O swallow, thou art come at last!
The rain is sweet upon the leaves
Now Winter's wrath is overpast,
A wreath of blossom April weaves.
Swift through the air thy light wings pass,
Young willows droop their garlands green
Over the tranquil pool, thy glass
Where silver lilies float serene,
O songless bird! The cuckoo sings,
Filling the valley with his voice;
The larks, on their exultant wings,
In the blue deep of skies rejoice.
There is more music in thy flight,
Through sun or showers, swift and strong,
A creature of the air and light
Thou art, the very soul of song.
LIGHT
Hills that are bleak and bare
Lit by the light of noon,
Grow like a vision rare
In radiance of the moon.
So have I seen thy face,
Beautiful ever, lit
By some informing grace
Which all transfigured it.
LOVE'S HOUSE
Build for this little hour
A house where Love may sleep,
Some tranquil, fragrant bower.
A place where Grief may weep
Build for a little while,
In thine heart's hidden deep;
A place where Joy may smile
To make the hours fly fast,
And time and tears beguile.
Build not a house to last;
Perishes every flower
When Autumn once is past.
Build for this little hour.
FOREST MURMURS
Lyres of the woods, that awaken
Longings and infinite tears,
Memories stretching, forsaken,
Hands through the mist of the years,
Crowd through the branches that listen,
Shining with tears of the skies,
Dew-silvered branches that glisten,
Pools where the radiance lies,
Lighting a shadowy chamber
With glory of magical dreams,
Pearl, crystal, and wavering amber
In arrowy gleams.
Myriad lyres! O voices
Of Earth, and Ocean, and Air,
The pulse of thy music rejoices
With passion, the heart of despair;
Singing, eternally singing.
Ye are wasted with pain as with fire,
But voyaging ever and winging,
Arrayed in the wings of desire,
Through the ocean of light to the portals
Shining with silver that bar
The house of the deathless immortals,
Divine but afar.
THE CRYSTAL DREAMER
Sweet white mother of rose-white dreams,
Through my windows the song of birds pours in
And the sunlight on to my table streams.
As a clear globe prisons the golden light,
So I prison the dreams you shed on me,
Sweet white mother of dreams rose-white.
In a crystal globe I prison all things:
Sound is frozen to silence there;
Cover me over with wide white wings,
Prison my life in thy crystal sphere,
As a clear globe prisons the golden light,
Sweet white mother of dreams rose-white.
SOLEIL COUCHANT
Love is but a wind that blows
Over waves, or fields of corn,
Floating petals, falling snows,
The swift passing of the dawn.
These are all Love's signs, perchance,
Floating, fragile, drifting things!
Dead leaves are we in the dance,
Moved by his unresting wings.
Love is light within thine eyes,
Dearest! Love is all thy tears.
Let us for this hour be wise:
What have we to hope from years?
TOUT PASSE
Like foam and fire and frost
The hours dissolve and go;
Let not our time be lost.
Though the day seemeth slow,
Its feet are shod with fire.
Ceaseless the minutes flow.
Love, let us slake desire
At Life's deep well. Alas!
Full soon our Youth will tire
And we be mown like grass.
Make of this hour the most,
Ere on light wings it pass
Like foam and fire and frost.
LOVE ALONE
TO RONALD GRAY
Breathe soft, my flute, to-night thy wonted melody
Until, with careful hands, she lift the lattice-bars,
Showing her face among the faces of the stars;
Breathe soft, my flute, to-night till she come forth to me.
The choirs of birds are hushed within their bower of leaves,
But thou must pierce the darkness and the gathered gloom,
Climbing toward the lattice of her little room,
Where the sweet vines have hung their garlands from the eaves.
Surely no cheating dream, nor sightless depth of sleep
Will close her sense to music wrought for her delight;
Bid her come forth, like Cynthia, into the night;
Tell her, my flute, that here I sit alone and weep.
Fill the green orchard paths with music wrought of tears,
With kisses hot, with love my lips have left unshed,
Stretch hands for me through all this darkness to her bed,
Touch her soft hair, and breathe my message in her ears.
Lo! I have gifts for thee, gifts from Amyclae brought,
Shoes for the feet I love, and shawls of scarlet wool,
Come, my beloved! we shall sit beside the pool
And watch within its glass the heavens star-inwrought.
Sleep hath thy mother lapped in heavy shrouds of peace;
Steal forth on silent feet, mine arms leap out for thee....
Shy as the moon she comes and bends her face to me,
Heavy with love to give my heart from love release.
LARK AND NIGHTINGALE
When light wells up from her secret springs
And the stars are quenched in a purer fire,
From the blue of the heavens a blithe bird sings
Of the day's delight and the earth's desire.
Heart of my being, reply, reply!
So Love singeth
Out of the deep of a dawning sky,
A little moment is all he bringeth.
When silver rays into shadows swoon,
A bird sings out of the calm of night
To the wandering sail of the wasted moon
And the stars that jewel the skies with light.
Heart of my being, rejoice, rejoice!
Night hath given
To all thy yearnings one faultless voice,
A prayer to trouble the peace of heaven.
REVENANTS DES ENFANTS
Softly, on little feet that make no sound,
With laughter that one does not hear, they tread
Upon the primroses that star the ground,
Latticed by shade from branches overhead,
Swaying in moonlight; but their footsteps make
A twinkling like the raindrops on the lake.
The shy things that love silence and the night
Are fearless at their coming; as they pass,
Neither the nightingale nor owl take flight,
So gentle is each footfall on the grass;
They are a part of silence, and a part
Of sweetness sprung from tears hid in the heart.
Their faces we may not caress, nor hear
The little bodies that are soft as dreams;
Their life is rounded by another sphere,
They are as frail as shadows seen in streams:
A ripple might efface them, but they keep
Shadows of their existence in our sleep.
AD CINARAM
Sweet, though death may have thee utterly,
Thou art with me:
For when I sleep, mine ear
Wakes for thy voice, to hear
Thee; and I know at last that thou art near.
My soul then seems to put out hands,
At thy commands,
Through the thin veils of flesh
That hold it in a mesh,
For thy two hands to consecrate afresh.
Thoughts that all day are hidden deep
Rise up in sleep:
The reconciling night
Holds thee for my delight,
Beyond the senses or of sound or sight.
PAST
The wind is still
And the night full of sighs.
Hast thou drunk thy fill
Of mine eyes?
Yea, of thine eyes;
But my heart is a-thirst
For what stirred first,
Like a light in the skies
Like a light that flows
Over barriers:
It has come and it goes,
Love full of tears.
SERENADE
Sleep, sleep, curtained round
By dim-coloured tapestries,
Wrought of dreams, nor let the sound
Stir thee of my melodies.
May sleep come to thee as slow
And as soft as falling snow!
Stars set in their spheres
Presage for thee all delight;
Sleep fall soft as tears
Of the stars the dews of night;
All fair things about thee keep,
Music that doth mix with sleep.
Dreams come, shining things,
Through the curtains of thy bed;
Doves fly with soft wings
Round thy golden, drowsy head:
Sleep, dream, dreaming smile,
Curtained from the world awhile.
MEMORY
Sweet as the lutes of love, from fields of sleep
Come murmurs of the rain; and reveries
Haunt the green ways their tryst with eve to keep.
Slumberous music, fragile melodies,
Move in the chiming leaves, like that loved pain,
Which fills the heart with restless memories.
Chime of the leaves and murmur of the rain
In mine own soul there are, and voices sweet,
Which help me the lost moments to regain.
The hours dance round me on their slender feet
With joys that pierce my heart, as keen as spears
Remembered sorrows, pleasures that were fleet
To vanish, or dissolve in dew of tears:
Seeing them thus, I cannot choose but weep.
Surely in this wise God shall reap the years.
Sweet with the fruits of love, from fields of sleep.
L'AUBE
Yea, it is dawn, alas!
Gray is the earth, and cold;
Swift was our night to pass.
Thy hair is like fine gold,
Over the pillows spread
And on the sheet's white fold
The light falls on thine head
And trembles in thine eyes
From which the dreams have fled.
But they keep memories;
Love burnt us up like grass:
Surely Love never dies!
Yea, it is dawn, alas!
DEATH AND MEMORY
Death hath not slain thee all: when twilight spends
Her liquid amber in the latest ebb
Withdrawing, and the day in silence ends,
Expectant of the stars, when through the web
Of woven boughs fall glimmering silver spears,
Our dreaming heart will stir, as if a light
Caress had touched it, and fill up with tears,
Remembering: nor only with the night
Fall that sweet sadness, light in a dark place,
Memory. Shrouded in her shrine of flesh,
The soul sits brooding, veiled of form and face
By Time, and in our mortal nature's mesh
Trammelled, yet sometimes hears the sound of wings
And sees, far off, divine, immortal things.
DEATH AND NATURE
When my poor bones are hearsed in quiet clay,
And final sleep hath sealed my wondering eyes,
The moon as now will sail through tranquil skies;
The soft wind in the meadow-grasses play;
And sacred Eve, with half-closed eyelids, dream;
And Dawn, with rosy fingers, draw the veils
Of silver from her shining face; and gales
Sing loudly; and the rain from eaveshoots stream
With bubbling music. Seek my soul in these;
I am a part of them; and they will keep
Perchance the music which I wrought with tears.
When the moon shines above the silent trees
Your eyes shall see me; and when soft as sleep
Come murmurs of the rain, ah, bend your ears!
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Transcriber's Note:
Obvious misspellings and omissions were corrected.
Uncertain misspellings or ancient words were not corrected.
The book cover image was created by the transcriber and is placed
in the public domain.
