The young stork sleeps in the pine-tree tops,
Down on the brink of the river.
My baby sleeps by the bamboo copse—
The bamboo copse where the rice field stops:
The bamboos sigh and shiver.
Down on the brink of the river.
My baby sleeps by the bamboo copse—
The bamboo copse where the rice field stops:
The bamboos sigh and shiver.
The white fox creeps from his hole in the hill;
I must pray to Inari.
I hear her calling me low and chill—
Low and chill when the wind is still
At night and the skies are starry.
I must pray to Inari.
I hear her calling me low and chill—
Low and chill when the wind is still
At night and the skies are starry.
And ever she says, "He's dead! he's dead!
Your lord who went to battle.
How shall your baby now be fed,
Ukibo fed, with rice and bread—
What if I hush his prattle?"
Your lord who went to battle.
How shall your baby now be fed,
Ukibo fed, with rice and bread—
What if I hush his prattle?"
The red moon rises as I slip back,
And the bamboo stems are swaying.
Inari was deaf—and yet the lack,
The fear and lack, are gone, and the rack,
I know not why—with praying.
And the bamboo stems are swaying.
Inari was deaf—and yet the lack,
The fear and lack, are gone, and the rack,
I know not why—with praying.
For though Inari cared not at all,
Some other god was kinder.
I wonder why he has heard my call,
My giftless call—and what shall befall?...
Hope has but left me blinder!
Some other god was kinder.
I wonder why he has heard my call,
My giftless call—and what shall befall?...
Hope has but left me blinder!
SHINTO
(Miyajima, Japan, 1905)
Lowly temple and torii,
Shrine where the spirits of wind and wave
Find the worship and glory we
Give to the one God great and grave—
Shrine where the spirits of wind and wave
Find the worship and glory we
Give to the one God great and grave—
Lowly temple and torii,
Shrine of the dead, I hang my prayer
Here on your gates—the story see
And answer out of the earth and air.
Shrine of the dead, I hang my prayer
Here on your gates—the story see
And answer out of the earth and air.
For I am Nature's child, and you
Were by the children of Nature built.
Ages have on you smiled—and dew
On you for ages has been spilt—
Were by the children of Nature built.
Ages have on you smiled—and dew
On you for ages has been spilt—
Till you are beautiful as Time
Mossy and mellowing ever makes:
Wrapped as you are in lull—or rhyme
Of sounding drum that sudden breaks.
Mossy and mellowing ever makes:
Wrapped as you are in lull—or rhyme
Of sounding drum that sudden breaks.
This is my prayer then, this, that I
Too may reverence all of life,
Beauty, and power and miss no high
Awe of a world with wonder rife.
Too may reverence all of life,
Beauty, and power and miss no high
Awe of a world with wonder rife.
That I may build in spirit fair
Temples and torii on each place
That I have loved—O hear it, Air,
Ocean and Earth, and grant your grace!
Temples and torii on each place
That I have loved—O hear it, Air,
Ocean and Earth, and grant your grace!
EVOCATION
(Nikko, Japan, 1905)
Weird thro' the mist and cryptomeria
Booms the temple bell,
Down from the tomb of Iëyasu
Yearning, as a knell.
Booms the temple bell,
Down from the tomb of Iëyasu
Yearning, as a knell.
Down from the tomb where many an aeon
Silently has knelt,
Many a pilgrimage of millions—
Still about it felt.
Silently has knelt,
Many a pilgrimage of millions—
Still about it felt.
Still, for see them gather ghostly
Now, as the numb sound
Floats as unearthly necromancy
From the past's dead ground.
Now, as the numb sound
Floats as unearthly necromancy
From the past's dead ground.
See the invisible vast millions,
Hear their soundless feet
Climbing the shrine-ways to the gilded
Carven temple's seat.
Hear their soundless feet
Climbing the shrine-ways to the gilded
Carven temple's seat.
And, one among them—pale among them—
Passes waning by.
What is it tells me mystically
That strange one was I?...
Passes waning by.
What is it tells me mystically
That strange one was I?...
Weird thro' the mist and cryptomeria
Dies the bell—'tis dumb.
After how many lives returning
Shall I hither come?
Dies the bell—'tis dumb.
After how many lives returning
Shall I hither come?
Hither again! and climb the votive
Ever mossy ways?
Who shall the gods be then, the millions,
Meek, entreat or praise?
Ever mossy ways?
Who shall the gods be then, the millions,
Meek, entreat or praise?
THE ATONER
Winter has come in sackcloth and ashes
(Penance for Summer's enverdured sheaves).
Bitterly, cruelly, bleakly he lashes
His limbs that are naked of grass and leaves.
(Penance for Summer's enverdured sheaves).
Bitterly, cruelly, bleakly he lashes
His limbs that are naked of grass and leaves.
He moans in the forest for sins unforgiven
(Sins of the revelrous days of June)—
Moans while the sun drifts dull from the heaven,
Giftless of heat's beshriving boon.
(Sins of the revelrous days of June)—
Moans while the sun drifts dull from the heaven,
Giftless of heat's beshriving boon.
Long must he mourn, and long be his scourging,
(Long will the day-god aloof frown cold),
Long will earth listen the rue of his dirging—
Till the dark beads of his days are told.
(Long will the day-god aloof frown cold),
Long will earth listen the rue of his dirging—
Till the dark beads of his days are told.
INTIMATION
All night I smiled as I slept,
For I heard the March-wind feel
Blindly about in the trees without
For buds to heal.
For I heard the March-wind feel
Blindly about in the trees without
For buds to heal.
All night in dreams, for I smelt,
In the rain-wet woods and fields,
The coming flowers and the glad green hours
That summer yields.
In the rain-wet woods and fields,
The coming flowers and the glad green hours
That summer yields.
And when at dawn I awoke,
At the blue-bird's wooing cheep,
Winter with all its chill and pall
Seemed but a sleep.
At the blue-bird's wooing cheep,
Winter with all its chill and pall
Seemed but a sleep.
IN JULY
This path will tell me where dark daisies dance
To the white sycamores that dell them in;
Where crow and flicker cry melodious din,
And blackberries in ebon ripeness glance
Luscious enticings under briery green.
It will slip under coppice limbs that lean
Brushingly as the slow-belled heifer pants
Toward weedy water-plants
That shade the pool-sunk creek's reluctant trance.
To the white sycamores that dell them in;
Where crow and flicker cry melodious din,
And blackberries in ebon ripeness glance
Luscious enticings under briery green.
It will slip under coppice limbs that lean
Brushingly as the slow-belled heifer pants
Toward weedy water-plants
That shade the pool-sunk creek's reluctant trance.
I shall find bell-flower spires beside the gap
And lady phlox within the hollow's cool;
Cedar with sudden memories of Yule
Above the tangle tipped with blue skullcap.
The high hot mullein fond of the full sun
Will watch and tell the low mint when I've won
The hither wheat where idle breezes nap,
And fluffy quails entrap
Me from their brood that crouch to escape mishap.
And lady phlox within the hollow's cool;
Cedar with sudden memories of Yule
Above the tangle tipped with blue skullcap.
The high hot mullein fond of the full sun
Will watch and tell the low mint when I've won
The hither wheat where idle breezes nap,
And fluffy quails entrap
Me from their brood that crouch to escape mishap.
Then I shall reach the mossy water-way
That gullies the dense hill up to its peak,
There dally listening to the eerie eke
Of drops into cool chalices of clay.
Then on, for elders odorously will steal
My senses till I climb up where they heal
The livid heat of its malingering ray,
And wooingly betray
To memory many a long-forgotten day.
That gullies the dense hill up to its peak,
There dally listening to the eerie eke
Of drops into cool chalices of clay.
Then on, for elders odorously will steal
My senses till I climb up where they heal
The livid heat of its malingering ray,
And wooingly betray
To memory many a long-forgotten day.
There I shall rest within the woody peace
Of afternoon. The bending azure frothed
With silveryness, the sunny pastures swathed,
Fragrant with morn-mown clover and seed-fleece;
The hills where hung mists muse, and Silence calls
To Solitude thro' aged forest halls,
Will waft into me their mysterious ease,
And in the wind's soft cease
I shall hear hintings of eternities.
Of afternoon. The bending azure frothed
With silveryness, the sunny pastures swathed,
Fragrant with morn-mown clover and seed-fleece;
The hills where hung mists muse, and Silence calls
To Solitude thro' aged forest halls,
Will waft into me their mysterious ease,
And in the wind's soft cease
I shall hear hintings of eternities.
FROM ABOVE
What do I care if the trees are bare
And the hills are dark
And the skies are gray.
And the hills are dark
And the skies are gray.
What do I care for chill in the air,
For crows that cark
At the rough wind's way.
For crows that cark
At the rough wind's way.
What do I care for the dead leaves there—
Or the sullen road
By the sullen wood.
Or the sullen road
By the sullen wood.
There's heart in my heart
To bear my load!
So enough, the day is good!
To bear my load!
So enough, the day is good!
SONGS TO A. H. R.
I.
THE WORLD'S, AND MINE
The world may hear
The wind at his trees,
The lark in her skies,
The sea on his leas;
May hear the song rise
From the breast of a woman
And think it as dear
As heaven tho' human.
But I have a music they can never know—
The touch of you, soul of you, heart of you. Oh!
All else that is said or sung 's but a part of you—
Ever to me 'tis so!
The wind at his trees,
The lark in her skies,
The sea on his leas;
May hear the song rise
From the breast of a woman
And think it as dear
As heaven tho' human.
But I have a music they can never know—
The touch of you, soul of you, heart of you. Oh!
All else that is said or sung 's but a part of you—
Ever to me 'tis so!
II.
LOVE-CALL IN SPRING
Not only the lark but the robin too
(Oh, heart o' my heart, come into the wood!)
Is singing the air to gladness new
As the breaking bud
And the freshet's flood!
(Oh, heart o' my heart, come into the wood!)
Is singing the air to gladness new
As the breaking bud
And the freshet's flood!
Not only the peeping grass and the scent—
(Oh, love o' my life, fly unto me here!)
Of violets coming ere April's spent—
But the frog's shrill cheer
And the crow's wild jeer!
(Oh, love o' my life, fly unto me here!)
Of violets coming ere April's spent—
But the frog's shrill cheer
And the crow's wild jeer!
Not only the blue, not only the breeze,
(Oh, soul o' my heart, why tarry so long!)
But sun that is sweeter upon the trees
Than rills that throng
To the brooklet's song!
(Oh, soul o' my heart, why tarry so long!)
But sun that is sweeter upon the trees
Than rills that throng
To the brooklet's song!
Oh, heart o' my heart, oh, heart o' my love,
(Oh soul o' my soul, haste unto me, haste!)
For spring is below and God is above—
But all is a waste
Without thee—Haste!
(Oh soul o' my soul, haste unto me, haste!)
For spring is below and God is above—
But all is a waste
Without thee—Haste!
III.
MATING
The bliss of the wind in the redbud ringing!
What shall we do with the April days!
Kingcups soon will be up and swinging—
What shall we do with May's!
What shall we do with the April days!
Kingcups soon will be up and swinging—
What shall we do with May's!
The cardinal flings, "They are made for mating!"
Out on the bough he flutters, a flame.
Thrush-flutes echo "For mating's elating!
Love is its other name!"
Out on the bough he flutters, a flame.
Thrush-flutes echo "For mating's elating!
Love is its other name!"
They know! know it! but better, oh, better,
Dearest, than ever a bird in Spring,
Know we to make each moment a debtor
Unto love's burgeoning!
Dearest, than ever a bird in Spring,
Know we to make each moment a debtor
Unto love's burgeoning!
IV.
UNTOLD
Could I, a poet,
Implant the truth of you,
Seize it and sow it
As Spring on the world.
There were no need
To fling (forsooth) of you
Fancies that only lovers heed!
No, but unfurled,
The bloom, the sweet of you,
(As unto me they are opened oft)
Would with their beauty's breath repeat of you
All that my heart breathes loud or soft!
Implant the truth of you,
Seize it and sow it
As Spring on the world.
There were no need
To fling (forsooth) of you
Fancies that only lovers heed!
No, but unfurled,
The bloom, the sweet of you,
(As unto me they are opened oft)
Would with their beauty's breath repeat of you
All that my heart breathes loud or soft!
V.
LOVE-WATCH
My love's a guardian-angel
Who camps about thy heart,
Never to flee thine enemy,
Nor from thee turn apart.
Who camps about thy heart,
Never to flee thine enemy,
Nor from thee turn apart.
Whatever dark may shroud thee
And hide thy stars away,
With vigil sweet his wings shall beat
About thee till the day.
And hide thy stars away,
With vigil sweet his wings shall beat
About thee till the day.
VI.
AS YOU ARE
Dark hair—dark eyes—
But heart of sun,
Pity and hope
That rill and run
With flowing fleet
To heal the defeat
Of all Life has undone.
But heart of sun,
Pity and hope
That rill and run
With flowing fleet
To heal the defeat
Of all Life has undone.
Dark hair—dark eyes—
But soul as clear,
Trusty and fair
As e'er drew near
To clasp its mate
And enter the gate
Of Love that casts out fear.
But soul as clear,
Trusty and fair
As e'er drew near
To clasp its mate
And enter the gate
Of Love that casts out fear.
Dark hair—dark eyes—
But, there is seen
In them the most
That earth can mean;
The most that death
Can bring—or breath
There—in the bright Unseen!
But, there is seen
In them the most
That earth can mean;
The most that death
Can bring—or breath
There—in the bright Unseen!
VII.
AT AMALFI
Come to the window, you who are mine.
Waken! the night is calling.
Sit by me here—with the moon's fair shine
Into your deep eyes falling.
Waken! the night is calling.
Sit by me here—with the moon's fair shine
Into your deep eyes falling.
The sea afar is a fearful gloom;
Lean from the casement, listen!
Anear, it breaks with a faery spume,
Spraying the moon-path's glisten.
Lean from the casement, listen!
Anear, it breaks with a faery spume,
Spraying the moon-path's glisten.
The little white town below lies deep
As eternity in slumber.
O, you who are mine, how a glance can reap
Beauties beyond all number!
As eternity in slumber.
O, you who are mine, how a glance can reap
Beauties beyond all number!
"Amalfi!" say it—as the stars set
O'er yon far promontory.
"Amalfi!" ... Shall we ever forget
Even Above this glory?
O'er yon far promontory.
"Amalfi!" ... Shall we ever forget
Even Above this glory?
No; as twin sails at anchor ride,
Our spirits rock together
On a sea of love—lit as this tide
With tenderest star-weather!
Our spirits rock together
On a sea of love—lit as this tide
With tenderest star-weather!
And the quick ecstasy within
Your breast is against me beating.
Amalfi!... Never a night shall win
From God again such fleeting.
Your breast is against me beating.
Amalfi!... Never a night shall win
From God again such fleeting.
Ah—but the dawn is redd'ning up
Over the moon low-dying.
Come, come away—we have drunk the cup:
Ours is the dream undying!
Over the moon low-dying.
Come, come away—we have drunk the cup:
Ours is the dream undying!
VIII.
ON THE PACIFIC
A storm broods far on the foam of the deep;
The moon-path gleams before.
A day and a night, a night and a day,
And the way, love, will be o'er.
The moon-path gleams before.
A day and a night, a night and a day,
And the way, love, will be o'er.
Six thousand wandering miles we have come
And never a sail have seen.
The sky above and the sea below
And the drifting clouds between.
And never a sail have seen.
The sky above and the sea below
And the drifting clouds between.
Yet in our hearts unheaving hope
And light and joy have slept.
Nor ever lonely has seemed the wave
Tho' heaving wild it leapt.
And light and joy have slept.
Nor ever lonely has seemed the wave
Tho' heaving wild it leapt.
For there is talismanic might
Within our vows of love
To breathe us over all seas of life—
On to that Port above
Within our vows of love
To breathe us over all seas of life—
On to that Port above
Where the great Captain of all ships
Shall anchor them or send
Them forth on a vaster Voyage, yea,
On one that shall not end.
Shall anchor them or send
Them forth on a vaster Voyage, yea,
On one that shall not end.
And upon that we two, I think,
Together still shall sail.
O may it be, my own, or may
We perish in death's gale!
Together still shall sail.
O may it be, my own, or may
We perish in death's gale!
THE WINDS
The East Wind is a Bedouin,
And Nimbus is his steed;
Out of the dusk with the lightning's thin
Blue scimitar he flies afar,
Whither his rovings lead.
The Dead Sea waves
And Egypt caves
Of mummied silence laugh
When he mounts to quench the Siroc's stench,
And to wrench
From his clutch the tyrant's staff.
And Nimbus is his steed;
Out of the dusk with the lightning's thin
Blue scimitar he flies afar,
Whither his rovings lead.
The Dead Sea waves
And Egypt caves
Of mummied silence laugh
When he mounts to quench the Siroc's stench,
And to wrench
From his clutch the tyrant's staff.
The West Wind is an Indian brave
Who scours the Autumn's crest.
Dashing the forest down as a slave
He tears the leaves from its limbs and weaves
A maelstrom for his breast.
Out of the night
Crying to fright
The earth he swoops to spoil—
There is furious scathe in the whirl of his wrath,
In his path
There is misery and moil.
Who scours the Autumn's crest.
Dashing the forest down as a slave
He tears the leaves from its limbs and weaves
A maelstrom for his breast.
Out of the night
Crying to fright
The earth he swoops to spoil—
There is furious scathe in the whirl of his wrath,
In his path
There is misery and moil.
The North Wind is a Viking—cold
And cruel, armed with death!
Born in the doomful deep of the old
Ice Sea that froze ere Ymir rose
From Niflheim's ebon breath.
And with him sail
Snow, Frost, and Hail,
Thanes mighty as their lord,
To plunder the shores of Summer's stores—
And his roar's
Like the sound of Chaos' horde.
And cruel, armed with death!
Born in the doomful deep of the old
Ice Sea that froze ere Ymir rose
From Niflheim's ebon breath.
And with him sail
Snow, Frost, and Hail,
Thanes mighty as their lord,
To plunder the shores of Summer's stores—
And his roar's
Like the sound of Chaos' horde.
The South Wind is a Troubadour;
The Spring, his serenade.
Over the mountain, over the moor,
He blows to bloom from the winter's tomb
Blossom and leaf and blade.
He ripples the throat
Of the lark with a note
Of lilting love and bliss,
And the sun and the moon, the night and the noon,
Are a-swoon—
When he woos them with his kiss.
The Spring, his serenade.
Over the mountain, over the moor,
He blows to bloom from the winter's tomb
Blossom and leaf and blade.
He ripples the throat
Of the lark with a note
Of lilting love and bliss,
And the sun and the moon, the night and the noon,
Are a-swoon—
When he woos them with his kiss.
THE DAY-MOON
So wan, so unavailing,
Across the vacant day-blue dimly trailing!
Across the vacant day-blue dimly trailing!
Last night, sphered in thy shining,
A Circe—mystic destinies divining;
A Circe—mystic destinies divining;
To-day but as a feather
Torn from a seraph's wing in sinful weather,
Torn from a seraph's wing in sinful weather,
Down-drifting from the portals
Of Paradise, unto the land of mortals.
Of Paradise, unto the land of mortals.
Yet do I feel thee awing
My heart with mystery, as thy updrawing
My heart with mystery, as thy updrawing
Moves thro' the tides of Ocean
And leaves lorn beaches barren of its motion;
And leaves lorn beaches barren of its motion;
The fisher maiden's prayers—
"For him!—that storms may take not unawares!"
"For him!—that storms may take not unawares!"
So wan, so unavailing,
Across the vacant day-blue dimly trailing!
Across the vacant day-blue dimly trailing!
But Night shall come atoning
Thy phantom life thro' day, and high enthroning
Thy phantom life thro' day, and high enthroning
Thee in her chambers arrassed
With star-hieroglyphs, leave thee unharassed
With star-hieroglyphs, leave thee unharassed
To glide with silvery passion,
Till in earth's shadow swept thy glowings ashen.
Till in earth's shadow swept thy glowings ashen.
TO A SINGING WARBLER
"Beauty! all—all—is beauty?"
Was ever a bird so wrong!
"No young in the nest, no mate, no duty?"
Ribald! is this your song?
Was ever a bird so wrong!
"No young in the nest, no mate, no duty?"
Ribald! is this your song?
"Glad it is ended," are you?
The Spring and its nuptial fear?
"Freedom is better than love?" beware you
There will be May next year!
The Spring and its nuptial fear?
"Freedom is better than love?" beware you
There will be May next year!
"Beauty!" again? still "beauty"?
Wait till the winter comes!
Till kestrel and hungry kite seek booty
And there are so few crumbs!
Wait till the winter comes!
Till kestrel and hungry kite seek booty
And there are so few crumbs!
Wait? nay, fling it unbidden,
The false little song you prate!
Too sweet are its fancies to be chidden,
E'en of the rudest fate!
The false little song you prate!
Too sweet are its fancies to be chidden,
E'en of the rudest fate!
TO THE SEA
Art thou enraged, O sea, with the blue peace
Of heaven, so to uplift thine armèd waves,
Thy billowing rebellion 'gainst its ease,
And with Tartarean mutter from cold caves,
From shuddering profundities where shapes
Of awe glide through entangled leagues of ooze,
To hoot thy watery omens evermore,
And evermore thy moanings interfuse
With seething necromancy and mad lore?
Of heaven, so to uplift thine armèd waves,
Thy billowing rebellion 'gainst its ease,
And with Tartarean mutter from cold caves,
From shuddering profundities where shapes
Of awe glide through entangled leagues of ooze,
To hoot thy watery omens evermore,
And evermore thy moanings interfuse
With seething necromancy and mad lore?
Or, dost thou labour with the drifting bones
Of countless dead, thou mighty Alchemist,
Within whose stormy crucible the stones
Of sunk primordial shores, granite and schist,
Are crumbled by thine all-abrasive beat?
With immemorial chanting to the moon,
And cosmic incantation dost thou crave
Rest to be found not till thy wild be strewn
Frigid and desert over earth's last grave?
Of countless dead, thou mighty Alchemist,
Within whose stormy crucible the stones
Of sunk primordial shores, granite and schist,
Are crumbled by thine all-abrasive beat?
With immemorial chanting to the moon,
And cosmic incantation dost thou crave
Rest to be found not till thy wild be strewn
Frigid and desert over earth's last grave?
Thou seemest with immensity mad, blind—
With raving deaf, with wandering forlorn;
Parent of Demogorgon whose dire mind
Is night and earthquake, shapeless shame and scorn
Of the o'ermounting birth of Harmony.
Bound in thy briny bed and gnawing earth
With foamy writhing and fierce-panted tides,
Thou art as Fate in torment of a dearth
Of black disaster and destruction's strides.
With raving deaf, with wandering forlorn;
Parent of Demogorgon whose dire mind
Is night and earthquake, shapeless shame and scorn
Of the o'ermounting birth of Harmony.
Bound in thy briny bed and gnawing earth
With foamy writhing and fierce-panted tides,
Thou art as Fate in torment of a dearth
Of black disaster and destruction's strides.
And how thou dost drive silence from the world,
Incarnate Motion of all mystery!
Whose waves are fury-wings, whose winds are hurled
Whither thy Ghost tempestuous can see
A desolate apocalypse of death.
Oh, how thou dost drive silence from the world,
With emerald overflowing, waste on waste
Of flashing susurration, dashed and swirled
'Gainst isles and continents and airs o'erspaced!
Incarnate Motion of all mystery!
Whose waves are fury-wings, whose winds are hurled
Whither thy Ghost tempestuous can see
A desolate apocalypse of death.
Oh, how thou dost drive silence from the world,
With emerald overflowing, waste on waste
Of flashing susurration, dashed and swirled
'Gainst isles and continents and airs o'erspaced!
Nay, frustrate Hope art thou of the Unknown,
Gathered from primal mist and firmament;
A surging shape of Life's unfathomed moan,
Whelming humanity with fears unmeant.
Yet do I love thee, O, above all fear,
And loving thee unconquerably trust
The runes that from thy ageless surfing start
Would read, were they revealed, gust upon gust,
That Immortality is might of heart!
Gathered from primal mist and firmament;
A surging shape of Life's unfathomed moan,
Whelming humanity with fears unmeant.
Yet do I love thee, O, above all fear,
And loving thee unconquerably trust
The runes that from thy ageless surfing start
Would read, were they revealed, gust upon gust,
That Immortality is might of heart!
THE DEAD GODS
I thought I plunged into that dire Abyss
Which is Oblivion, the house of Death.
I thought there blew upon my soul the breath
Of time that was but never more can be.
Which is Oblivion, the house of Death.
I thought there blew upon my soul the breath
Of time that was but never more can be.
Ten thousand years I thought I lay within
Its Void, blind, deaf, and motionless, until—
Though with no eye nor ear—I felt the thrill
Of seeing, heard its phantoms move and sigh.
Its Void, blind, deaf, and motionless, until—
Though with no eye nor ear—I felt the thrill
Of seeing, heard its phantoms move and sigh.
First one beside me spoke, in tones that told
He once had been a god,—"Persephone,
Tear from thy brow its withered crown, for we
Are king and queen of Tartarus no more;
He once had been a god,—"Persephone,
Tear from thy brow its withered crown, for we
Are king and queen of Tartarus no more;
And that wan, shrivelled sceptre in thy hand,
Why dost thou clasp it still? Cast it away,
For now it hath no virtue that can sway
Dull shades or drive the Furies to their spoil.
Why dost thou clasp it still? Cast it away,
For now it hath no virtue that can sway
Dull shades or drive the Furies to their spoil.
Cast it away, and give thy palm to mine:
Perchance some unobliterated spark
Of memory shall warm this dismal Dark.
Perchance—vain! vain! love could not light such gloom."
Perchance some unobliterated spark
Of memory shall warm this dismal Dark.
Perchance—vain! vain! love could not light such gloom."
He sank.... Then in great ruin by him moved
Another as in travail of some thought
Near unto birth; and soon from lips distraught
By aged silence, fell, with hollow woe:
Another as in travail of some thought
Near unto birth; and soon from lips distraught
By aged silence, fell, with hollow woe:
"Ah, Pluto, dost thou, one time lord of Styx
And Acheron make moan of night and cold?
Were we upon Olympus as of old
Laughter of thee would rock its festal height.
And Acheron make moan of night and cold?
Were we upon Olympus as of old
Laughter of thee would rock its festal height.
But think, think thee of me, to whom or gloom
Or cold were more unknown than impotence!
See the unhurlèd thunderbolt brought hence
To mock me when I dream I still am Jove!"
Or cold were more unknown than impotence!
See the unhurlèd thunderbolt brought hence
To mock me when I dream I still am Jove!"
Too much it was: I withered in the breath;
And lay again ten thousand lifeless years;
And then my soul shook, woke—and saw three biers
Chiselled of solid night majestically.
And lay again ten thousand lifeless years;
And then my soul shook, woke—and saw three biers
Chiselled of solid night majestically.
The forms outlaid upon them were unwound
As with the silence of eternity.
Numbing repose dwelt o'er them like a sea,
That long hath lost tide, wave and roar, in death.
As with the silence of eternity.
Numbing repose dwelt o'er them like a sea,
That long hath lost tide, wave and roar, in death.
"Ptah, Ammon, and Osiris are their names,"
A spirit hieroglyphed unto my soul,
"Ptah, Ammon, and Osiris—they who stole
The heart of Egypt from the God of gods:
A spirit hieroglyphed unto my soul,
"Ptah, Ammon, and Osiris—they who stole
The heart of Egypt from the God of gods:
"Aye, they! and these;" pointing to many wraiths
That stood around—Baal, Ormuzd, Indra, all
Whom frightened ignorance and sin's appall
Had given birth, close-huddled in despair.
That stood around—Baal, Ormuzd, Indra, all
Whom frightened ignorance and sin's appall
Had given birth, close-huddled in despair.
Their eyes were fixed upon a cloven slope
Down whose descent still other forms a-fresh
From earth were drawn, by the unceasing mesh
Of Time to their irrevocable end.
Down whose descent still other forms a-fresh
From earth were drawn, by the unceasing mesh
Of Time to their irrevocable end.
"They are the gods," one said—"the gods whom men
Still taunt with wails for help."—Then a deep light
Upbore me from the Gulf, and thro' its might
I heard the worlds cry, "God alone is God!"
Still taunt with wails for help."—Then a deep light
Upbore me from the Gulf, and thro' its might
I heard the worlds cry, "God alone is God!"
AT WINTER'S END
The weedy fallows winter-worn,
Where cattle shiver under sodden hay.
The plough-lands long and lorn—
The fading day.
Where cattle shiver under sodden hay.
The plough-lands long and lorn—
The fading day.
The sullen shudder of the brook,
And winds that wring the writhen trees in vain
For drearier sound or look—
The lonely rain.
And winds that wring the writhen trees in vain
For drearier sound or look—
The lonely rain.
The crows that train o'er desert skies
In endless caravans that have no goal
But flight—where darkness flies—
From Pole to Pole.
In endless caravans that have no goal
But flight—where darkness flies—
From Pole to Pole.
The sombre zone of hills around
That shrink in misty mournfulness from sight,
With sunset aureoles crowned—
Before the night.
That shrink in misty mournfulness from sight,
With sunset aureoles crowned—
Before the night.
APRIL
A laughter of wind and a leaping of cloud,
And April, oh, out under the blue!
The brook is awake and the blackbird loud
In the dew!
And April, oh, out under the blue!
The brook is awake and the blackbird loud
In the dew!
But how does the robin high in the beech,
Beside the wood with its shake and toss,
Know it—the frenzy of bluets to reach
Thro' the moss!
Beside the wood with its shake and toss,
Know it—the frenzy of bluets to reach
Thro' the moss!
And where did the lark ever learn his speech?
Up wildly sweet he's over the mead!
Is more than the rapture of earth can teach
In its creed?
Up wildly sweet he's over the mead!
Is more than the rapture of earth can teach
In its creed?
I never shall know—I never shall care!
'Tis, oh, enough to live and to love!
To laugh and warble and dream and dare
Are to prove!
'Tis, oh, enough to live and to love!
To laugh and warble and dream and dare
Are to prove!
AUGUST GUESTS
The wind slipt over the hill
And down the valley.
He dimpled the cheek of the rill
With a cooling kiss.
Then hid on the bank a-glee
And began to rally
The rushes—Oh,
I love the wind for this!
And down the valley.
He dimpled the cheek of the rill
With a cooling kiss.
Then hid on the bank a-glee
And began to rally
The rushes—Oh,
I love the wind for this!
A cloud blew out of the west
And spilt his shower
Upon the lily-bud crest
And the clematis.
Then over the virgin corn
Besprinkled a dower
Of dew-gems—And,
I love the cloud for this!
And spilt his shower
Upon the lily-bud crest
And the clematis.
Then over the virgin corn
Besprinkled a dower
Of dew-gems—And,
I love the cloud for this!
AUTUMN
I know her not by fallen leaves
Or resting heaps of hay;
Or by the sheathing mists of mauve
That soothe the fiery day.
Or resting heaps of hay;
Or by the sheathing mists of mauve
That soothe the fiery day.
I know her not by plumping nuts,
By redded hips and haws,
Or by the silence hanging sad
Under the wind's sere pause.
By redded hips and haws,
Or by the silence hanging sad
Under the wind's sere pause.
But by her sighs I know her well—
They are like Sorrow's breath;
And by this longing, strangely still,
For something after death.
They are like Sorrow's breath;
And by this longing, strangely still,
For something after death.
THE WORLD
Vox desperans.
The World is a wind—on which are blown
All mysteries that are.
Out of a Void it sprang—and to
A Void shall spring, afar.
All mysteries that are.
Out of a Void it sprang—and to
A Void shall spring, afar.
Vox sperans.
The World is Visible God—who is
Its Soul invisible.
There is no Void beyond that He
Abiding fills not full.
Its Soul invisible.
There is no Void beyond that He
Abiding fills not full.
TO THE DOVE
1
Thy mellow passioning amid the leaves
Trembles around me in the summer dusk
That falls along the oatlands' sallow sheaves
And haunts above the runnel's voice a-husk
With plashy willow and bold-wading reed.
The solitude's dim spell it breaketh not,
But softer mourns unto me from the mead
Than airs within the dead primrose's heart,
Or breath of silences in dells begot
To soothe some grief-wan maid with love a-mort.
Trembles around me in the summer dusk
That falls along the oatlands' sallow sheaves
And haunts above the runnel's voice a-husk
With plashy willow and bold-wading reed.
The solitude's dim spell it breaketh not,
But softer mourns unto me from the mead
Than airs within the dead primrose's heart,
Or breath of silences in dells begot
To soothe some grief-wan maid with love a-mort.
2
On many sylvan eves of childhood thou
Didst woo my homeward path with tenderness,
Woo till the awing owlet ceased to cow
With his chill screech of quavering distress.
At phantom midnight wakened I have heard
Thy mated dreams from the wind-eerie elm,
And as a potion medicined and myrrhed,
As an enchantment's runic utterance,
It would draw sleep back to her lulling realm
Over my lids till day should disentrance.
Didst woo my homeward path with tenderness,
Woo till the awing owlet ceased to cow
With his chill screech of quavering distress.
At phantom midnight wakened I have heard
Thy mated dreams from the wind-eerie elm,
And as a potion medicined and myrrhed,
As an enchantment's runic utterance,
It would draw sleep back to her lulling realm
Over my lids till day should disentrance.
3
A priestess art thou of Simplicity,
Who hath one fane—the heaven above thy nest;
One incense—love; one stealing litany
Of peace from rivered vale and upland crest.
Yea, thou art Hers, who makes prayer of the breeze,
Hope of the cool upwelling from sweet soils,
Faith of the dark'ning distance, charities
Of vesper scents, and of the glow-worm's throb
Joy whose first leaping rends the care-wound coils
That would earth of its heavenliness rob.
Who hath one fane—the heaven above thy nest;
One incense—love; one stealing litany
Of peace from rivered vale and upland crest.
Yea, thou art Hers, who makes prayer of the breeze,
Hope of the cool upwelling from sweet soils,
Faith of the dark'ning distance, charities
Of vesper scents, and of the glow-worm's throb
Joy whose first leaping rends the care-wound coils
That would earth of its heavenliness rob.
4
But few, how few her worshippers! For we
Cast at a myriad shrines our souls, to rise
Beliefless, unanointed, bound not free,
To sacrificing a vain sacrifice!
Let thy lone innocence then quickly null
Within our veins doubt-led and wrong desire
Or drugging knowledge that but fills o'erfull
Of feverous mystery the days we drain!
Be thy warm notes like an Orphean lyre
To lead us to life's Arcady again!
Cast at a myriad shrines our souls, to rise
Beliefless, unanointed, bound not free,
To sacrificing a vain sacrifice!
Let thy lone innocence then quickly null
Within our veins doubt-led and wrong desire
Or drugging knowledge that but fills o'erfull
Of feverous mystery the days we drain!
Be thy warm notes like an Orphean lyre
To lead us to life's Arcady again!
AT TINTERN ABBEY
(June, 1903)