The Dream of his Soul, in flesh and blood—
Not to possess, but only to see—
Was given him, for an hour:
Ah, fool, he lingered longer,—
The Dream died like the shadow of a Star!
Not to possess, but only to see—
Was given him, for an hour:
Ah, fool, he lingered longer,—
The Dream died like the shadow of a Star!
16
THE EURASIAN
Indignity your part today,
Suffering the guerdon of the gods;
No country to claim your own,
Nowhere to lay your head.
The ocean of ignorance separates us;
The snow-storm of commerce blinds the eye;
Yet you must stand true,
Bridge of blood and flesh between the West and East.
In ages to come, when
Man will love his brother,
Irrespective of birth and breed;
In the pantheon of the future, yours the immortal seat.
Son of man, you are brother!
Bearer of the cross of God!
Your destiny the lodestar of our epoch,
Your life our rood-littered road of the Lord.
Arise, awake, halt not
Till the goal is reached;
Raise high the Host of freedom
Blare the trumpet of light.
"Suffer you, for the world to rejoice";
"Die" so they "can live";
Live that you may bring the light
To the meeting place of the West and East.
Suffering the guerdon of the gods;
No country to claim your own,
Nowhere to lay your head.
The ocean of ignorance separates us;
The snow-storm of commerce blinds the eye;
Yet you must stand true,
Bridge of blood and flesh between the West and East.
In ages to come, when
Man will love his brother,
Irrespective of birth and breed;
In the pantheon of the future, yours the immortal seat.
Son of man, you are brother!
Bearer of the cross of God!
Your destiny the lodestar of our epoch,
Your life our rood-littered road of the Lord.
Arise, awake, halt not
Till the goal is reached;
Raise high the Host of freedom
Blare the trumpet of light.
"Suffer you, for the world to rejoice";
"Die" so they "can live";
Live that you may bring the light
To the meeting place of the West and East.
17
In the perfumed shrine of love,
Where burns memory's exhaustless incense
From the irridescent thurible of hope,
On the altar and couch of my heart
Rest thy limbs, O, god of my soul.
Drink of the unquenchable draught of caresses;
Tear the flowers of my dreams and fancies;
Scatter the sacred petals of my passion
To the four winds of thy rejoicing.
Where burns memory's exhaustless incense
From the irridescent thurible of hope,
On the altar and couch of my heart
Rest thy limbs, O, god of my soul.
Drink of the unquenchable draught of caresses;
Tear the flowers of my dreams and fancies;
Scatter the sacred petals of my passion
To the four winds of thy rejoicing.
Thy rejoicing, that one festival of the High Gods,
Where no offering that I bring ever be too dear,
Where no soul burnt in the fire of senses can perish;
Where no suffering fails to be mother and daughter of joy.
Take all, great God among these Gods:
The pearl of my woman-soul buried in deeps of passion,
The coral-wreath from the ocean of my bleeding heart;
And ravish with exquisite merciless touch
The one star in my heaven that has led thee hither—
My life's eternity in this worship of an hour.
Where no offering that I bring ever be too dear,
Where no soul burnt in the fire of senses can perish;
Where no suffering fails to be mother and daughter of joy.
Take all, great God among these Gods:
The pearl of my woman-soul buried in deeps of passion,
The coral-wreath from the ocean of my bleeding heart;
And ravish with exquisite merciless touch
The one star in my heaven that has led thee hither—
My life's eternity in this worship of an hour.
18
THE INFIRM BEGGAR SINGS
Broken and bruised by the hand of Fate,
Dark night, my staff,
Leaning on its shadowy strength I walk
Toward thee, my God.
Thy crescent my e'er-present friend;
Thy wind, thy voice,
Calls me to go on without end
To thy star that my soul hath seen.
The hour is black, my road unbuilt;
My beggar's song
I cannot sing; yet, thou knowest,
For thy love I long!
I come, O Lord! broken and battered
To thy world where sorrow is not.
Dark night, my staff,
Leaning on its shadowy strength I walk
Toward thee, my God.
Thy crescent my e'er-present friend;
Thy wind, thy voice,
Calls me to go on without end
To thy star that my soul hath seen.
The hour is black, my road unbuilt;
My beggar's song
I cannot sing; yet, thou knowest,
For thy love I long!
I come, O Lord! broken and battered
To thy world where sorrow is not.
19
Kiss, my love, kiss
My burning, breaking being;
So when cold death
Will put out the light
In some wilderness
Of far forsaken life
Might each kiss blossom
Into a lotus and a Shephali.[2]
And in the desolate hours
Of loneliness of traveling
In the dusk of despair
One petal of these
Will cheer the vagrant souls
That tread the pathway
Of love's forsaking.
Or, when Death will sow
This Soul of mine
On the lake-shore of sorrow,
Like a weeping willow I will spring,
And with my green tresses
And bending body
Shall shelter secrecy-seeking lovers
That love for an hour,
As our twin hearts today.
Kiss then, with kisses of flame;
Touch me with rosy caresses;
Bury this, my hope, my dream,
And thy all-conquering love of me;
So the kiss-flowers may each be a dream!
May my willow be the vision of Eternal Spring.
My burning, breaking being;
So when cold death
Will put out the light
In some wilderness
Of far forsaken life
Might each kiss blossom
Into a lotus and a Shephali.[2]
And in the desolate hours
Of loneliness of traveling
In the dusk of despair
One petal of these
Will cheer the vagrant souls
That tread the pathway
Of love's forsaking.
Or, when Death will sow
This Soul of mine
On the lake-shore of sorrow,
Like a weeping willow I will spring,
And with my green tresses
And bending body
Shall shelter secrecy-seeking lovers
That love for an hour,
As our twin hearts today.
Kiss then, with kisses of flame;
Touch me with rosy caresses;
Bury this, my hope, my dream,
And thy all-conquering love of me;
So the kiss-flowers may each be a dream!
May my willow be the vision of Eternal Spring.
[2] Flowers full of perfume, abounding in Lower Bengal, India.
20
COLOR-HARMONIES
Violet hills,
Rosy mist,
Limpid pool,
Golden notes from sunset's lute
For shadows
Draped in green
With purple feet
To dance and swim
Through irridescent undulatings.
Dusk descends;
Mauve cloudlets—
Dying butterflies—
Flit and fly and die
In the opalescent ocean of mist
That grows dark and still,
Kisses away the last gold
From the brow of the hills;
Till the coral crescent
With its wand of breeze
Makes silver ripple-music
On the pool's shadow-laden deeps.
Rosy mist,
Limpid pool,
Golden notes from sunset's lute
For shadows
Draped in green
With purple feet
To dance and swim
Through irridescent undulatings.
Dusk descends;
Mauve cloudlets—
Dying butterflies—
Flit and fly and die
In the opalescent ocean of mist
That grows dark and still,
Kisses away the last gold
From the brow of the hills;
Till the coral crescent
With its wand of breeze
Makes silver ripple-music
On the pool's shadow-laden deeps.
21
SANATAN
(THE ABSOLUTE)[3]
Our hopes that fail
Are but truths that set
To illumine other spirits on their pathway;
As our joys that come true
Are their far-off dreams,
That through the cadence of our life
Ring out their pent-up tunes.
Whatever dies—needs must live,
Whatever breathes doth die too;
But above death and life
Shines that High Light
Where all find rest,
Yet endlessly move.
Are but truths that set
To illumine other spirits on their pathway;
As our joys that come true
Are their far-off dreams,
That through the cadence of our life
Ring out their pent-up tunes.
Whatever dies—needs must live,
Whatever breathes doth die too;
But above death and life
Shines that High Light
Where all find rest,
Yet endlessly move.
[3] The word absolute is the synonym for the Sanskrit word Sanatan, meaning Eternal and Immutable Truth.
22
COMING OF THE FOG
Killing the light,
Blurring the stars,
Marring the breeze—
Nature's many-stringed harp—
Blurring the stars,
Marring the breeze—
Nature's many-stringed harp—
It comes
Silently, sinisterly,
Over the land, over the sea,
Spreading its beggar-raiment of brown.
Silently, sinisterly,
Over the land, over the sea,
Spreading its beggar-raiment of brown.
Without stop, without sound,
Over the valley
Like a great serpent of silence
Coiling around the heart of sound.
Over the valley
Like a great serpent of silence
Coiling around the heart of sound.
A damp insidiousness
Creeps into the night;
A drab numbness sets in
Dripping in lugubrious drops
From the haggard fingers
Of the autumn trees.
Creeps into the night;
A drab numbness sets in
Dripping in lugubrious drops
From the haggard fingers
Of the autumn trees.
It strangles the last sound,
It devours the last light,
Trembles in fear
To see its own visage;
It devours the last light,
Trembles in fear
To see its own visage;
It moves on, on, and around,
Ceaselessly, untiringly,
Till the black night is drowned
In an abyss of brown.
Ceaselessly, untiringly,
Till the black night is drowned
In an abyss of brown.
23
In love's afterglow, full of stars,
Those lilies of the river of night,
Sing no song, dear, speak no word.
Those lilies of the river of night,
Sing no song, dear, speak no word.
The white noontide has ebbed into gold;
Shores-breaking seas cease to roar;
Lo! the moonrise of our soul.
Shores-breaking seas cease to roar;
Lo! the moonrise of our soul.
Hardly a kiss, or the shadow of a caress;
No decking the hour with the jasmines of touch;
But a rose-petal shivering in exquisite agony—our love.
No decking the hour with the jasmines of touch;
But a rose-petal shivering in exquisite agony—our love.
The weary sunset has grown wearier;
A vague lassitude encircles us twain,
As separation builds its pathway of tears.
A vague lassitude encircles us twain,
As separation builds its pathway of tears.
Cease weeping, yet the saffron light lingers;
The stars throb in nebulous lustre,
As our hearts to the music of desire.
The stars throb in nebulous lustre,
As our hearts to the music of desire.
What matters if winter be nigh?
We sang summer to sleep,
And autumn on its bed of leaves.
We sang summer to sleep,
And autumn on its bed of leaves.
Now comes the hour of parting for us,
As the last light flickers and fades;
Even love's afterglow dying, and is dead.
As the last light flickers and fades;
Even love's afterglow dying, and is dead.
Alas! thou art gone, as are the hours of day;
The hard gem-burning stars do not set! Oh,
In what dark, in what forest roamest thou?
The hard gem-burning stars do not set! Oh,
In what dark, in what forest roamest thou?
24
THE END
Art thou about me
Amid falling leaves
And autumn's circling winds
When the golden shadows
Grow russet and rosy
And the purple sunset sets fire to the sky?
Art thou the breath
That burns my being
When cold feel my limbs in terror, and awe?
Who art thou? My love?
Stranger in a strange garb!
Far and farther to be nearer to my heart!
Why make spring-flames leap
From passion's autumn leaves?
Why this urge through fatigue
When time falls fast asleep
Under the shadow of its grave—
The winter ice?
Yet, and yet
The circling winds
Repeat passionate speech,
The sunset burns,
As my soul
In desire's golden heat,
Though night be not far
Shadows creep near
With chilling breath and clutching hands
To pluck
To destroy
The flowers of yielding from your heart:
Powerless, fear-stricken;
I tremble, I stagger, I fall
Into oblivion's pit
As time creeps
Into winter's grave
Silent, empty, white.
Amid falling leaves
And autumn's circling winds
When the golden shadows
Grow russet and rosy
And the purple sunset sets fire to the sky?
Art thou the breath
That burns my being
When cold feel my limbs in terror, and awe?
Who art thou? My love?
Stranger in a strange garb!
Far and farther to be nearer to my heart!
Why make spring-flames leap
From passion's autumn leaves?
Why this urge through fatigue
When time falls fast asleep
Under the shadow of its grave—
The winter ice?
Yet, and yet
The circling winds
Repeat passionate speech,
The sunset burns,
As my soul
In desire's golden heat,
Though night be not far
Shadows creep near
With chilling breath and clutching hands
To pluck
To destroy
The flowers of yielding from your heart:
Powerless, fear-stricken;
I tremble, I stagger, I fall
Into oblivion's pit
As time creeps
Into winter's grave
Silent, empty, white.
25
THE CONFLUENCE
Tears of Ages come in a stream,
Sighs flow in from Life's hoary height,
Souls of Sorrow bring their gleam
Of a light that is but a moan, not a sight.
Sighs flow in from Life's hoary height,
Souls of Sorrow bring their gleam
Of a light that is but a moan, not a sight.
The gray waves of the Sea of Death
Congeal under the cold Sun of Suffering,
While Time, playing the flute of Fate,
Charms them, snake-like, and doth bring.
Congeal under the cold Sun of Suffering,
While Time, playing the flute of Fate,
Charms them, snake-like, and doth bring.
Out of a Cave, beyond Lights and Shades
Present's storm,—made stormier by Future's promises,—
To mingle in the Ocean of Death
Like Sleep, yielding to Dream's caresses.
Present's storm,—made stormier by Future's promises,—
To mingle in the Ocean of Death
Like Sleep, yielding to Dream's caresses.
26
In the deeps of Dream
O'er the pool of Sleep
A lone star her face
Seeking, with song-kindled eyes
Her Isle of Rest.
O'er the pool of Sleep
A lone star her face
Seeking, with song-kindled eyes
Her Isle of Rest.
Across the dusky hills
The first flush of waking
Unfurls its silver banner
To signal the Isle for her:
She vanishes, as before, into the fading Night.
The first flush of waking
Unfurls its silver banner
To signal the Isle for her:
She vanishes, as before, into the fading Night.
Thus the Eye of Life
Searches for the home of Peace
Night after night:
And when the sun of Death rises
It flees,—it loves its own night.
Searches for the home of Peace
Night after night:
And when the sun of Death rises
It flees,—it loves its own night.
27
TO
LEO B. MIHAN
Few notes out of the coffer of sound,
An image from the gallery of Nature,
An hour from the infinity of Time,—
Out of these, blessed creature,
Createst thou the world of endless rhyme!
An image from the gallery of Nature,
An hour from the infinity of Time,—
Out of these, blessed creature,
Createst thou the world of endless rhyme!
28
CHOPIN'S FUNERAL MARCH
The keyboard black and white;
Shadow-Light the Evening's scale;
Half silent the voice of thy singing.
Quiver the notes in pain;
Exquisite, sad, the melody at thy touch;
Like the silver arrow of Desire
Piercing the Soul's golden heart.
Shadow-Light the Evening's scale;
Half silent the voice of thy singing.
Quiver the notes in pain;
Exquisite, sad, the melody at thy touch;
Like the silver arrow of Desire
Piercing the Soul's golden heart.
The room is lost in dark.
The ivory keys, white fringe
Of a music long since mute;
Yet, in the black night
Tremble and toss notes
Unheard, undreamt,—like sleep
Sleepless, and waking full of smart.
The ivory keys, white fringe
Of a music long since mute;
Yet, in the black night
Tremble and toss notes
Unheard, undreamt,—like sleep
Sleepless, and waking full of smart.
29
In the golden afterglow you lay,
When the emerald moon
Made thin silver fog-veils
For the bride of night,
Whose saffron-sandled feet
Walked the foam-strewn floor of the sea.
In my arms you listened
To words of love
Poured by the infinite heaven of my heart,
Echoed by the endless symphony of the sky.
Your silent gaze,
Deeper than the song of the sea,
Farther than the moon,
Nearer than your own heart-beat,
Asked mine for speech.
"What can my love say
At this sad sacred hour?"
Hour of parting this!
Love's ever-feared moment,
Longing's much-dreaded end,
Yet no voice sorrows in our being,
No woe dims the moon-face tonight.
Between the sheltering dunes and fading light
On an aërial couch lying,
Adorned in kiss-woven garments of nudity
Our spirits garlanded with myriad embraces,
Borne on passion's flaming wings
Cross this ocean of parting
Unto that far island of Cythera
Where only love reigns
In eternal majesty.
When the emerald moon
Made thin silver fog-veils
For the bride of night,
Whose saffron-sandled feet
Walked the foam-strewn floor of the sea.
In my arms you listened
To words of love
Poured by the infinite heaven of my heart,
Echoed by the endless symphony of the sky.
Your silent gaze,
Deeper than the song of the sea,
Farther than the moon,
Nearer than your own heart-beat,
Asked mine for speech.
"What can my love say
At this sad sacred hour?"
Hour of parting this!
Love's ever-feared moment,
Longing's much-dreaded end,
Yet no voice sorrows in our being,
No woe dims the moon-face tonight.
Between the sheltering dunes and fading light
On an aërial couch lying,
Adorned in kiss-woven garments of nudity
Our spirits garlanded with myriad embraces,
Borne on passion's flaming wings
Cross this ocean of parting
Unto that far island of Cythera
Where only love reigns
In eternal majesty.
30
HENRIK IBSEN
Lone as the lone north star,
Stern as the rocks that guard the sanctity of his home,
Pure as the white snow of his land,
And beauteous his visions like the fjords
At each turn of the mariner's helm.
Stern as the rocks that guard the sanctity of his home,
Pure as the white snow of his land,
And beauteous his visions like the fjords
At each turn of the mariner's helm.
The lofty glaciers engage his eyes,
As life's height the sight of his mind;
And his Imagination, expansive as the sea,
Tries to push the boundary-line of the sky, his Soul,
Further and further, where a new North Star
Awaits his exploring eye.
As life's height the sight of his mind;
And his Imagination, expansive as the sea,
Tries to push the boundary-line of the sky, his Soul,
Further and further, where a new North Star
Awaits his exploring eye.
31
AFTER HEARING "MY OLD KENTUCKY HOME"
I know not whose the words,
Nor the maker of their music;
In my sorrow-laden heart
The aroma of its pathetic art
Like the soothing breath of dream.
Nor the maker of their music;
In my sorrow-laden heart
The aroma of its pathetic art
Like the soothing breath of dream.
Joy borrows its charm from sorrow;
Sorrow feverish with the color of joy;
An opaque crystal, a stone on life's string
Made of music that doth ring
As the stars on the lyre of night.
Sorrow feverish with the color of joy;
An opaque crystal, a stone on life's string
Made of music that doth ring
As the stars on the lyre of night.
A pain it is, made perfect;
A call made clear by the voice of peace;
A silver stream of song
Darkened, yet floweth on and on
Between black banks of memory, into the Soul's white home.
A call made clear by the voice of peace;
A silver stream of song
Darkened, yet floweth on and on
Between black banks of memory, into the Soul's white home.
32
THE COMING OF THE TIDE OF NIGHT
Pale this twilight-face,
Shade-ridden the horizon-light;
The forest, a green-gold vision of grace
In its frame of lavender mist.
Shade-ridden the horizon-light;
The forest, a green-gold vision of grace
In its frame of lavender mist.
No rose-leaf washed in moonlight;
No vine on vermilion walls;
Pale sunlight fading into night,
Dark tunes, the music of the hour.
No vine on vermilion walls;
Pale sunlight fading into night,
Dark tunes, the music of the hour.
No death, nor life is ours, here;
But the vast vague sea of black
Sounded by star-mariners
Seeking the Infinite's track.
But the vast vague sea of black
Sounded by star-mariners
Seeking the Infinite's track.
33
DEAD LOVE
Pour no blood on ashes, brother,
That is not the way;
Better say nothing,
Blood is no life-giver;
It makes death look so gay.
That is not the way;
Better say nothing,
Blood is no life-giver;
It makes death look so gay.
Dead life, or dead love
Need no blood at all.
No trumpet's call can
Bring back what you lived, and strove:
The ashes know no thrall!
Need no blood at all.
No trumpet's call can
Bring back what you lived, and strove:
The ashes know no thrall!
Why cry for a colored glass
That for jewel you took;
The magic—the dream—
All returning to dust and grass,
Not a day love your soul forsook.
That for jewel you took;
The magic—the dream—
All returning to dust and grass,
Not a day love your soul forsook.
At last, you have known it,
That is more than they do.
Be not afraid, O friend,
Alone, alas, alone! you have loved and lived it,
Pour no blood on the ashes, for blood can not turn into dew.
That is more than they do.
Be not afraid, O friend,
Alone, alas, alone! you have loved and lived it,
Pour no blood on the ashes, for blood can not turn into dew.
34
It is the same twilight, dear,
The hour of love and tear
When in raiments of shadows
Fancies, fears, hopes, and sorrows
Tread the path of sunset,
While like barks of jet
Float the clouds from east to west.
The hour of love and tear
When in raiments of shadows
Fancies, fears, hopes, and sorrows
Tread the path of sunset,
While like barks of jet
Float the clouds from east to west.
I think of thee, my darling,
As in my heart strange chords ring
Out melodies of many memories,
And half-forgotten reveries
Telling of this or that scene,
That is and has been
Trod by thee, Queen of queens.
As in my heart strange chords ring
Out melodies of many memories,
And half-forgotten reveries
Telling of this or that scene,
That is and has been
Trod by thee, Queen of queens.
My dreams of thee are ceaseless,
As my love of thee is endless;
Whether it be sunset or sunrise,
Hour of star-song, or bird-cries
It is of thee that I dream,
In the heart of my soul's stream
That flows to thy feet, my darling.
As my love of thee is endless;
Whether it be sunset or sunrise,
Hour of star-song, or bird-cries
It is of thee that I dream,
In the heart of my soul's stream
That flows to thy feet, my darling.
Dark grows both east and west;
Flower-heads droop into rest,
As I seek to lay my heart and loving
On thy star-white breast, my darling,
And sink into that pool of sleep
That rises from thy singing's deep,
While all are silent, as my desires near thee, my Queen.
Flower-heads droop into rest,
As I seek to lay my heart and loving
On thy star-white breast, my darling,
And sink into that pool of sleep
That rises from thy singing's deep,
While all are silent, as my desires near thee, my Queen.
What peace thy presence breathes!
What serenity weaves its wreathes!
What myriad wonders touch hands
Across many seas, from many lands,
When a thought of thee
Heralds thy coming to me
Between palpitating desires, and fragrant dreams.
What serenity weaves its wreathes!
What myriad wonders touch hands
Across many seas, from many lands,
When a thought of thee
Heralds thy coming to me
Between palpitating desires, and fragrant dreams.
35
WEARINESS
Weariness the tune of this evening melody,
Pain the lute to which I sing;
Ah! goddess, why this gray measure
In thy starry harmony?
Pain the lute to which I sing;
Ah! goddess, why this gray measure
In thy starry harmony?
The white conch[4] of the half-moon
Silent as though all worship's ceased,
No incense-perfume from the forest censer
The breeze brings; all still, like torrid noon.
Silent as though all worship's ceased,
No incense-perfume from the forest censer
The breeze brings; all still, like torrid noon.
I row in a black bark on a copper-colored sea,
The sun fades like a golden bubble in its deep;
Weariness the chart that I hold in my hand,
Weariness the tune of this evening melody.
The sun fades like a golden bubble in its deep;
Weariness the chart that I hold in my hand,
Weariness the tune of this evening melody.
[4] In a Hindu temple conch shells are blown during or at the close of a worship.
36
A call, not a song;
A command, not a prayer;
No mellowing moonlight, but dawn,
Frail, fanciful, and fair
In the east of my dream and desire.
At the portal of unending desire,
Draped in diaphanous dreams,
With a whispered word of fire
That quivers and gleams
Through the clouds of my longing.
Longings poignant with pains and tears
Enfold, and fill my soul
That aches with hopes and fears
As thy chariot wheels' roll
Sets fire with torches of gold
To my words, my silences, my singing,
And to this black pyre of my life
To take my being on the wings of thy embracing
To sail away, far away from man's hate and strife
Where only love reigns on its throne of unending light.
A command, not a prayer;
No mellowing moonlight, but dawn,
Frail, fanciful, and fair
In the east of my dream and desire.
At the portal of unending desire,
Draped in diaphanous dreams,
With a whispered word of fire
That quivers and gleams
Through the clouds of my longing.
Longings poignant with pains and tears
Enfold, and fill my soul
That aches with hopes and fears
As thy chariot wheels' roll
Sets fire with torches of gold
To my words, my silences, my singing,
And to this black pyre of my life
To take my being on the wings of thy embracing
To sail away, far away from man's hate and strife
Where only love reigns on its throne of unending light.
37
REMORSE
Gently descending dark—
Curtain of silence
From heaven to earth;
Curtain of silence
From heaven to earth;
The drama of day over,
Empty the seats of life,
Dead the twilight fire.
Empty the seats of life,
Dead the twilight fire.
Curtains of black
Woven from threads of purple
By the hands of a star,
Woven from threads of purple
By the hands of a star,
That lone soul weeping
Over the dead hours
Laid by mute time in the eternal's grave.
Over the dead hours
Laid by mute time in the eternal's grave.
In the night of my soul
Not even a ray,
Nor a mourner present;
Not even a ray,
Nor a mourner present;
But a deep dark hollow
Where no fate weeps
Even fear is afraid to tread:
Where no fate weeps
Even fear is afraid to tread:
Fear-forsaken, hollow within hollow,
Even silence flees from me—
O, the pity of it!
Even silence flees from me—
O, the pity of it!
38
POET
To distil a few golden drops of song
Through the gloom of this hour;
To filter true emotions
Through passion's burning fire
When the sun bubble-like fades in the west;
As our being craves for night's rest
That pool of silver in life's forest of distress.
Through the gloom of this hour;
To filter true emotions
Through passion's burning fire
When the sun bubble-like fades in the west;
As our being craves for night's rest
That pool of silver in life's forest of distress.
To light some pale candles
In the cavern of a lonely isle
And draw the wine of day
From the must of midnight,
Or plant a star-seed in the gray-ploughed eve—
So out of the abyss of the blackness of night
Dawn's million-colored fountain might spring.
In the cavern of a lonely isle
And draw the wine of day
From the must of midnight,
Or plant a star-seed in the gray-ploughed eve—
So out of the abyss of the blackness of night
Dawn's million-colored fountain might spring.
39
WANDERER
The silvery beach, a riband around the flowing hair of the sea,
Where gleam the foam-flowers garlanded in multitudinous nebulous rings:
Here, on the frontier of many worlds and the billow-rocked cradle of eternal sleep,
No sound, no music, no silence that a wounded soul can heal.
Where gleam the foam-flowers garlanded in multitudinous nebulous rings:
Here, on the frontier of many worlds and the billow-rocked cradle of eternal sleep,
No sound, no music, no silence that a wounded soul can heal.
A longing more tempestuous than the craven breeze-possesséd deep,
And tears that outweigh the salt of the woeful brine,
Yet no sleep dream-robbed, or dream-laden, nor even death's pallid peace;
But a ceaseless crying over my heart's forsaken valleys
Where love like a wraith haunts the empty tombs of memory.
And tears that outweigh the salt of the woeful brine,
Yet no sleep dream-robbed, or dream-laden, nor even death's pallid peace;
But a ceaseless crying over my heart's forsaken valleys
Where love like a wraith haunts the empty tombs of memory.
40
AT DAWN
With the breath of dawn
Cooling thy feverish brow,
And the fading of the last footfall of the stars
No kiss can I bring to thy bedside,
Nor caresses of cooling fire, my sweet.
Yet through this dreamful silence
That writes on the rim of the golden light
The story of our love
With most eloquent poignancy,
More love we pour into each other
Than the tryst of an eternal night.
Cooling thy feverish brow,
And the fading of the last footfall of the stars
No kiss can I bring to thy bedside,
Nor caresses of cooling fire, my sweet.
Yet through this dreamful silence
That writes on the rim of the golden light
The story of our love
With most eloquent poignancy,
More love we pour into each other
Than the tryst of an eternal night.
41
From her many-colored bow Nature
Has hurled her silver arrows of rain
And slain the hosts of Dark.
Has hurled her silver arrows of rain
And slain the hosts of Dark.
Jeweled with a single star, the Moon
Walks the garden of Night;
Higher and higher
Through the star-enflowered pathways of sapphire
She draws her train of silver.
Walks the garden of Night;
Higher and higher
Through the star-enflowered pathways of sapphire
She draws her train of silver.
42
If words fail, song will come;
If thought fades, souls will not be dumb;
If sound ceases, Silence our song;
If Life fails,—Death join our hands.
If thought fades, souls will not be dumb;
If sound ceases, Silence our song;
If Life fails,—Death join our hands.
43
RAINY NIGHT
Like tears shed over a dream,
Like sighs that stream
In an unseen nameless way
Into the heart of our lay.
Like sighs that stream
In an unseen nameless way
Into the heart of our lay.
It seemed hour on hours,
Years like fading flowers
Scattered their petals and bloom
In a half-lit forest of gloom.
Years like fading flowers
Scattered their petals and bloom
In a half-lit forest of gloom.
The softness of its sounds,
Like the coursing of a million hounds
Of dream over the glade of sleep
Where tortured silences creep.
Like the coursing of a million hounds
Of dream over the glade of sleep
Where tortured silences creep.
Exquisite, pain-laden, peaceful,
This night most beautiful,
What love forsaken by loving
Sets his heart a'singing?
This night most beautiful,
What love forsaken by loving
Sets his heart a'singing?
No torment in it, but tenderness;
A liquid star-music of sadness
Pours into my soul half asleep;
While the willows at my window weep.
A liquid star-music of sadness
Pours into my soul half asleep;
While the willows at my window weep.
44
GHOSTS
Flames flickered in the fireplace,
As memories on the hearth of life;
Two shadows we, watching, brooding,
To catch our reflection
In a non-existent stream.
As memories on the hearth of life;
Two shadows we, watching, brooding,
To catch our reflection
In a non-existent stream.
The ghost-witness of it all,
The clock brings its proofs;
Moments melt into moments,
Like notes of sad music,
Like a white cerement.
The clock brings its proofs;
Moments melt into moments,
Like notes of sad music,
Like a white cerement.
Cold memories shroud our life;
Speech flees before this;
Faces turn away from each other;
The fire throws light on them;
There, too, flames burn and flicker.
Speech flees before this;
Faces turn away from each other;
The fire throws light on them;
There, too, flames burn and flicker.
45
RAIN
What world-agony distils its poignancy this day?
What pain-laden heart pours out its exhaustless lay
Of tormenting woe and tortured silences?
What pain-laden heart pours out its exhaustless lay
Of tormenting woe and tortured silences?
From the far reaches of the marshland
Along and beyond the crescent-bed of the sea-sand
What tempest on the wave's-strings makes its cadences?
Along and beyond the crescent-bed of the sea-sand
What tempest on the wave's-strings makes its cadences?
The distant hills dimmed like dull and forgotten dreams
Raise their shadowy heads where pour in streams
The tears of the heart-hollowed mourners of the skies;
Raise their shadowy heads where pour in streams
The tears of the heart-hollowed mourners of the skies;
While into the turgid heart of the fens at their feet
Turbidly fall and dance sheet upon sheet
To the measureless measure of the wind's empty sighs.
Turbidly fall and dance sheet upon sheet
To the measureless measure of the wind's empty sighs.
No light but a dismal gray, that neither throbs nor quivers
On the torn banks of the heavens' cloud-rivers,
But stonily stands still, like death that dies never.
On the torn banks of the heavens' cloud-rivers,
But stonily stands still, like death that dies never.
Not-dead, but a weeping world bathing its corpses—
Its memories, its lost hopes, in regret's hearses
To be buried in flowerless graves, without incense or prayer.
Its memories, its lost hopes, in regret's hearses
To be buried in flowerless graves, without incense or prayer.
It writhes in agony, rolls out in undulating rills,
This rain-melody from the sea-waves to the farthest hills,
Thence to the dreary distance lost to hearing or sight.
This rain-melody from the sea-waves to the farthest hills,
Thence to the dreary distance lost to hearing or sight.
It is all dark and dank, a mourning of earth and heaven,
Sorrow-laden, life-weary, long-lost, death-craven,
A day lost to time, a light more baleful than night.
Sorrow-laden, life-weary, long-lost, death-craven,
A day lost to time, a light more baleful than night.
No dead these, but a living death seeking peace
From the furies—their own thoughts—sorrow—surcease,
Kissing the lashing wind thinking it to be the breeze.
From the furies—their own thoughts—sorrow—surcease,
Kissing the lashing wind thinking it to be the breeze.
Pour, pour, pour, O relentless, exhaustless pain!
To the measure of thine own agony, thy woe's refrain,
These desolate streams of thy music, thy pangs of a million seas.
To the measure of thine own agony, thy woe's refrain,
These desolate streams of thy music, thy pangs of a million seas.
46
EVENING WORSHIP
The amber west melts into saffron,
The east, a misty vision of rose:
Like the sun, our souls seek repose.
The mountains, empurpled priests,
The river, the chant from their lips,
Sunlit the pine-candles' crimson tips.
The east, a misty vision of rose:
Like the sun, our souls seek repose.
The mountains, empurpled priests,
The river, the chant from their lips,
Sunlit the pine-candles' crimson tips.
At this hour of worship
Shadows spread their wings;
Silently the breeze-bell rings.
The stars put a silver riband round night's tresses,
The light fades like a receding song
As fall soundless sounds from Nature's
moon-gong.
Shadows spread their wings;
Silently the breeze-bell rings.
The stars put a silver riband round night's tresses,
The light fades like a receding song
As fall soundless sounds from Nature's
moon-gong.