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!
TO A DOVE
1
Thy mellow passioning amid the leaves,
That tremble dimly in the summer dusk,
Falls sad along the oatland's 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 that in the wood intoning start,
Or breath of silences in dells begot
To soothe some grief-wan soul with sin a-smart.
That tremble dimly in the summer dusk,
Falls sad along the oatland's 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 that in the wood intoning start,
Or breath of silences in dells begot
To soothe some grief-wan soul with sin a-smart.
2
A votaress 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 darkening 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 darkening 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.
3
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)
O Tintern, Tintern! evermore my dreams
Troubled by thy grave beauty shall be born;
Thy crumbling loveliness and ivy streams
Shall speak to me for ever, from this morn;
The wind-wild daws about thy arches drifting,
Clouds sweeping o'er thy ruin to the sea,
Gray Tintern, all the hills about thee, lifting
Their misty waving woodland verdancy!
Troubled by thy grave beauty shall be born;
Thy crumbling loveliness and ivy streams
Shall speak to me for ever, from this morn;
The wind-wild daws about thy arches drifting,
Clouds sweeping o'er thy ruin to the sea,
Gray Tintern, all the hills about thee, lifting
Their misty waving woodland verdancy!
The centuries that draw thee to the earth
In envy of thy desolated charm,
The summers and the winters, the sky's girth
Of sunny blue or bleakness, seek thy harm.
But would that I were Time, then only tender
Touch upon thee should fall as on I sped;
Of every pillar would I be defender,
Of every mossy window—of thy dead!
In envy of thy desolated charm,
The summers and the winters, the sky's girth
Of sunny blue or bleakness, seek thy harm.
But would that I were Time, then only tender
Touch upon thee should fall as on I sped;
Of every pillar would I be defender,
Of every mossy window—of thy dead!
Thy dead beneath obliterated stones
Upon the sod that is at last thy floor,
Who list the Wye not as it lonely moans
Nor heed thy Gothic shadows grieving o'er.
O Tintern, Tintern! trysting-place, where never
Are wanting mysteries that move the breast,
I'll hear thy beauty calling, ah, for ever—
Till sinks within me the last voice to rest!
Upon the sod that is at last thy floor,
Who list the Wye not as it lonely moans
Nor heed thy Gothic shadows grieving o'er.
O Tintern, Tintern! trysting-place, where never
Are wanting mysteries that move the breast,
I'll hear thy beauty calling, ah, for ever—
Till sinks within me the last voice to rest!
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 shalt heed.
Down under ooze and salty weed,
She'll make thee hear—and then her own!
Till thou shalt 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?
Till on her closed his hand whose awe
No curse could quell?
The ring that bound him to her spell?
Till on her closed his hand whose awe
No curse could quell?
Oh, yea! and tho' she struggled pale,
Did it not hold her cold and fast,
Till crawled the tide o'er rock and swale,
To her at last?
Did it not hold her cold and fast,
Till crawled the tide 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.
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!"
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!)
THE VICTORY
See, see!—the blows at his breast,
The abyss at his back,
The perils and pains that pressed,
The doubts in a pack,
That hunted to drag him down
Have triumphed? and now
He sinks, who climbed for the crown
To the Summit's brow?
The abyss at his back,
The perils and pains that pressed,
The doubts in a pack,
That hunted to drag him down
Have triumphed? and now
He sinks, who climbed for the crown
To the Summit's brow?
No!—though at the foot he lies,
Fallen and vain,
With gaze to the peak whose skies
He could not attain,
The victory is, with strength—
No matter the past!—
He'd dare it again, the dark length,
And the fall at last!
Fallen and vain,
With gaze to the peak whose skies
He could not attain,
The victory is, with strength—
No matter the past!—
He'd dare it again, the dark length,
And the fall at last!
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.
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?"
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?
"And freedom is better than love?" beware you,
There will be May next year!
The Spring and its nuptial fear?
"And 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 the bleak cold benumbs!
Wait till the winter comes!
Till kestrel and hungry kite seek booty
And the bleak cold benumbs!
Wait? nay, fling it to heaven
The false little song you prate!
Too sweet are its fancies not to leaven
Even the rudest fate!
The false little song you prate!
Too sweet are its fancies not to leaven
Even the rudest fate!
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 Song rise
On words as immortal
As any that sound
Thro' Heaven's Portal.
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—
Be it forever so!
The wind at his trees,
The lark in her skies,
The sea on his leas;
May hear Song rise
On words as immortal
As any that sound
Thro' Heaven's Portal.
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—
Be it forever 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 debtor
Unto love's burgeoning!
Dearest, than ever a bird in Spring,
Know we to make each moment 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 See thine enemy,
Nor from thee turn apart.
Who camps about thy heart,
Never to See 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
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 rocks that glisten.
Lean from the casement, listen!
Anear it breaks with a faery spume,
Spraying the rocks that 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!
And, how as sails that 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!
VII
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.
Oh, may it be, my own, or may
We perish in death's gale!
Together still shall sail.
Oh, may it be, my own, or may
We perish in death's gale!
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 revelous days of June)—
Moans while the sun drifts dull from the heaven,
Giftless of heat's beshriving boon.
(Sins of the revelous 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.
TO THE SPRING WIND
Ah, what a changeling!
Yester you dashed from the west,
Altho' it is Spring,
And scattered the hail with maniac zest
Thro' the shivering corn—in scorn
For the labour of God and man.
And now from the plentiful South you haste,
With lovingest fingers,
To ruefully lift and wooingly fan
The lily that lingers a-faint on the stalk:
As if the chill waste
Of the earth's May-dreams,
The flowers so full of her joy,
Were not—as it seems—
A wanton attempt to destroy.
Yester you dashed from the west,
Altho' it is Spring,
And scattered the hail with maniac zest
Thro' the shivering corn—in scorn
For the labour of God and man.
And now from the plentiful South you haste,
With lovingest fingers,
To ruefully lift and wooingly fan
The lily that lingers a-faint on the stalk:
As if the chill waste
Of the earth's May-dreams,
The flowers so full of her joy,
Were not—as it seems—
A wanton attempt to destroy.
THE RAMBLE
Down the road which asters tangle,
Thro' the gap where green-briar twines,
By the path where dry leaves dangle
Sere from the ivy vines
Thro' the gap where green-briar twines,
By the path where dry leaves dangle
Sere from the ivy vines
We go—by sedgy fallows
And along the stifled brook,
Till it stops in lushy mallows
Just at the bridge's crook.
And along the stifled brook,
Till it stops in lushy mallows
Just at the bridge's crook.
Then, again, o'er fence, thro' thicket,
To the mouth of the rough ravine,
Where the weird leaf-hidden cricket
Chirrs thro' the weirder green,
To the mouth of the rough ravine,
Where the weird leaf-hidden cricket
Chirrs thro' the weirder green,
There's a way, o'er rocks—but quicker
Is the beat of heart and foot,
As the beams above us flicker
Sun upon moss and root!
Is the beat of heart and foot,
As the beams above us flicker
Sun upon moss and root!
And we leap—as wildness tingles
From the air into our blood—
With a cry thro' golden dingles
Hid in the heart of the wood.
From the air into our blood—
With a cry thro' golden dingles
Hid in the heart of the wood.
Oh, the wood with winds a-wrestle!
With the nut and acorn strown!
Oh, the wood where creepers trestle
Tree unto tree o'ergrown!
With the nut and acorn strown!
Oh, the wood where creepers trestle
Tree unto tree o'ergrown!
With a climb the ledging summit
Of the hill is reached in glee.
For an hour we gaze off from it
Into the sky's blue sea.
Of the hill is reached in glee.
For an hour we gaze off from it
Into the sky's blue sea.
But a bell and sunset's crimson
Soon recall the homeward path.
And we turn as the glory dims on
The hay-field's mounded math.
Soon recall the homeward path.
And we turn as the glory dims on
The hay-field's mounded math.
Thro' the soft and silent twilight
We come, to the stile at last,
As the clear undying eyelight
Of the stars tells day is past.
We come, to the stile at last,
As the clear undying eyelight
Of the stars tells day is past.
RETURN
Ah, it was here—September
And silence filled the air—
I came last year to remember,
And muse, hid away from care.
It was here I came—the thistle
Was trusting her seed to the wind;
The quail in the croft gave whistle
As now—and the fields lay thinned.
And silence filled the air—
I came last year to remember,
And muse, hid away from care.
It was here I came—the thistle
Was trusting her seed to the wind;
The quail in the croft gave whistle
As now—and the fields lay thinned.
I know how the hay was steeping,
Brown mows under mellow haze;
How a frail cloud-flock was creeping
As now over lone sky-ways.
Just there where the catbird's calling
Her mock-hurt note by the shed,
The use-worn wain was stalling
In the weedy brook's dry bed.
Brown mows under mellow haze;
How a frail cloud-flock was creeping
As now over lone sky-ways.
Just there where the catbird's calling
Her mock-hurt note by the shed,
The use-worn wain was stalling
In the weedy brook's dry bed.
And the cricket, lone little chimer
Of day-long dreams in the vines,
Chirred on like a doting rhymer
O'er-vain of his firstling lines.
He's near me now by the aster,
Beneath whose shadowy spray
A sultry bee seeps faster
As the sun slips down the day.
Of day-long dreams in the vines,
Chirred on like a doting rhymer
O'er-vain of his firstling lines.
He's near me now by the aster,
Beneath whose shadowy spray
A sultry bee seeps faster
As the sun slips down the day.
And there are the tall primroses
Like maidens waiting to dance.
They stood in the same shy poses
Last year, as if to entrance
The stately mulleins to waken
From death and lead them around:
And still they will stand untaken,
Till drops their gold to the ground.
Like maidens waiting to dance.
They stood in the same shy poses
Last year, as if to entrance
The stately mulleins to waken
From death and lead them around:
And still they will stand untaken,
Till drops their gold to the ground.
LISETTE
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 smitten 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!
For! though but kisses—she swore!—he had of her,
Was it so little?
She thought 'twas not bad of her,
Was it so little?
She thought 'twas not bad of her,
Said I would lavish a burning hour-full
On any grisette.
And silenced me, powerful!
On any grisette.
And silenced me, powerful!
But she was mine, and blood is inflammable—
For a Lisette!
My rage was undammable....
For a Lisette!
My rage was undammable....
Could a stiletto'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.
FROM ONE BLIND
I cannot say thy cheek is like the rose,
Thy hair like rippled sunbeams, and thine eyes
Like 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 like rippled sunbeams, and thine eyes
Like 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 art not less divine,
I touch thy cheek—and know the mystery hid
Within the twilight breeze; I smooth 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 smooth 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?
IN A CEMETERY
When Autumn's melancholy robes the land
With silence, and sad fadings mystical
Of other years move thro' the mellow fields,
I turn unto this meadow of the dead,
Strewn with the leaves stormed from October trees,
And wonder if my resting shall be dug
Here by this cedar's moan or under the sway
Of yonder cypress—lair of winds that rove
As Valkyries sent from Valhalla's court
In search of worthy slain.
And sundry times with questioning I tease
The entombed of their estate—seeking to know
Whether 'tis sweeter in the grave to feel
The oblivion of Nature's silent flow,
Or here to wander wistful o'er her face.
Whether the harvesting of pain and joy
Which men call Life ends so, or whether death
Pours the warm chrism of Immortality
Into each human heart whose glow is spent.
With silence, and sad fadings mystical
Of other years move thro' the mellow fields,
I turn unto this meadow of the dead,
Strewn with the leaves stormed from October trees,
And wonder if my resting shall be dug
Here by this cedar's moan or under the sway
Of yonder cypress—lair of winds that rove
As Valkyries sent from Valhalla's court
In search of worthy slain.
And sundry times with questioning I tease
The entombed of their estate—seeking to know
Whether 'tis sweeter in the grave to feel
The oblivion of Nature's silent flow,
Or here to wander wistful o'er her face.
Whether the harvesting of pain and joy
Which men call Life ends so, or whether death
Pours the warm chrism of Immortality
Into each human heart whose glow is spent.
And oft the Silence hears me. For a voice
Of sighing wind may answer, or a gaze,
Though wordless, from a marble seraph's face.
Or sometimes from unspeakable deeps of gold,
That ebb along the west, revealings wing
And tremble, like ethereal swift tongues
Unskilled of human speech, about my heart—
Till youth, age, death, even earth's all, it seems,
Are but brave moments wakened in that Soul,
To whom infinities are as a span,
Eternities as bird-flights o'er the sun,
And worlds as sands blown from Sahara's wilds
Into the ceaseless surging of the sea....
Of sighing wind may answer, or a gaze,
Though wordless, from a marble seraph's face.
Or sometimes from unspeakable deeps of gold,
That ebb along the west, revealings wing
And tremble, like ethereal swift tongues
Unskilled of human speech, about my heart—
Till youth, age, death, even earth's all, it seems,
Are but brave moments wakened in that Soul,
To whom infinities are as a span,
Eternities as bird-flights o'er the sun,
And worlds as sands blown from Sahara's wilds
Into the ceaseless surging of the sea....
Then twilight hours lead back my wandered spirit
From out the wilderness of mystery
Whence none may find a path to the Unknown,
And chastened to content I turn me home.
From out the wilderness of mystery
Whence none may find a path to the Unknown,
And chastened to content I turn me home.
WAKING
Oh, the long dawn, the weary, endless dawn,
When sleep's oblivion is torn away
From love that died with dying yesterday
But still unburied in the heart lies on!
When sleep's oblivion is torn away
From love that died with dying yesterday
But still unburied in the heart lies on!
Oh, the sick gray, the twitter in the trees,
The sense of human waking o'er the earth!
The quivering memories of love's fair birth
Now strown as deathless flowers o'er its decease!
The sense of human waking o'er the earth!
The quivering memories of love's fair birth
Now strown as deathless flowers o'er its decease!
Oh, the regret, and oh, regretlessness,
Striving for sovranty within the soul!
Oh, fear that life shall never more be whole,
And immortality but make it less!
Striving for sovranty within the soul!
Oh, fear that life shall never more be whole,
And immortality but make it less!
STORM-EBB
Dusking amber dimly creeps
Over the vale,
Lit by the kildee's silver sweeps,
Sad with his wail.
Over the vale,
Lit by the kildee's silver sweeps,
Sad with his wail.
Eastward swing the silent clouds
Into the night.
Burdens of day they seem—in crowds
Hurled from earth's sight.
Into the night.
Burdens of day they seem—in crowds
Hurled from earth's sight.
Shadow and mingled mist—and then
Vanish to wing
Still the bewildering night-fen,
Where the waves ring.
Vanish to wing
Still the bewildering night-fen,
Where the waves ring.
Dusking amber dimly dies
Out of the vale.
Dead from the dunes the winds arise—
Ghosts of the gale.
Out of the vale.
Dead from the dunes the winds arise—
Ghosts of the gale.
LINGERING
I lingered still when you were gone,
When tryst and trust were o'er,
While memory like a wounded swan
In sorrow sung love's lore.
When tryst and trust were o'er,
While memory like a wounded swan
In sorrow sung love's lore.
I lingered till the whippoorwill
Had cried delicious pain
Over the wild-wood—in its thrill
I heard your voice again.
Had cried delicious pain
Over the wild-wood—in its thrill
I heard your voice again.
I lingered and the mellow breeze
Blew to me sweetly dewed—
Its touch awoke the sorceries
Your last caresses brewed.
Blew to me sweetly dewed—
Its touch awoke the sorceries
Your last caresses brewed.
But when the night with silent start
Had sown her starry seed,
The harvest which sprang in my heart
Was loneliness and need.
Had sown her starry seed,
The harvest which sprang in my heart
Was loneliness and need.
FAUN-CALL
Oh, who is he will follow me
With a singing,
Down sunny roads where windy odes
Of the woods are ringing?
With a singing,
Down sunny roads where windy odes
Of the woods are ringing?
Where leaves are tossed from branches lost
In a tangle
Of vines that vie to clamber high—
But to vault and dangle!
In a tangle
Of vines that vie to clamber high—
But to vault and dangle!
His hope must dance like radiance
That hurries
To scatter shades from the silent glades
Where the quick hare scurries.
That hurries
To scatter shades from the silent glades
Where the quick hare scurries.
And he must see that Autumn's glee
And her laughter
From his lips and heart will quell all smart—
Of before and after!
And her laughter
From his lips and heart will quell all smart—
Of before and after!
THE LIGHTHOUSEMAN
When at evening smothered lightnings
Burn the clouds with fretted 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 fretted 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, that 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, that 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.