spaces—
Silent by worlds where mortals are pent.
Yea, even would sigh with her,
Sigh with wan faces!
When she sat weeping of strange discontent.
O'er the star-spaces—
Silent by worlds where mortals are pent.
Yea, even would sigh with her,
Sigh with wan faces!
When she sat weeping of strange discontent.
But one said, "Why weepest thou
Here in God's heaven—
Is it not fairer than soul can see?"
"'Tis fair, ah!—- but keepest thou
Not me depriven
Of some one—somewhere—who needeth most me?
Here in God's heaven—
Is it not fairer than soul can see?"
"'Tis fair, ah!—- but keepest thou
Not me depriven
Of some one—somewhere—who needeth most me?
For tho' the day never fades
Over these meadows,
Tho' He has robed me and crowned—yet, yet!
Some love-fear for ever shades
All with sere shadows—
Had I no child there—whom I forget?"
Over these meadows,
Tho' He has robed me and crowned—yet, yet!
Some love-fear for ever shades
All with sere shadows—
Had I no child there—whom I forget?"
ASHORE
What are the heaths and hills to me?
I'm a-longing for the sea!
What are the flowers that dapple the dell,
And the ripple of swallow-wings over the dusk;
What are the church and the folk who tell
Their hearts to God?—my heart is a husk!
(I'm a-longing for the sea!)
I'm a-longing for the sea!
What are the flowers that dapple the dell,
And the ripple of swallow-wings over the dusk;
What are the church and the folk who tell
Their hearts to God?—my heart is a husk!
(I'm a-longing for the sea!)
Aye! for there is no peace to me—
But on the peaceless sea!
Never a child was glad at my knee,
And the soul of a woman has never been mine.
What can a woman's kisses be?—
I fear to think how her arms would twine,
(I'm a-longing for the sea!)
But on the peaceless sea!
Never a child was glad at my knee,
And the soul of a woman has never been mine.
What can a woman's kisses be?—
I fear to think how her arms would twine,
(I'm a-longing for the sea!)
So, not a home and ease for me—
But still the homeless sea!
Where I may swing my sorrow to sleep
In a hammock hung o'er the voice of the waves,
Where I may wake when the tempests heap
And hurl their hate—and a brave ship saves.
(I'm a-longing for the sea!)
But still the homeless sea!
Where I may swing my sorrow to sleep
In a hammock hung o'er the voice of the waves,
Where I may wake when the tempests heap
And hurl their hate—and a brave ship saves.
(I'm a-longing for the sea!)
Then when I die, a grave for me—
But in the graveless sea!
Where is no stone for an eye to spell
Thro' the lichen a name, a date and a verse.
Let me be laid in the deeps that swell
And sigh and wander—an ocean hearse!
(I'm a-longing for the sea!)
But in the graveless sea!
Where is no stone for an eye to spell
Thro' the lichen a name, a date and a verse.
Let me be laid in the deeps that swell
And sigh and wander—an ocean hearse!
(I'm a-longing for the sea!)
LOVE'S WAY TO CHILDHOOD
We are not lovers, you and I,
Upon this sunny lane,
But children who have never known
Love's joy or pain.
Upon this sunny lane,
But children who have never known
Love's joy or pain.
The flowers we pass, the summer brook,
The bird that o'er us darts—
We do not know 'tis they that thrill
Our childish hearts.
The bird that o'er us darts—
We do not know 'tis they that thrill
Our childish hearts.
The earth-things have no name for us,
The ploughing means no more
Than that they like to walk the fields
Who plough them o'er.
The ploughing means no more
Than that they like to walk the fields
Who plough them o'er.
The road, the wood, the heaven, the hills
Are not a World to-day—
But just a place God's made for us
In which to play.
Are not a World to-day—
But just a place God's made for us
In which to play.
LISSETTE
Oh ... there was love in her heart—no doubt of it—
Under the anger.
But see what came out of it!
Under the anger.
But see what came out of it!
Not a knave, he!—A Romeo rhyme-smatterer,
Cloaking in languor
And heartache to flatter her.
Cloaking in languor
And heartache to flatter her.
And just as a woman will—even the best of them—
She yielded—brittle.
God spare me the rest of them!
She yielded—brittle.
God spare me the rest of them!
Aye! though 'twas but kisses—she swore!—he had of her.
For, was it little?
She thought 'twas not bad of her,
For, was it little?
She thought 'twas not bad of her,
But—"You are mine, and blood is inflammable,
Flaunty Lissette!"
My rage was undammable....
Flaunty Lissette!"
My rage was undammable....
Could a stilletto's one prick be prettier?
Look at the gaping.
No?—then you're her pitier!
Look at the gaping.
No?—then you're her pitier!
Pah! she's the better, and I ... I'm your prisoner.
Loose me the strapping—
I'll lay one more kiss on her.
Loose me the strapping—
I'll lay one more kiss on her.
TEARLESS
Do women weep when men have died?
It cannot be!
For I have sat here by his side,
Breathing dear names against his face,
That he must list to were his place
Over God's throne—
Yet have I wept no tear and made no moan.
It cannot be!
For I have sat here by his side,
Breathing dear names against his face,
That he must list to were his place
Over God's throne—
Yet have I wept no tear and made no moan.
No! but to lids, that gaze stone-wide,
Grief seems in vain.
Do women weep?—I was his bride—
They brought him to me cold and pale—
Upon his lids I saw the trail
Of deathly pain.
They said, "Her tears will fall like Autumn rain."
Grief seems in vain.
Do women weep?—I was his bride—
They brought him to me cold and pale—
Upon his lids I saw the trail
Of deathly pain.
They said, "Her tears will fall like Autumn rain."
I cannot weep! Not if hot tears,
Dropped on his lips,
Might burn him back to life and years
Of yearning love, would any rise
To flood the anguish from my eyes—
And I'm his bride!
Ah me, do women weep when men have died?
Dropped on his lips,
Might burn him back to life and years
Of yearning love, would any rise
To flood the anguish from my eyes—
And I'm his bride!
Ah me, do women weep when men have died?
THE LIGHTHOUSEMAN
When at evening smothered lightnings
Burn the clouds with opal fires;
When the stars forget to glisten,
And the winds refuse to listen
To the song of my desires,
Oh, my love, unto thee!
Burn the clouds with opal fires;
When the stars forget to glisten,
And the winds refuse to listen
To the song of my desires,
Oh, my love, unto thee!
When the livid breakers angered
Churn against my stormy tower;
When the petrel flying faster
Brings an omen to the master
Of his vessel's fated hour—
Oh, the reefs! ah, the sea!
Churn against my stormy tower;
When the petrel flying faster
Brings an omen to the master
Of his vessel's fated hour—
Oh, the reefs! ah, the sea!
Then I climb the climbing stairway,
Turn the light across the storm;
You are watching, fisher-maiden,
For the token flashes laden
With a love death could not harm—
Lo, they come, swift and free!
Turn the light across the storm;
You are watching, fisher-maiden,
For the token flashes laden
With a love death could not harm—
Lo, they come, swift and free!
One—that means, "I think of thee!"
Two—"I swear me thine!"
Three—Ah, hear me tho' you sleep!—
Is, "Love, I know thee mine!"
Thro' the darkness, One, Two, Three,
All the night they sweep:
Thro' raging darkness o'er the deep,
One—and Two—and Three.
Two—"I swear me thine!"
Three—Ah, hear me tho' you sleep!—
Is, "Love, I know thee mine!"
Thro' the darkness, One, Two, Three,
All the night they sweep:
Thro' raging darkness o'er the deep,
One—and Two—and Three.
BY THE INDUS
Thou art late, O Moon,
Late,
I have waited thee long.
The nightingale's flown to her nest,
Sated with song.
The champak hath no odour more
To pour on the wind as he passeth o'er—
But my heart it will not rest.
Late,
I have waited thee long.
The nightingale's flown to her nest,
Sated with song.
The champak hath no odour more
To pour on the wind as he passeth o'er—
But my heart it will not rest.
Thou art late, O Love,
Late,
For the moon is a-wane.
The kusa-grass sighs with my sighs,
Burns with my pain.
The lotus leans her head on the stream—
Shall I not lean to thy breast and dream,
Dream ere the night-cool dies?
Late,
For the moon is a-wane.
The kusa-grass sighs with my sighs,
Burns with my pain.
The lotus leans her head on the stream—
Shall I not lean to thy breast and dream,
Dream ere the night-cool dies?
Thou art late, O Death,
Late,
For he did not come!
A pariah is my heart,
Cast from him—dumb!
I cannot cry in the jungle's deep—
Is it not time for Nirvana's sleep?
O Death, strike with thy dart!
Late,
For he did not come!
A pariah is my heart,
Cast from him—dumb!
I cannot cry in the jungle's deep—
Is it not time for Nirvana's sleep?
O Death, strike with thy dart!
FROM ONE BLIND
I cannot say thy cheek is like the rose,
Thy hair ripple of sunbeams, and thine eyes
Violets, April-rich and sprung of God.
My barren gaze can never know what throes
Such boons of beauty waken, tho' I rise
Each day a-tremble with the ruthless hope
That light will pierce my useless lids—then grope
Till night, blind as the worm within his clod.
Thy hair ripple of sunbeams, and thine eyes
Violets, April-rich and sprung of God.
My barren gaze can never know what throes
Such boons of beauty waken, tho' I rise
Each day a-tremble with the ruthless hope
That light will pierce my useless lids—then grope
Till night, blind as the worm within his clod.
Yet unto me thou are not less divine,
I touch thy cheek—and know the mystery hid
Within the twilight breeze; I smoothe thy hair
And understand how slipping hours may twine
Themselves into eternity: yea, rid
Of all but love, I kiss thine eyes and seem
To see all beauty God Himself may dream.
Why then should I o'ermuch for earth-sight care?
I touch thy cheek—and know the mystery hid
Within the twilight breeze; I smoothe thy hair
And understand how slipping hours may twine
Themselves into eternity: yea, rid
Of all but love, I kiss thine eyes and seem
To see all beauty God Himself may dream.
Why then should I o'ermuch for earth-sight care?
AT THE FALL OF ROME
A.D. 455
Drink to Death, drink!
He's god o' the world.
Up with the cup—
Let no man shiver!
Up with the cup—
Let no man shrink!
Drink to death,
He's lord o' the breath
Of mortals hurled from the world
Into Oblivion's river!
He's god o' the world.
Up with the cup—
Let no man shiver!
Up with the cup—
Let no man shrink!
Drink to death,
He's lord o' the breath
Of mortals hurled from the world
Into Oblivion's river!
Drink to Death, aye!
And then—to the dust!
Fill with a will—
And quaff like a lover!
Fill with a will—
Who dares a Nay!
Drink to Death!...
He lies who saith
That life is just—'tis a crust
Tossed to a slave in his hover!
And then—to the dust!
Fill with a will—
And quaff like a lover!
Fill with a will—
Who dares a Nay!
Drink to Death!...
He lies who saith
That life is just—'tis a crust
Tossed to a slave in his hover!
Drink to Death!—So!
Who recks for the rest?
Love is above—
Or Hate, what matter?
Love is above—
Or Hell below.
Drink to Death,
For vile is the peth
Of Rome, and Shame is her name!
Then drink, and the goblet shatter!
Who recks for the rest?
Love is above—
Or Hate, what matter?
Love is above—
Or Hell below.
Drink to Death,
For vile is the peth
Of Rome, and Shame is her name!
Then drink, and the goblet shatter!
PEACELESS LOVE
I say unto all hearts that cannot rest
For want of love, for beating loud and lonely,
Pray the great Mercy-God to give you only
Love that is passionless within the breast.
For want of love, for beating loud and lonely,
Pray the great Mercy-God to give you only
Love that is passionless within the breast.
Pray that it may not be a haunting fire,
A vision that shall steal insatiably
All beauteous content, all sweet desire,
From faith and dream, star, flower, and song, and sea.
A vision that shall steal insatiably
All beauteous content, all sweet desire,
From faith and dream, star, flower, and song, and sea.
But seek that soul and soul may meet together,
Knowing they have for ever been but one—
Meet and be surest when ill's chartless weather
Drives blinding gales of doubt across their sun.
Pray—pray! lest love uptorn shall seem as nether
Hell-hate and rage beyond oblivion.
Knowing they have for ever been but one—
Meet and be surest when ill's chartless weather
Drives blinding gales of doubt across their sun.
Pray—pray! lest love uptorn shall seem as nether
Hell-hate and rage beyond oblivion.
SUNDERED
God who can bind the stars eternally
With but a breath of spirit speech, a thought;
Who can within earth's arms lay the mad sea
Unserverably, and count it as sheer nought—
With His All-might can bind not you and me.
With but a breath of spirit speech, a thought;
Who can within earth's arms lay the mad sea
Unserverably, and count it as sheer nought—
With His All-might can bind not you and me.
For though he pressed us heart to burning heart,
Knowing this fatal spell that so enthralls,
Still would our souls, unhelpably apart,
Stand aliens—beating fierce against the walls
Of dark unsympathies that 'tween us start.
Stands aliens, aye, and would! tho' we should meet
Beyond the oblivion of unnumbered births—
Upon some world where Time cannot repeat
The feeblest syllable that once was earth's.
Knowing this fatal spell that so enthralls,
Still would our souls, unhelpably apart,
Stand aliens—beating fierce against the walls
Of dark unsympathies that 'tween us start.
Stands aliens, aye, and would! tho' we should meet
Beyond the oblivion of unnumbered births—
Upon some world where Time cannot repeat
The feeblest syllable that once was earth's.
WITH OMAR
I sat with Omar by the Tavern door
Musing the mystery of mortals o'er,
And soon with answers alternate we strove
Whether, beyond death, Life hath any shore.
Musing the mystery of mortals o'er,
And soon with answers alternate we strove
Whether, beyond death, Life hath any shore.
"Come, fill the cup," said he. "In the fire of Spring
Your Winter-garment of Repentance fling.
The Bird of Time has but a little way
To flutter—and the Bird is on the Wing."
Your Winter-garment of Repentance fling.
The Bird of Time has but a little way
To flutter—and the Bird is on the Wing."
"The Bird of Time?" I answered. "Then have I
No heart for Wine. Must we not cross the Sky
Unto Eternity upon his wings—
Or, failing, fall into the Gulf and die?"
No heart for Wine. Must we not cross the Sky
Unto Eternity upon his wings—
Or, failing, fall into the Gulf and die?"
"So some for the Glories of this World; and some
Sigh for the Prophet's Paradise to come;
But you, Friend, take the Cash—the Credit leave,
Nor heed the rumble of a distant Drum!"
Sigh for the Prophet's Paradise to come;
But you, Friend, take the Cash—the Credit leave,
Nor heed the rumble of a distant Drum!"
"What, take the Cash and let the Credit go?
Spend all upon the Wine the while I know
A possible To-morrow may bring thirst
For Drink but Credit then shall cause to flow?"
Spend all upon the Wine the while I know
A possible To-morrow may bring thirst
For Drink but Credit then shall cause to flow?"
"Yea, make the most of what you yet may spend,
Before we too into the Dust descend;
Dust unto Dust, and under Dust, to lie,
Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and—sans End!"
Before we too into the Dust descend;
Dust unto Dust, and under Dust, to lie,
Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and—sans End!"
"Into the Dust we shall descend—we must.
But can the soul not break the crumbling Crust
In which he is encaged? To hope or to
Despair he will—which is more wise or just?"
But can the soul not break the crumbling Crust
In which he is encaged? To hope or to
Despair he will—which is more wise or just?"
"The worldly hope men set their hearts upon
Turns Ashes—or it prospers: and anon,
Like Snow upon the Desert's dusty Face,
Lighting a little hour or two—is gone."
Turns Ashes—or it prospers: and anon,
Like Snow upon the Desert's dusty Face,
Lighting a little hour or two—is gone."
"Like Snow it comes—to cool one burning Day;
And like it goes—for all our plea or sway.
But flooding tears nor Wine can ever purge
The Vision it has brought to us away."
And like it goes—for all our plea or sway.
But flooding tears nor Wine can ever purge
The Vision it has brought to us away."
"But to this world we come and Why not knowing
Nor Whence, like water willy-nilly flowing;
And out of it, as Wind along the waste,
We know not Whither, willy-nilly blowing."
Nor Whence, like water willy-nilly flowing;
And out of it, as Wind along the waste,
We know not Whither, willy-nilly blowing."
"True, little do we know of Why or Whence.
But is forsooth our Darkness evidence
There is no Light?—the worm may see no star
Tho' heaven with myriad multitudes be dense."
But is forsooth our Darkness evidence
There is no Light?—the worm may see no star
Tho' heaven with myriad multitudes be dense."
"But, all unasked, we're hither hurried Whence?
And, all unasked, we're Whither hurried hence?
O, many a cup of this forbidden Wine
Must drown the memory of that insolence."
And, all unasked, we're Whither hurried hence?
O, many a cup of this forbidden Wine
Must drown the memory of that insolence."
"Yet can not—ever! For it is forbid
Still by that quenchless soul within us hid,
Which cries, 'Feed—feed me not on Wine alone,
For to Immortal Banquets I am bid.'"
Still by that quenchless soul within us hid,
Which cries, 'Feed—feed me not on Wine alone,
For to Immortal Banquets I am bid.'"
"Well oft I think that never blows so red
The Rose as where some buried Caesar bled:
That every Hyacinth the Garden wears
Dropt in her lap from some once lovely Head."
The Rose as where some buried Caesar bled:
That every Hyacinth the Garden wears
Dropt in her lap from some once lovely Head."
"Then if, from the dull Clay thro' with Life's throes,
More beautiful spring Hyacinth and Rose,
Will the great Gard'ner for the uprooted soul
Find Use no sweeter than—useless Repose?"
More beautiful spring Hyacinth and Rose,
Will the great Gard'ner for the uprooted soul
Find Use no sweeter than—useless Repose?"
"We cannot know—so fill the cup that clears
To-day of past regret and future fears:
To-morrow!—Why, To-morrow we may be
Ourselves with yesterday's sev'n thousand Years."
To-day of past regret and future fears:
To-morrow!—Why, To-morrow we may be
Ourselves with yesterday's sev'n thousand Years."
"No Cup there is to bring oblivion
More during than Regret and Fear—no, none!
For Wine that's Wine to-day may change and be
Marah before to-morrow's Sands have run."
More during than Regret and Fear—no, none!
For Wine that's Wine to-day may change and be
Marah before to-morrow's Sands have run."
"Myself when young did eagerly frequent
Doctor and Saint, and heard great argument
About it and about: but evermore
Came out by the same door wherein I went."
Doctor and Saint, and heard great argument
About it and about: but evermore
Came out by the same door wherein I went."
"The doors of Argument may lead Nowhither,
Reason become a Prison where may wither
From sunless eyes the Infinite, from hearts
All Hope, when their sojourn too long is thither."
Reason become a Prison where may wither
From sunless eyes the Infinite, from hearts
All Hope, when their sojourn too long is thither."
"Up from Earth's Centre thro' the Seventh Gate
I rose, and on the throne of Saturn sate,
And many a Knot unravelled by the Road—
But not the Master-knot of Human fate."
I rose, and on the throne of Saturn sate,
And many a Knot unravelled by the Road—
But not the Master-knot of Human fate."
"The Master-knot knows but the Master-hand
That scattered Saturn and his countless Band
Like seeds upon the unplanted heaven's Air:
The Truth we reap from them is Chaff thrice fanned."
That scattered Saturn and his countless Band
Like seeds upon the unplanted heaven's Air:
The Truth we reap from them is Chaff thrice fanned."
"Yet if the Soul can fling the Dust aside
And naked on the air of Heaven ride,
Wer't not a shame—wer't not a shame for him
In this clay carcass crippled to abide?"
And naked on the air of Heaven ride,
Wer't not a shame—wer't not a shame for him
In this clay carcass crippled to abide?"
"No, for a day bound in this Dust may teach
More of the Saki's Mind than we can reach
Through aeons mounting still from Sky to Sky—
May open through all Mystery a breach."
More of the Saki's Mind than we can reach
Through aeons mounting still from Sky to Sky—
May open through all Mystery a breach."
"You speak as if Existence closing your
Account and mine should know the like no more;
The Eternal Saki from that Bowl has poured
Millions of bubbles like us, and will pour."
Account and mine should know the like no more;
The Eternal Saki from that Bowl has poured
Millions of bubbles like us, and will pour."
"Bubbles we are, pricked by the point of Death.
But, in each bubble, hope there dwells a Breath
That lifts it and at last to Freedom flies,
And o'er all heights of Heaven wandereth."
But, in each bubble, hope there dwells a Breath
That lifts it and at last to Freedom flies,
And o'er all heights of Heaven wandereth."
"A moment's halt—a momentary taste
Of Being from the Well amid the Waste—
And Lo!—the phantom Caravan has reached
The Nothing it set out from—Oh, make haste!"
Of Being from the Well amid the Waste—
And Lo!—the phantom Caravan has reached
The Nothing it set out from—Oh, make haste!"
"And yet it should be—it should be that we
Who drink shall drink of Immortality.
The Master of the Well has much to spare:
Will He say, 'Taste'—then shall we no more be?"
Who drink shall drink of Immortality.
The Master of the Well has much to spare:
Will He say, 'Taste'—then shall we no more be?"
"The Moving Finger writes; and having writ,
Moves on; nor all your Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a line,
Nor all your tears wash out a word of it."
Moves on; nor all your Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a line,
Nor all your tears wash out a word of it."
"And—were it otherwise?... We might erase
The Letter of some Sorrow in whose place
No other sounding, we should fail to spell
The Heart which yearns behind the mock-world's face."
The Letter of some Sorrow in whose place
No other sounding, we should fail to spell
The Heart which yearns behind the mock-world's face."
"Well, this I know; whether the one True Light
Kindle to Love, or Wrath—consume me quite,
One flash of it within the Tavern caught
Better than in the Temple lost outright."
Kindle to Love, or Wrath—consume me quite,
One flash of it within the Tavern caught
Better than in the Temple lost outright."
"In Temple or in Tavern 't may be lost.
And everywhere that Love hath any Cost
It may be found; the Wrath it seems is but
A Cloud whose Dew should make its power most."
And everywhere that Love hath any Cost
It may be found; the Wrath it seems is but
A Cloud whose Dew should make its power most."
"But see His Presence thro' Creation's veins,
Running Quicksilver-like eludes your pains;
Taking all shapes from Mah to Mahi; and
They change and perish all—but He remains."
Running Quicksilver-like eludes your pains;
Taking all shapes from Mah to Mahi; and
They change and perish all—but He remains."
"All—it may be. Yet lie to sleep, and lo,
The soul seems quenched in Darkness—is it so?
Rather believe what seemeth not than seems
Of Death—until we know—until we know."
The soul seems quenched in Darkness—is it so?
Rather believe what seemeth not than seems
Of Death—until we know—until we know."
"So wastes the Hour—gone in the vain pursuit
Of This and That we strive o'er and dispute.
Better be jocund with the fruitful Grape
Than sadden after none, or bitter Fruit."
Of This and That we strive o'er and dispute.
Better be jocund with the fruitful Grape
Than sadden after none, or bitter Fruit."
"Better—unless we hope the Shadow 's thrown
Across our Path by glories of the Unknown
Lest we may think we have no more to live
And bide content with dim-lit Earth alone."
Across our Path by glories of the Unknown
Lest we may think we have no more to live
And bide content with dim-lit Earth alone."
"Then, strange, is't not? that of the myriads who
Before us passed the door of Darkness through
Not one returns to tell us of the Road,
Which to discover we must travel too?"
Before us passed the door of Darkness through
Not one returns to tell us of the Road,
Which to discover we must travel too?"
"Such is the ban! but even though we heard
Love in Life's All we still should crave the word
Of one returned. Yet none is sure, we know,
Though they lie deep, they are by Death deterred."
Love in Life's All we still should crave the word
Of one returned. Yet none is sure, we know,
Though they lie deep, they are by Death deterred."
"Send then thy Soul through the Invisible
Some letter of the After-life to spell:
And by and by thy Soul returned to thee
But answers, 'I myself am Heaven and Hell.'"
Some letter of the After-life to spell:
And by and by thy Soul returned to thee
But answers, 'I myself am Heaven and Hell.'"
"From the Invisible, he does. But sent
Through Earth where living Goodness though 'tis blent
With Evil dures, may he not read the Voice,
'To make thee but for Death were toil ill-spent'?"
Through Earth where living Goodness though 'tis blent
With Evil dures, may he not read the Voice,
'To make thee but for Death were toil ill-spent'?"
"Well, when the Angel of the darker drink
At last shall find us by the river-brink,
And offering his Cup invite our souls
Forth to our lips to quaff, we shall not shrink."
At last shall find us by the river-brink,
And offering his Cup invite our souls
Forth to our lips to quaff, we shall not shrink."
"No. But if in the sable Cup we knew
Death without waking were the fateful brew,
Nobler it were to curse as Coward Him
Who roused us into light—then light withdrew."
Death without waking were the fateful brew,
Nobler it were to curse as Coward Him
Who roused us into light—then light withdrew."
"Then thou who didst with pitfall and with gin
Beset the Road I was to wander in,
Thou wilt not with Predestined Evil round
Enmesh, and then impute my fall to sin."
Beset the Road I was to wander in,
Thou wilt not with Predestined Evil round
Enmesh, and then impute my fall to sin."
"He will not. If one evil we endure
To ultimate Debasing, oh, be sure
'Tis not of Him predestined, and the sin
Not His nor ours—but fate's He could not cure."
To ultimate Debasing, oh, be sure
'Tis not of Him predestined, and the sin
Not His nor ours—but fate's He could not cure."
"Yet, ah, that Spring should vanish with the Rose!
That Youth's sweet-scented Manuscript should close!
The Nightingale that on the branches sang—
Ah, whence, and whither flown again, who knows?"
That Youth's sweet-scented Manuscript should close!
The Nightingale that on the branches sang—
Ah, whence, and whither flown again, who knows?"
"So does it seem—no other joys like these!
Yet Summer comes, and Autumn's honoured ease;
And wintry Age, is't ever whisperless
Of that Last Spring, whose Verdure may not cease?"
Yet Summer comes, and Autumn's honoured ease;
And wintry Age, is't ever whisperless
Of that Last Spring, whose Verdure may not cease?"
"Still, would some winged Angel ere too late
Arrest the yet unfolded roll of Fate,
And make the stern Recorder otherwise
Enregister or quite obliterate!"
Arrest the yet unfolded roll of Fate,
And make the stern Recorder otherwise
Enregister or quite obliterate!"
"To otherwise enregister believe
He toils eternally, nor asks Reprieve.
And could Creation perfect from his hands
Have come at Dawn, none overmuch should grieve."
He toils eternally, nor asks Reprieve.
And could Creation perfect from his hands
Have come at Dawn, none overmuch should grieve."
So till the wan and early scene of day
We strove, and silent turned at last away,
Thinking how men in ages yet unborn
Would ask and answer—trust and doubt and pray.
We strove, and silent turned at last away,
Thinking how men in ages yet unborn
Would ask and answer—trust and doubt and pray.
A JAPANESE MOTHER
(In Time of War)