Come! look in the shadowy water here,
The stagnant water of Ashly Mere:
Where the stirless depths are dark but clear,
What is the thing that lies there?—
A lily-pod half sunk from sight?
Or spawn of the toad all water-white?
Or ashen blur of the moon's wan light?
Or a woman's face and eyes there?
The stagnant water of Ashly Mere:
Where the stirless depths are dark but clear,
What is the thing that lies there?—
A lily-pod half sunk from sight?
Or spawn of the toad all water-white?
Or ashen blur of the moon's wan light?
Or a woman's face and eyes there?
Now lean to the water a listening ear,
The haunted water of Ashly Mere:
What is the sound that you seem to hear
In the ghostly hush of the deeps there?—
A withered reed that the ripple lips?
Or a night-bird's wing that the surface whips?
Or the rain in a leaf that drips and drips?
Or a woman's voice that weeps there?
The haunted water of Ashly Mere:
What is the sound that you seem to hear
In the ghostly hush of the deeps there?—
A withered reed that the ripple lips?
Or a night-bird's wing that the surface whips?
Or the rain in a leaf that drips and drips?
Or a woman's voice that weeps there?
Now look and listen! but draw not near
The lonely water of Ashly Mere!—
For so it happens this time each year
As you lean by the mere and listen:
And the moaning voice I understand,—
For oft I have watched it draw to land,
And lift from the water a ghastly hand
And a face whose eyeballs glisten.
The lonely water of Ashly Mere!—
For so it happens this time each year
As you lean by the mere and listen:
And the moaning voice I understand,—
For oft I have watched it draw to land,
And lift from the water a ghastly hand
And a face whose eyeballs glisten.
And this is the reason why every year
To the hideous water of Ashly Mere
I come when the woodland leaves are sear,
And the autumn moon hangs hoary:
For here by the mere was wrought a wrong ...
But the old, old story is over long—
And woman is weak and man is strong ...
And the mere's and mine is the story.
To the hideous water of Ashly Mere
I come when the woodland leaves are sear,
And the autumn moon hangs hoary:
For here by the mere was wrought a wrong ...
But the old, old story is over long—
And woman is weak and man is strong ...
And the mere's and mine is the story.
BEFORE THE TOMB.
The way went under cedared gloom
To moonlight, like a cactus bloom,
Before the entrance of her tomb.
To moonlight, like a cactus bloom,
Before the entrance of her tomb.
I had an hour of night and thin
Sad starlight; and I set my chin
Against the grating and looked in.
Sad starlight; and I set my chin
Against the grating and looked in.
A gleam, like moonlight, through a square
Of opening—I knew not where—
Shone on her coffin resting there.
Of opening—I knew not where—
Shone on her coffin resting there.
And on its oval silver-plate
I read her name and age and date,
And smiled, soft-thinking on my hate.
I read her name and age and date,
And smiled, soft-thinking on my hate.
There was no insect sound to chirr;
No wind to make a little stir.
I stood and looked and thought on her.
No wind to make a little stir.
I stood and looked and thought on her.
The gleam stole downward from her head,
Till at her feet it rested red
On Gothic gold, that sadly said:—
Till at her feet it rested red
On Gothic gold, that sadly said:—
"God to her love lent a weak reed
Of strength: and gave no light to lead:
Pray for her soul; for it hath need."
Of strength: and gave no light to lead:
Pray for her soul; for it hath need."
There was no night-bird's twitter near,
No low vague water I might hear
To make a small sound in the ear.
No low vague water I might hear
To make a small sound in the ear.
The gleam, that made a burning mark
Of each dim word, died to a spark;
Then left the tomb and coffin dark.
Of each dim word, died to a spark;
Then left the tomb and coffin dark.
I had a little while to wait;
And prayed with hands against the grate,
And heart that yearned and knew too late.
And prayed with hands against the grate,
And heart that yearned and knew too late.
There was no light below, above,
To point my soul the way thereof,—
The way of hate that led to love.
To point my soul the way thereof,—
The way of hate that led to love.
REVISITED.
It was beneath a waning moon when all the woods were sear,
And winds made eddies of the leaves that whispered far and near,
I met her on the old mill-bridge we parted at last year.
And winds made eddies of the leaves that whispered far and near,
I met her on the old mill-bridge we parted at last year.
At first I deemed it but a mist that faltered in that place,
An autumn mist beneath the trees that sentineled the race;
Until I neared and in the moon beheld her face to face.
An autumn mist beneath the trees that sentineled the race;
Until I neared and in the moon beheld her face to face.
The waver of the summer-heat upon the drouth-dry leas;
The shimmer of the thistle-drift a down the silences;
The gliding of the fairy-fire between the swamp and trees;
The shimmer of the thistle-drift a down the silences;
The gliding of the fairy-fire between the swamp and trees;
They qualified her presence as a sorrow may a dream—
The vague suggestion of a self; the glimmer of a gleam;
The actual unreal of the things that only seem.
The vague suggestion of a self; the glimmer of a gleam;
The actual unreal of the things that only seem.
Where once she came with welcome and glad eyes all loving-wise,
She passed and gave no greeting that my heart might recognize,
With far-set face unseeing and sad unremembering eyes.
She passed and gave no greeting that my heart might recognize,
With far-set face unseeing and sad unremembering eyes.
It was beneath a waning moon when woods were bleak and sear,
And winds made whispers of the leaves that eddied far and near,
I met her ghost upon the bridge we parted at last year.
And winds made whispers of the leaves that eddied far and near,
I met her ghost upon the bridge we parted at last year.
AT VESPERS.
High up in the organ-story
A girl stands slim and fair;
And touched with the casement's glory
Gleams out her radiant hair.
A girl stands slim and fair;
And touched with the casement's glory
Gleams out her radiant hair.
The young priest kneels at the altar,
Then lifts the Host above;
And the psalm intoned from the psalter
Is pure with patient love.
Then lifts the Host above;
And the psalm intoned from the psalter
Is pure with patient love.
A sweet bell chimes; and a censer
Swings gleaming in the gloom;
The candles glimmer and denser
Rolls up the pale perfume.
Swings gleaming in the gloom;
The candles glimmer and denser
Rolls up the pale perfume.
Then high in the organ choir
A voice of crystal soars,
Of patience and soul's desire,
That suffers and adores.
A voice of crystal soars,
Of patience and soul's desire,
That suffers and adores.
And out of the altar's dimness
An answering voice doth swell,
Of passion that cries from the grimness
And anguish of its own hell.
An answering voice doth swell,
Of passion that cries from the grimness
And anguish of its own hell.
High up in the organ-story
One kneels with a girlish grace;
And, touched with the vesper glory,
Lifts her madonna face.
One kneels with a girlish grace;
And, touched with the vesper glory,
Lifts her madonna face.
One stands at the cloudy altar,
A form bowed down and thin;
The text of the psalm in the psalter
He reads, is sorrow and sin.
A form bowed down and thin;
The text of the psalm in the psalter
He reads, is sorrow and sin.
THE CREEK.
O cheerly, cheerly by the road
And merrily down the billet;
And where the acre-field is sowed
With bristle-bearded millet.
And merrily down the billet;
And where the acre-field is sowed
With bristle-bearded millet.
Then o'er a pebbled path that goes,
Through vista and through dingle,
Unto a farmstead's windowed rose,
And roof of moss and shingle.
Through vista and through dingle,
Unto a farmstead's windowed rose,
And roof of moss and shingle.
O darkly, darkly through the bush,
And dimly by the bowlder,
Where cane and water-cress grow lush,
And woodland wilds are older.
And dimly by the bowlder,
Where cane and water-cress grow lush,
And woodland wilds are older.
Then o'er the cedared way that leads,
Through burr and bramble-thickets,
Unto a burial-ground of weeds
Fenced in with broken pickets.
Through burr and bramble-thickets,
Unto a burial-ground of weeds
Fenced in with broken pickets.
Then sadly, sadly down the vale,
And wearily through the rushes,
Where sunlight of the noon is pale,
And e'en the zephyr hushes.
And wearily through the rushes,
Where sunlight of the noon is pale,
And e'en the zephyr hushes.
For oft her young face smiled upon
My deeps here, willow-shaded;
And oft with bare feet in the sun
My shallows there she waded.
My deeps here, willow-shaded;
And oft with bare feet in the sun
My shallows there she waded.
No more beneath the twinkling leaves
Shall stand the farmer's daughter!—
Sing softly past the cottage eaves,
O memory-haunted water!
Shall stand the farmer's daughter!—
Sing softly past the cottage eaves,
O memory-haunted water!
No more shall bend her laughing face
Above me where the rose is!—
Sigh softly past the burial-place,
Where all her youth reposes!
Above me where the rose is!—
Sigh softly past the burial-place,
Where all her youth reposes!
ANSWERED.
Do you remember how that night drew on?
That night of sorrow, when the stars looked wan
As eyes that gaze reproachful in a dream,
Loved eyes, long lost, and sadder than the grave?
How through the heaven stole the moon's gray gleam,
Like a nun's ghost down a cathedral nave?—
Do you remember how that night drew on?
That night of sorrow, when the stars looked wan
As eyes that gaze reproachful in a dream,
Loved eyes, long lost, and sadder than the grave?
How through the heaven stole the moon's gray gleam,
Like a nun's ghost down a cathedral nave?—
Do you remember how that night drew on?
Do you remember the hard words then said?
Said to the living,—now denied the dead,—
That left me dead,—long, long before I died,—
In heart and spirit?—me, your words had slain,
Telling how love to my poor life had lied,
Armed with the dagger of a pale disdain.—
Do you remember the hard words then said?
Said to the living,—now denied the dead,—
That left me dead,—long, long before I died,—
In heart and spirit?—me, your words had slain,
Telling how love to my poor life had lied,
Armed with the dagger of a pale disdain.—
Do you remember the hard words then said?
Do you remember, now this night draws down
The threatening heavens, that the lightnings crown
With wrecks of thunder? when no moon doth give
The clouds wild witchery?—as in a room,
Behind the sorrowful arras, still may live
The pallid secret of the haunted gloom.—
Do you remember, now this night draws down?
The threatening heavens, that the lightnings crown
With wrecks of thunder? when no moon doth give
The clouds wild witchery?—as in a room,
Behind the sorrowful arras, still may live
The pallid secret of the haunted gloom.—
Do you remember, now this night draws down?
Do you remember, now it comes to pass
Your form is bowed as is the wind-swept grass?
And death hath won from you that confidence
Denied to life? now your sick soul rebels
Against your pride with tragic eloquence,
That self-crowned demon of the heart's fierce hells.—
Do you remember, now it comes to pass?
Your form is bowed as is the wind-swept grass?
And death hath won from you that confidence
Denied to life? now your sick soul rebels
Against your pride with tragic eloquence,
That self-crowned demon of the heart's fierce hells.—
Do you remember, now it comes to pass?
Do you remember?—Bid your soul be still.
Here passion hath surrendered unto will,
And flesh to spirit. Quiet your wild tongue
And wilder heart. Your kiss is naught to me.
The instrument love gave you lies unstrung,
Silent, forsaken of all melody.
Do you remember?—Bid your soul be still.
Here passion hath surrendered unto will,
And flesh to spirit. Quiet your wild tongue
And wilder heart. Your kiss is naught to me.
The instrument love gave you lies unstrung,
Silent, forsaken of all melody.
Do you remember?—Bid your soul be still.
WOMAN'S PORTION.
I.
The leaves are shivering on the thorn,
Drearily;
And sighing wakes the lean-eyed morn,
Wearily.
Drearily;
And sighing wakes the lean-eyed morn,
Wearily.
I press my thin face to the pane,
Drearily;
But never will he come again.
(Wearily.)
Drearily;
But never will he come again.
(Wearily.)
The rain hath sicklied day with haze,
Drearily;
My tears run downward as I gaze,
Wearily.
Drearily;
My tears run downward as I gaze,
Wearily.
The mist and morn spake unto me,
Drearily:
"What is this thing God gives to thee?"
(Wearily.)
Drearily:
"What is this thing God gives to thee?"
(Wearily.)
I said unto the morn and mist,
Drearily:
"The babe unborn whom sin hath kissed."
(Wearily.)
Drearily:
"The babe unborn whom sin hath kissed."
(Wearily.)
The morn and mist spake unto me,
Drearily:
"What is this thing which thou dost see?"
(Wearily.)
Drearily:
"What is this thing which thou dost see?"
(Wearily.)
I said unto the mist and morn,
Drearily:
"The shame of man and woman's scorn."
(Wearily.)
Drearily:
"The shame of man and woman's scorn."
(Wearily.)
"He loved thee not," they made reply.
Drearily.
I said, "Would God had let me die!"
(Wearily.)
Drearily.
I said, "Would God had let me die!"
(Wearily.)
II.
My dreams are as a closed up book,
(Drearily.)
Upon whose clasp of love I look,
Wearily.
(Drearily.)
Upon whose clasp of love I look,
Wearily.
All night the rain raved overhead,
Drearily;
All night I wept awake in bed,
Wearily.
Drearily;
All night I wept awake in bed,
Wearily.
I heard the wind sweep wild and wide,
Drearily;
I turned upon my face and sighed,
Wearily.
Drearily;
I turned upon my face and sighed,
Wearily.
The wind and rain spake unto me,
Drearily:
"What is this thing God takes from thee?"
(Wearily.)
Drearily:
"What is this thing God takes from thee?"
(Wearily.)
I said unto the rain and wind,
Drearily:
"The love, for which my soul hath sinned."
(Wearily.)
Drearily:
"The love, for which my soul hath sinned."
(Wearily.)
The rain and wind spake unto me,
Drearily:
"What are these things thou still dost see?"
(Wearily.)
Drearily:
"What are these things thou still dost see?"
(Wearily.)
I said unto the wind and rain,
Drearily:
"Regret, and hope despair hath slain."
(Wearily.)
Drearily:
"Regret, and hope despair hath slain."
(Wearily.)
"Thou lov'st him still," they made reply,
Drearily.
I said, "That God would let me die!"
(Wearily.)
Drearily.
I said, "That God would let me die!"
(Wearily.)
FINALE.
So let it be. Thou wilt not say 't was I!
Here in life's temple, where thy soul may see,
Look how the beauty of our love doth lie,
Shattered in shards, a dead divinity!
Approach: kneel down: yea, render up one sigh!
This is the end. What need to tell it thee!
So let it be.
Here in life's temple, where thy soul may see,
Look how the beauty of our love doth lie,
Shattered in shards, a dead divinity!
Approach: kneel down: yea, render up one sigh!
This is the end. What need to tell it thee!
So let it be.
So let it be. Care, who hath stood with him,
And sorrow, who sat by him deified,
For whom his face made comfort, lo! how dim
They heap his altar which they can not hide,
While memory's lamp swings o'er it, burning slim.
This is the end. What shall be said beside?
So let it be.
And sorrow, who sat by him deified,
For whom his face made comfort, lo! how dim
They heap his altar which they can not hide,
While memory's lamp swings o'er it, burning slim.
This is the end. What shall be said beside?
So let it be.
So let it be. Did we not drain the wine,
Red, of love's sacramental chalice, when
He laid sweet sanction on thy lips and mine?
Dash it aside! Lo, who will fill again
Now it is empty of the god divine!
This is the end. Yea, let us say Amen.
So let it be.
Red, of love's sacramental chalice, when
He laid sweet sanction on thy lips and mine?
Dash it aside! Lo, who will fill again
Now it is empty of the god divine!
This is the end. Yea, let us say Amen.
So let it be.
THE CROSS.
The cross I bear no man shall know—
No man can ease the cross I bear!—
Alas! the thorny path of woe
Up the steep hill of care!
No man can ease the cross I bear!—
Alas! the thorny path of woe
Up the steep hill of care!
There is no word to comfort me;
No sign to help my bended head;
Deep night lies over land and sea,
And silence dark and dread.
No sign to help my bended head;
Deep night lies over land and sea,
And silence dark and dread.
To strive, it seems, that I was born,
For that which others shall obtain;
The disappointment and the scorn
Alone for me remain.
For that which others shall obtain;
The disappointment and the scorn
Alone for me remain.
One half my life is overpast;
The other half I contemplate—
Meseems the past doth but forecast
A darker future state.
The other half I contemplate—
Meseems the past doth but forecast
A darker future state.
Sick to the heart of that which makes
Me hope and struggle and desire,
The aspiration here that aches
With ineffectual fire;
Me hope and struggle and desire,
The aspiration here that aches
With ineffectual fire;
While inwardly I know the lack,
The insufficiency of power,
Each past day's retrospect makes black
Each morrow's coming hour.
The insufficiency of power,
Each past day's retrospect makes black
Each morrow's coming hour.
Now in my youth would I could die!—
As others love to live,—go down
Into the grave without a sigh,
Oblivious of renown!
As others love to live,—go down
Into the grave without a sigh,
Oblivious of renown!
THE FOREST OF DREAMS.
I.
Where was I last Friday night?—
Within the forest of dark dreams
Following the blur of a goblin-light,
That led me over ugly streams,
Whereon the scum of the spawn was spread,
And the blistered slime, in stagnant seams;
Where the weed and the moss swam black and dead,
Like a drowned girl's hair in the ropy ooze:
And the jack-o'-lantern light that led,
Flickered the fox-fire trees o'erhead,
And the owl-like things at airy cruise.
Within the forest of dark dreams
Following the blur of a goblin-light,
That led me over ugly streams,
Whereon the scum of the spawn was spread,
And the blistered slime, in stagnant seams;
Where the weed and the moss swam black and dead,
Like a drowned girl's hair in the ropy ooze:
And the jack-o'-lantern light that led,
Flickered the fox-fire trees o'erhead,
And the owl-like things at airy cruise.
II.
Where was I last Friday night?—
Within the forest of dark dreams
Following a form of shadowy white
With my own wild face it seems.
Did a raven's wing just flap my hair?
Or a web-winged bat brush by my face?
Or the hand of—something I did not dare
Look round to see in that obscene place?
Where the boughs, with leaves a-devil's-dance,
And the thorn-tree bush, where the wind made moan,
Had more than a strange significance
Of life and of evil not their own.
Within the forest of dark dreams
Following a form of shadowy white
With my own wild face it seems.
Did a raven's wing just flap my hair?
Or a web-winged bat brush by my face?
Or the hand of—something I did not dare
Look round to see in that obscene place?
Where the boughs, with leaves a-devil's-dance,
And the thorn-tree bush, where the wind made moan,
Had more than a strange significance
Of life and of evil not their own.
III.
Where was I last Friday night?—
Within the forest of dark dreams
Seeing the mists rise left and right,
Like the leathery fog that heaves and steams
From the rolling horror of Hell's red streams.
While the wind, that tossed in the tattered tree,
And danced alone with the last mad leaf ...
Or was it the wind?... kept whispering me—
"Now bury it here with its own black grief,
And its eyes of fire you can not brave!"—
And in the darkness I seemed to see
My own self digging my soul a grave.
Within the forest of dark dreams
Seeing the mists rise left and right,
Like the leathery fog that heaves and steams
From the rolling horror of Hell's red streams.
While the wind, that tossed in the tattered tree,
And danced alone with the last mad leaf ...
Or was it the wind?... kept whispering me—
"Now bury it here with its own black grief,
And its eyes of fire you can not brave!"—
And in the darkness I seemed to see
My own self digging my soul a grave.
LYNCHERS.
At the moon's down-going, let it be
On the quarry bill with its one gnarled tree....
On the quarry bill with its one gnarled tree....
The red-rock road of the underbrush,
Where the woman came through the summer hush.
Where the woman came through the summer hush.
The sumach high, and the elder thick,
Where we found the stone and the ragged stick.
Where we found the stone and the ragged stick.
The trampled road of the thicket, full
Of foot-prints down to the quarry pool.
Of foot-prints down to the quarry pool.
The rocks that ooze with the hue of lead,
Where we found her lying stark and dead.
Where we found her lying stark and dead.
The scraggy wood; the negro hut,
With its doors and windows locked and shut.
With its doors and windows locked and shut.
A secret signal; a foot's rough tramp;
A knock at the door; a lifted lamp.
A knock at the door; a lifted lamp.
An oath; a scuffle; a ring of masks;
A voice that answers a voice that asks.
A voice that answers a voice that asks.
A group of shadows; the moon's red fleck;
A running noose and a man's bared neck.
A running noose and a man's bared neck.
A word, a curse, and a shape that swings;
The lonely night and a bat's black wings....
The lonely night and a bat's black wings....
At the moon's down-going, let it be
On the quarry hill with its one gnarled tree.
On the quarry hill with its one gnarled tree.
KU KLUX.
We have sent him seeds of the melon's core,
And nailed a warning upon his door;
By the Ku Klux laws we can do no more.
And nailed a warning upon his door;
By the Ku Klux laws we can do no more.
Down in the hollow, 'mid crib and stack,
The roof of his low-porched house looms black;
Not a line of light at the doorsill's crack.
The roof of his low-porched house looms black;
Not a line of light at the doorsill's crack.
Yet arm and mount! and mask and ride!
The hounds can sense though the fox may hide!
And for a word too much men oft have died.
The hounds can sense though the fox may hide!
And for a word too much men oft have died.
The clouds blow heavy towards the moon.
The edge of the storm will reach it soon.
The killdee cries and the lonesome loon.
The edge of the storm will reach it soon.
The killdee cries and the lonesome loon.
The clouds shall flush with a wilder glare
Than the lightning makes with its angled flare,
When the Ku Klux verdict is given there.
Than the lightning makes with its angled flare,
When the Ku Klux verdict is given there.
In the pause of the thunder rolling low,
A rifle's answer—who shall know
From the wind's fierce burl and the rain's blackblow?
A rifle's answer—who shall know
From the wind's fierce burl and the rain's blackblow?
Only the signature written grim
At the end of the message brought to him—
A hempen rope and a twisted limb.
At the end of the message brought to him—
A hempen rope and a twisted limb.
So arm and mount! and mask and ride!
The hounds can sense though the fox may hide!
And for a word too much men oft have died.
The hounds can sense though the fox may hide!
And for a word too much men oft have died.
REMBRANDTS.
I.
I shall not soon forget her and her eyes,
The haunts of hate, where suffering seemed to write
Its own dark name, whose syllables are sighs,
In strange and starless night.
The haunts of hate, where suffering seemed to write
Its own dark name, whose syllables are sighs,
In strange and starless night.
I shall not soon forget her and her face,
So quiet, yet uneasy as a dream,
That stands on tip-toe in a haunted place
And listens for a scream.
So quiet, yet uneasy as a dream,
That stands on tip-toe in a haunted place
And listens for a scream.
She made me feel as one, alone, may feel
In some grand ghostly house of olden time,
The presence of a treasure, walls conceal,
The secret of a crime.
In some grand ghostly house of olden time,
The presence of a treasure, walls conceal,
The secret of a crime.
II.
With lambent faces, mimicking the moon,
The water lilies lie;
Dotting the darkness of the long lagoon
Like some black sky.
The water lilies lie;
Dotting the darkness of the long lagoon
Like some black sky.
A face, the whiteness of a water-flower,
And pollen-golden hair,
In shadow half, half in the moonbeams' glower,
Lifts slowly there.
And pollen-golden hair,
In shadow half, half in the moonbeams' glower,
Lifts slowly there.
A young girl's face, death makes cold marble of,
Turned to the moon and me,
Sad with the pathos of unspeakable love,
Floating to sea.
Turned to the moon and me,
Sad with the pathos of unspeakable love,
Floating to sea.
III.
One listening bent, in dread of something coming,
He can not see nor balk—
A phantom footstep, in the ghostly gloaming,
That haunts a terraced walk.
He can not see nor balk—
A phantom footstep, in the ghostly gloaming,
That haunts a terraced walk.
Long has he given his whole heart's hard endeavor
Unto the work begun,
Still hoping love would watch it grow and ever
Turn kindly eyes thereon.
Unto the work begun,
Still hoping love would watch it grow and ever
Turn kindly eyes thereon.
Now in his life he feels there nears an hour,
Inevitable, alas!
When in the darkness he shall cringe and cower,
And see his dead self pass.
Inevitable, alas!
When in the darkness he shall cringe and cower,
And see his dead self pass.
THE LADY OF THE HILLS.
Though red my blood hath left its trail
For five far miles, I shall not fail,
As God in Heaven wills!—
The way was long through that black land.
With sword on hip and horn in hand,
At last before thy walls I stand,
O Lady of the Hills!
For five far miles, I shall not fail,
As God in Heaven wills!—
The way was long through that black land.
With sword on hip and horn in hand,
At last before thy walls I stand,
O Lady of the Hills!
No seneschal shall put to scorn
The summons of my bugle-horn!
No man-at-arms shall stay!—
Yea! God hath helped my strength too far
By bandit-caverned wood and scar
To give it pause now, or to bar
My all-avenging way.
The summons of my bugle-horn!
No man-at-arms shall stay!—
Yea! God hath helped my strength too far
By bandit-caverned wood and scar
To give it pause now, or to bar
My all-avenging way.
This hope still gives my body strength—
To kiss her eyes and lips at length
Where all her kin can see;
Then 'mid her towers of crime and gloom,
Sin-haunted like the Halls of Doom,
To smite her dead in that wild room
Red-lit with revelry.
To kiss her eyes and lips at length
Where all her kin can see;
Then 'mid her towers of crime and gloom,
Sin-haunted like the Halls of Doom,
To smite her dead in that wild room
Red-lit with revelry.
Madly I rode; nor once did slack.
Before my face the world rolled, black
With nightmare wind and rain.
Witch-lights mocked at me on the fen;
And through the forest followed then
Gaunt eyes of wolves; and ghosts of men
Moaned by me on the plain.
Before my face the world rolled, black
With nightmare wind and rain.
Witch-lights mocked at me on the fen;
And through the forest followed then
Gaunt eyes of wolves; and ghosts of men
Moaned by me on the plain.
Still on I rode. My way was clear
From that wild time when, spear to spear,
Deep in the wind-torn wood,
I met him!... Dead he lies beneath
Their trysting oak. I clenched my teeth
And rode. My wound scarce let me breathe,
That filled my eyes with blood.
From that wild time when, spear to spear,
Deep in the wind-torn wood,
I met him!... Dead he lies beneath
Their trysting oak. I clenched my teeth
And rode. My wound scarce let me breathe,
That filled my eyes with blood.
And here I am. The blood may blind
My eyesight now ... yet I shall find
Her by some inner eye!
For God—He hath this deed in care!—
Yea! I shall kiss again her hair,
And tell her of her leman there,
Then smite her dead—and die.
My eyesight now ... yet I shall find
Her by some inner eye!
For God—He hath this deed in care!—
Yea! I shall kiss again her hair,
And tell her of her leman there,
Then smite her dead—and die.
REVEALMENT.
At moonset when ghost speaks with ghost,
And spirits meet where once they sinned,
Between the bournes of found and lost,
My soul met her soul on the wind,
My late-lost Evalind.
And spirits meet where once they sinned,
Between the bournes of found and lost,
My soul met her soul on the wind,
My late-lost Evalind.
I kissed her mouth. Her face was wild.
Two burning shadows were her eyes,
Wherefrom the maiden love, that smiled
A heartbreak smile of severed ties,
Gazed with a wan surprise.
Two burning shadows were her eyes,
Wherefrom the maiden love, that smiled
A heartbreak smile of severed ties,
Gazed with a wan surprise.
Then suddenly I seemed to see
No more her shape where beauty bloomed ...
My own sad self gazed up at me—
My sorrow, that had so assumed
The form of her entombed.
No more her shape where beauty bloomed ...
My own sad self gazed up at me—
My sorrow, that had so assumed
The form of her entombed.
HEART'S ENCOURAGEMENT.
Nor time nor all his minions
Of sorrow or of pain,
Shall dash with vulture pinions
The cup she fills again
Within the dream-dominions
Of life where she doth reign.
Of sorrow or of pain,
Shall dash with vulture pinions
The cup she fills again
Within the dream-dominions
Of life where she doth reign.
Clothed on with bright desire
And hope that makes her strong,
With limbs of frost and fire,
She sits above all wrong,
Her heart, a living lyre,
Her love, its only song.
And hope that makes her strong,
With limbs of frost and fire,
She sits above all wrong,
Her heart, a living lyre,
Her love, its only song.
And in the waking pauses
Of weariness and care,
And when the dark hour draws his
Black weapon of despair,
Above effects and causes
We hear its music there.
Of weariness and care,
And when the dark hour draws his
Black weapon of despair,
Above effects and causes
We hear its music there.
The longings life hath near it
Of love we yearn to see;
The dreams it doth inherit
Of immortality;
Are callings of her spirit
To something yet to be.
Of love we yearn to see;
The dreams it doth inherit
Of immortality;
Are callings of her spirit
To something yet to be.
NIGHTFALL.
O day, so sicklied o'er with night!
O dreadful fruit of fallen dusk!—
A Circe orange, golden-bright,
With horror 'neath its husk.
O dreadful fruit of fallen dusk!—
A Circe orange, golden-bright,
With horror 'neath its husk.
And I, who gave the promise heed
That made life's tempting surface fair,
Have I not eaten to the seed
Its ashes of despair!
That made life's tempting surface fair,
Have I not eaten to the seed
Its ashes of despair!
O silence of the drifted grass!
And immemorial eloquence
Of stars and winds and waves that pass!
And God's indifference!
And immemorial eloquence
Of stars and winds and waves that pass!
And God's indifference!
Leave me alone with sleep that knows
Not any thing that life may keep—
Not e'en the pulse that comes and goes
In germs that climb and creep.
Not any thing that life may keep—
Not e'en the pulse that comes and goes
In germs that climb and creep.
Or if an aspiration pale
Must quicken there—oh, let the spot
Grow weeds! that dost may so prevail,
Where spirit once could not!
Must quicken there—oh, let the spot
Grow weeds! that dost may so prevail,
Where spirit once could not!
PAUSE.
So sick of dreams! the dreams, that stain
The aisle, along which life must pass,
With hues of mystic colored glass,
That fills the windows of the brain.
The aisle, along which life must pass,
With hues of mystic colored glass,
That fills the windows of the brain.
So sick of thoughts! the thoughts, that carve
The house of days with arabesques
And gargoyles, where the mind grotesques
In masks of hope and faith who starve.
The house of days with arabesques
And gargoyles, where the mind grotesques
In masks of hope and faith who starve.
Here lay thy over weary head
Upon my bosom! Do not weep!—
"He giveth His beloved sleep."—
Heart of my heart, be comforted.
Upon my bosom! Do not weep!—
"He giveth His beloved sleep."—
Heart of my heart, be comforted.
ABOVE THE VALES.
We went by ways of bygone days,
Up mountain heights of story,
Where lost in vague, historic haze,
Tradition, crowned with battle-bays,
Sat 'mid her ruins hoary.
Up mountain heights of story,
Where lost in vague, historic haze,
Tradition, crowned with battle-bays,
Sat 'mid her ruins hoary.
Where wing to wing the eagles cling
And torrents have their sources,
War rose with bugle voice to sing
Of wild spear thrust, and broadsword swing,
And rush of men and horses.
And torrents have their sources,
War rose with bugle voice to sing
Of wild spear thrust, and broadsword swing,
And rush of men and horses.
Then deep below, where orchards show
A home here, here a steeple,
We heard a simple shepherd go,
Singing, beneath the afterglow,
A love-song of the people.
A home here, here a steeple,
We heard a simple shepherd go,
Singing, beneath the afterglow,
A love-song of the people.
As in the trees the song did cease,
With matron eyes and holy
Peace, from the cornlands of increase.
And rose-beds of love's victories,
Spake, smiling, of the lowly.
With matron eyes and holy
Peace, from the cornlands of increase.
And rose-beds of love's victories,
Spake, smiling, of the lowly.
A SUNSET FANCY.
Wide in the west, a lake
Of flame that seems to shake
As if the Midgard snake
Deep down did breathe:
An isle of purple glow,
Where rosy rivers flow
Down peaks of cloudy snow
With fire beneath.
Of flame that seems to shake
As if the Midgard snake
Deep down did breathe:
An isle of purple glow,
Where rosy rivers flow
Down peaks of cloudy snow
With fire beneath.
And there the Tower-of-Night,
With windows all a-light,
Frowns on a burning height;
Wherein she sleeps,—
Young through the years of doom,—
Veiled with her hair's gold gloom,
The pale Valkyrie whom
Enchantment keeps.
With windows all a-light,
Frowns on a burning height;
Wherein she sleeps,—
Young through the years of doom,—
Veiled with her hair's gold gloom,
The pale Valkyrie whom
Enchantment keeps.
THE FEN-FIRE.
The misty rain makes dim my face,
The night's black cloak is o'er me;
I tread the dripping cypress-place,
A flickering light before me.
The night's black cloak is o'er me;
I tread the dripping cypress-place,
A flickering light before me.
Out of the death of leaves that rot
And ooze and weedy water,
My form was breathed to haunt this spot,
Death's immaterial daughter.
And ooze and weedy water,
My form was breathed to haunt this spot,
Death's immaterial daughter.
The owl that whoops upon the yew,
The snake that lairs within it,
Have seen my wild face flashing blue
For one fantastic minute.
The snake that lairs within it,
Have seen my wild face flashing blue
For one fantastic minute.
But should you follow where my eyes
Like some pale lamp decoy you,
Beware! lest suddenly I rise
With love that shall destroy you.
Like some pale lamp decoy you,
Beware! lest suddenly I rise
With love that shall destroy you.
TO ONE READING THE MORTE D'ARTHURE.
O daughter of our Southern sun,
Sweet sister of each flower,
Dost dream in terraced Avalon
A shadow-haunted hour?
Or stand with Guinevere upon
Some ivied Camelot tower?
Sweet sister of each flower,
Dost dream in terraced Avalon
A shadow-haunted hour?
Or stand with Guinevere upon
Some ivied Camelot tower?
Or in the wind dost breathe the musk
That blows Tintagel's sea on?
Or 'mid the lists by castled Usk
Hear some wild tourney's pæon?
Or 'neath the Merlin moons of dusk
Dost muse in old Cærleon?
That blows Tintagel's sea on?
Or 'mid the lists by castled Usk
Hear some wild tourney's pæon?
Or 'neath the Merlin moons of dusk
Dost muse in old Cærleon?
Or now of Launcelot, and then
Of Arthur, 'mid the roses,
Dost speak with wily Vivien?
Or where the shade reposes,
Dost walk with stately armored men
In marble-fountained closes?
Of Arthur, 'mid the roses,
Dost speak with wily Vivien?
Or where the shade reposes,
Dost walk with stately armored men
In marble-fountained closes?
So speak the dreams within thy gaze.
The dreams thy spirit cages,
Would that Romance—which on thee lays
The spell of bygone ages—
Held me! a memory of those days,
A portion of its pages!
The dreams thy spirit cages,
Would that Romance—which on thee lays
The spell of bygone ages—
Held me! a memory of those days,
A portion of its pages!
STROLLERS.
I.
We have no castles,
We have no vassals,
We have no riches, no gems and no gold;
Nothing to ponder,
Nothing to squander—
Let us go wander
As minstrels of old.
We have no vassals,
We have no riches, no gems and no gold;
Nothing to ponder,
Nothing to squander—
Let us go wander
As minstrels of old.