The cross I bear no man shall know—
No man shall see the cross I bear!—
Alas! the thorny path of woe
Up the steep hill of care!
No man shall see 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 ease my cross-bowed head:
Deep night is in the heart of me,
And in my soul is dread.
No sign to ease my cross-bowed head:
Deep night is in the heart of me,
And in my soul is 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
Of thought, the paucity of power,
Each past day’s retrospect makes black
Each onward-coming hour.
Of thought, the paucity of power,
Each past day’s retrospect makes black
Each onward-coming hour.
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 anything that life may keep—
Not e’en the pulse that comes and goes
In germs that climb and creep.
Not anything that life may keep—
Not e’en the pulse that comes and goes
In germs that climb and creep.
PAUSE
Thou too art sick of 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.
Thou too art sick of 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.
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 woods of spears and swords a-swing,
And rush of men and horses.
And torrents have their sources,
War rose with bugle voice to sing
Of woods of spears and swords a-swing,
And rush of men and horses.
INSOMNIA
It seems that dawn will never climb
The eastern hills;
And, clad in mist and flame and rime,
Make flashing highways of the rills.
The eastern hills;
And, clad in mist and flame and rime,
Make flashing highways of the rills.
The night is as an ancient way
Through some dead land,
Whereon the ghosts of Memory
And Sorrow wander, hand in hand.
Through some dead land,
Whereon the ghosts of Memory
And Sorrow wander, hand in hand.
By which man’s works ignoble seem,
Unbeautiful;
And grandeur, but the ruined dream
Of some dead queen, crowned with a skull.
Unbeautiful;
And grandeur, but the ruined dream
Of some dead queen, crowned with a skull.
ENCOURAGEMENT
To help our tired hope to toil,
Lo! have we not the council here
Of trees, that to my heart appear
As sermons of the soil?
Lo! have we not the council here
Of trees, that to my heart appear
As sermons of the soil?
To help our flagging faith to rise,
Lo! have we not the high advice
Of stars, that for my soul suffice
As gospels of the skies?
Lo! have we not the high advice
Of stars, that for my soul suffice
As gospels of the skies?
WHICH?
The wind was on the forest,
And silence on the wold;
And darkness on the waters,
And heaven was starry cold;
When Sleep, with all her magic,
Made me this thing behold:
And silence on the wold;
And darkness on the waters,
And heaven was starry cold;
When Sleep, with all her magic,
Made me this thing behold:
This side, an iron woodland;
That side, an iron waste;
Between which rose a tower,
Wherein a wan light paced,
A light, or phantom woman
Ice-eyed and icy-faced.
That side, an iron waste;
Between which rose a tower,
Wherein a wan light paced,
A light, or phantom woman
Ice-eyed and icy-faced.
And through the iron tower
Of silence and of night,
My Soul and I went only,
My Soul, whose face was white,
Whose one hand signed me listen,
One bore a taper-light.
Of silence and of night,
My Soul and I went only,
My Soul, whose face was white,
Whose one hand signed me listen,
One bore a taper-light.
For, lo! a voice behind me
Kept sighing in my ear
The dreams my mind accepted,
My heart refused to hear—
Of one I loved and loved not,
Whose spirit now was near,
Kept sighing in my ear
The dreams my mind accepted,
My heart refused to hear—
Of one I loved and loved not,
Whose spirit now was near,
And, lo! a voice before me
Kept calling constantly
The hopes my heart accepted,
My mind refused to see—
Of one I loved and loved not,
Whose spirit spake to me.
Kept calling constantly
The hopes my heart accepted,
My mind refused to see—
Of one I loved and loved not,
Whose spirit spake to me.
STORM
I looked into the night and saw
God writing with tumultuous flame
Upon the thunder’s front of awe,—
As on sonorous brass,—the Law,
Terrific, of His judgment name.
God writing with tumultuous flame
Upon the thunder’s front of awe,—
As on sonorous brass,—the Law,
Terrific, of His judgment name.
TIME AND DEATH AND LOVE
Last night I watched for Death—
So sick of life was I!—
When, in the street beneath,
I heard his watchman cry
The hour, while passing by.
So sick of life was I!—
When, in the street beneath,
I heard his watchman cry
The hour, while passing by.
I called. And in the night
I heard him stop below,
His owlish lanthorn’s light
Blurring the windy snow—
How long the time and slow!
I heard him stop below,
His owlish lanthorn’s light
Blurring the windy snow—
How long the time and slow!
I said, “Why dost thou cower
There at my door and knock?
Come in! It is the hour!
Cease fumbling at the lock!
Naught’s well! ’Tis no o’clock!”
There at my door and knock?
Come in! It is the hour!
Cease fumbling at the lock!
Naught’s well! ’Tis no o’clock!”
A PHANTASY
I know not where I found you
With your wild hair a-blow,
Nor why the world around you
Would never let me know:
Perhaps ’twas Heaven relented;
Perhaps ’twas Hell resented
My hope, and grimly vented
Its hate upon me so.
With your wild hair a-blow,
Nor why the world around you
Would never let me know:
Perhaps ’twas Heaven relented;
Perhaps ’twas Hell resented
My hope, and grimly vented
Its hate upon me so.
In Shadowland I met you
Where all life’s shadows meet;
Within my heart I set you,
A woman bitter-sweet:
No hope for me to win you,
Though I with soul and sinew
Strove on and on, when in you
There was no heart or heat.
Where all life’s shadows meet;
Within my heart I set you,
A woman bitter-sweet:
No hope for me to win you,
Though I with soul and sinew
Strove on and on, when in you
There was no heart or heat.
Still always, aye, and ever,
Although I knew you lied,
I followed on, but never
Would your fair form abide:
With loving arms stretched meward,
As Sirens beckon seaward
To some frail vessel leeward,
Before me you would glide.
Although I knew you lied,
I followed on, but never
Would your fair form abide:
With loving arms stretched meward,
As Sirens beckon seaward
To some frail vessel leeward,
Before me you would glide.
But like an evil fairy,
That mocks one with a light,
Now near, you led your airy,
Now far, your fitful flight:
With red-gold tresses blowing,
And eyes of sapphire glowing,
With raiment white and flowing,
You lured me through the night.
That mocks one with a light,
Now near, you led your airy,
Now far, your fitful flight:
With red-gold tresses blowing,
And eyes of sapphire glowing,
With raiment white and flowing,
You lured me through the night.
WHEREFORE
I would not see, yet must behold
The lie they preach in church and hall;
And question thus,—Is death then all,
And life an idle tale that’s told?
The lie they preach in church and hall;
And question thus,—Is death then all,
And life an idle tale that’s told?
The myriad wonders art hath wrought
Men deem eternal as God’s love:
No more than shadows these shall prove,
And insubstantial, too, as thought.
Men deem eternal as God’s love:
No more than shadows these shall prove,
And insubstantial, too, as thought.
And love and labor, who have gone,
Hand in close hand, and civilized
The wilderness, these shall be prized
No more than if they had not done.
Hand in close hand, and civilized
The wilderness, these shall be prized
No more than if they had not done.
TRISTRAM AND ISOLT
Night, and vast caverns of rock and of iron:
Voices like water, and voices like wind:
Horror, and tempests of hail that environ
Shapes and the shadows of two who have sinned.
Voices like water, and voices like wind:
Horror, and tempests of hail that environ
Shapes and the shadows of two who have sinned.
NIGHT
Lo! where the champion, Day, down slopes of flame,
In golden armor, quits the evening skies!
And as his glowing steeds, with manes of fire,
Rush from the world, a dust of glimmering gold
From their fierce hoofs o’er heaven’s azure meads
Rolls to one star that blossoms near the moon.
With solemn tread and holy-stoled, star-bound,
Night, like a votaress, a shadowy nun,
Paces the lonely corridors of heaven,
The vasty-arched and ebon halls of sky.
How still! how beautiful! her raven locks
Pale-filleted with stars that dance their sheen
On her deep, vestal eyes, and woo the soul
To wonder, and to dream of far-off things.
How calm o’er this great river, in its flow
Silent and dark, smoothes Earth’s cold sister sphere
Her lunar chasteness, whiter than blown foam!
As o’er a troubled brow a hand of love:
As on a restless heart the balm of sleep,
Caressing softening all care away.
In golden armor, quits the evening skies!
And as his glowing steeds, with manes of fire,
Rush from the world, a dust of glimmering gold
From their fierce hoofs o’er heaven’s azure meads
Rolls to one star that blossoms near the moon.
With solemn tread and holy-stoled, star-bound,
Night, like a votaress, a shadowy nun,
Paces the lonely corridors of heaven,
The vasty-arched and ebon halls of sky.
How still! how beautiful! her raven locks
Pale-filleted with stars that dance their sheen
On her deep, vestal eyes, and woo the soul
To wonder, and to dream of far-off things.
How calm o’er this great river, in its flow
Silent and dark, smoothes Earth’s cold sister sphere
Her lunar chasteness, whiter than blown foam!
As o’er a troubled brow a hand of love:
As on a restless heart the balm of sleep,
Caressing softening all care away.
See, where the roses, at the wood’s dark edge,
In many a languid bloom, bow to the moon
And the dim river’s lisp; sleep weighs their eyes
With damask lashes of deep petals fringed,
That the rude, frolic bee,—rough paramour,—
So often kissed beneath the noonday sun.
How cool the breezes touch the tired head!
As if with unseen fingers, soft and slow,
Smoothing away the weariness of day.
And on the breeze, hark! to that melody,
Borne from that thorn-tree, white with fragrant bloom,
The dreaming nocturne of a mocking-bird,—
Ave Maria, nun-like, slumbering sung,—
There on its couch of clustered snow and scent.
In many a languid bloom, bow to the moon
And the dim river’s lisp; sleep weighs their eyes
With damask lashes of deep petals fringed,
That the rude, frolic bee,—rough paramour,—
So often kissed beneath the noonday sun.
How cool the breezes touch the tired head!
As if with unseen fingers, soft and slow,
Smoothing away the weariness of day.
And on the breeze, hark! to that melody,
Borne from that thorn-tree, white with fragrant bloom,
The dreaming nocturne of a mocking-bird,—
Ave Maria, nun-like, slumbering sung,—
There on its couch of clustered snow and scent.
See, where the violet mound nods many a flower!
Dreamily sad as Sorrow’s own sad eyes,
And lost in thought, and great with dewy grief,
As are her eyes when haltingly she bends
O’er Lethe’s waves, and, stooping down to drink,
Delays to drink, and faltering remains.
The Night with feet of moon-tinged mist and wind
Swept o’er them now, but as she passed she bent,
Meseemed, and kissed each modest bloom and left
A brilliant on its brow, that bashful hung,
Freighted with love: then, groping up her train
Of star-stained crape, that billowed breeze-like by,
I seemed to hear her whisper as she passed:
“Sleep, sleep, my children! Lo, I bring to you
God’s best gift, sleep! the soft, the misty eyed;
The strange, the wonderful! the cure for care!”
Dreamily sad as Sorrow’s own sad eyes,
And lost in thought, and great with dewy grief,
As are her eyes when haltingly she bends
O’er Lethe’s waves, and, stooping down to drink,
Delays to drink, and faltering remains.
The Night with feet of moon-tinged mist and wind
Swept o’er them now, but as she passed she bent,
Meseemed, and kissed each modest bloom and left
A brilliant on its brow, that bashful hung,
Freighted with love: then, groping up her train
Of star-stained crape, that billowed breeze-like by,
I seemed to hear her whisper as she passed:
“Sleep, sleep, my children! Lo, I bring to you
God’s best gift, sleep! the soft, the misty eyed;
The strange, the wonderful! the cure for care!”
And all things slept, the trees, the rocks, the soil,
Sleep’s soft ablution in them washing out
The fever and the frenzy of the day:
But I, I slept not with them, though the world
And all its peoples slept, I could not sleep,
My heart being brimmed with love, with joy and love,
With thoughts and dreams of love’s first happiness;
Until the Night turned from the slumbering world,
From her dim vigil turned,—as, from her child,
A loving mother turns, who, all night long,
Hath bent above its cradle, and with songs
And kisses soothed to rest:—and in the east
The first faint streaks of dawn made gray the heaven,
And the rathe cock, like some clear clarion, crew.
Sleep’s soft ablution in them washing out
The fever and the frenzy of the day:
But I, I slept not with them, though the world
And all its peoples slept, I could not sleep,
My heart being brimmed with love, with joy and love,
With thoughts and dreams of love’s first happiness;
Until the Night turned from the slumbering world,
From her dim vigil turned,—as, from her child,
A loving mother turns, who, all night long,
Hath bent above its cradle, and with songs
And kisses soothed to rest:—and in the east
The first faint streaks of dawn made gray the heaven,
And the rathe cock, like some clear clarion, crew.
DAWN
I
Mist on the mountain height
Silverly creeping:
Incarnate beads of light
Bloom-cradled sleeping,
Dripped from the brow of Night.
Silverly creeping:
Incarnate beads of light
Bloom-cradled sleeping,
Dripped from the brow of Night.
II
Shadows and winds that rise
Over the mountain:
Stars in the spar that lies
Lost in the fountain,
Cold as the waking skies.
Over the mountain:
Stars in the spar that lies
Lost in the fountain,
Cold as the waking skies.
III
IV
Sleep on the restless sea
Hushing its trouble:
Rest on the dreams that be
Hued in Life’s bubble:
Calm on the heart of me.
Hushing its trouble:
Rest on the dreams that be
Hued in Life’s bubble:
Calm on the heart of me.
V
Mist from the mountain height
Hurriedly fleeting:
Star in the locks of Night
Throbbing and beating,
Thrilled with the coming light.
Hurriedly fleeting:
Star in the locks of Night
Throbbing and beating,
Thrilled with the coming light.
VI
THE OCKLAWAHA
River, winding from the west,
Winding from the River May,
Often hath the Indian pressed
Through your black-gums and your mosses,
Where the alligator crosses
Still some lily-paven bay,
Basking there in lazy rest.
Winding from the River May,
Often hath the Indian pressed
Through your black-gums and your mosses,
Where the alligator crosses
Still some lily-paven bay,
Basking there in lazy rest.
Still the spider-lily loops
Sprawling flowers, peels of pearl,
Where the green magnolia stoops
Buds to yellow-lily bonnets;
Where, the morning dew upon its
Golden funnels, curl on curl,
The festooning jasmine droops.
Sprawling flowers, peels of pearl,
Where the green magnolia stoops
Buds to yellow-lily bonnets;
Where, the morning dew upon its
Golden funnels, curl on curl,
The festooning jasmine droops.
Who may paint the beauty of
Orchids blooming late in June,
Bristling on the boughs above!
Cypress trees where vine and flower,
Long, liana’d blossoms shower
On the deer that come at noon
To the inlets that they love.
Orchids blooming late in June,
Bristling on the boughs above!
Cypress trees where vine and flower,
Long, liana’d blossoms shower
On the deer that come at noon
To the inlets that they love.
Lilied inlets,—where the teal
Dabble ’mid the water-grasses,—
That some treasure seem to seal
With white blooms that star the river:
Bays, the swift kingfishers shiver
Into circles as each passes
O’er their mirrors that reveal.
Dabble ’mid the water-grasses,—
That some treasure seem to seal
With white blooms that star the river:
Bays, the swift kingfishers shiver
Into circles as each passes
O’er their mirrors that reveal.
Bends, reflecting root and moss,
Where the tall palmettos throng
’Mid the live-oaks; tower and toss
Panther necks whose heads are heavy:
Hamaks, where the perfumes levy
Tribute from the birds in song,
From the mocking-birds that cross.
Where the tall palmettos throng
’Mid the live-oaks; tower and toss
Panther necks whose heads are heavy:
Hamaks, where the perfumes levy
Tribute from the birds in song,
From the mocking-birds that cross.
Logs, the turtles haunt; and deeps
Of lagoons the searching crane
Wades; and where the heron sleeps;
Where the screaming limpkins listen,
And the leaping mullet glisten;
Where the bream and bass show plain,
And the dark didapper sweeps.
Of lagoons the searching crane
Wades; and where the heron sleeps;
Where the screaming limpkins listen,
And the leaping mullet glisten;
Where the bream and bass show plain,
And the dark didapper sweeps.
Coäcoochee! Coäcoochee!
Still your loved magnolias bloom,
Still the tangled Cherokee;
Still the blazing-star spreads splendor
Through the forest, and the tender
Discs of the hibiscus loom,
Rosy, where you once roamed free.
Still your loved magnolias bloom,
Still the tangled Cherokee;
Still the blazing-star spreads splendor
Through the forest, and the tender
Discs of the hibiscus loom,
Rosy, where you once roamed free.
THE MINORCAN
I
The mocking-bird may sing
Loud welcomes in the Spring;
The farewell of our nightingales
Prevails, prevails!
No thing may hush their song:
In sleep they sing the clearer—
It’s “home, home, home,” the whole night long—
What wonder that we feel our wrong
The nearer!
Loud welcomes in the Spring;
The farewell of our nightingales
Prevails, prevails!
No thing may hush their song:
In sleep they sing the clearer—
It’s “home, home, home,” the whole night long—
What wonder that we feel our wrong
The nearer!
II
III
The wind from out the west
Would teach our souls unrest;
We will not hear until hath ceased
The East, the East!
Within its whispering sweep
The olive sounds and rushes;
It’s “rest, rest, rest,” while night doth keep
The weight of memory asleep
That crushes.
Would teach our souls unrest;
We will not hear until hath ceased
The East, the East!
Within its whispering sweep
The olive sounds and rushes;
It’s “rest, rest, rest,” while night doth keep
The weight of memory asleep
That crushes.
IV
THE SPRING IN FLORIDA
I
Crab-apples make the western belt
Of hamak one gay holiday of pink;
And through palmetto deeps, on winds like felt,
The jasmine odors sink.
Of hamak one gay holiday of pink;
And through palmetto deeps, on winds like felt,
The jasmine odors sink.
The wind blows blurs of peach and pearl
Around the villa by the river’s side;
The guava blossoms and the orange-trees whirl
Aroma far and wide.
Around the villa by the river’s side;
The guava blossoms and the orange-trees whirl
Aroma far and wide.
“He courts her!” sings the mocking-bird;
“He courts her, and she misses
This word, or that, she might have heard,
Had he not crushed a sweeter word
On her sweet mouth with kisses.
He courts her.”
“He courts her, and she misses
This word, or that, she might have heard,
Had he not crushed a sweeter word
On her sweet mouth with kisses.
He courts her.”
II
Chameleons haunt the sunlight there,
Where lemons firmament with blooms the way:
The white rose gives its soul up and the air
Ensnares it in a ray.
Where lemons firmament with blooms the way:
The white rose gives its soul up and the air
Ensnares it in a ray.
Great lilies open mouths of musk
And stun the wind with scent; the loaded light
Swoons with japonicas; and, tusk on tusk,
Magnolias bud in sight.
And stun the wind with scent; the loaded light
Swoons with japonicas; and, tusk on tusk,
Magnolias bud in sight.
The red-bird sings, “Oh, haste, haste, haste!
Sweetheart! no longer tarry!
Go, clasp her sweetly by the waist!
And ask her, like a poppy faced,
Sweetheart! if she will marry.
Oh, haste, haste, haste!”
Sweetheart! no longer tarry!
Go, clasp her sweetly by the waist!
And ask her, like a poppy faced,
Sweetheart! if she will marry.
Oh, haste, haste, haste!”
III
LONG AGO
When the winter wind comes sighing
Like a ghost, and softly trying
Door and window, and the dying
Light upon the hearth burns low;
How his heart, that’s old, remembers
Love that faded as the embers
Into ashes, or December’s
Vanished snow.
Like a ghost, and softly trying
Door and window, and the dying
Light upon the hearth burns low;
How his heart, that’s old, remembers
Love that faded as the embers
Into ashes, or December’s
Vanished snow.
And he seems to see her sitting
With the tranquil firelight flitting
On her face and fitful knitting,
While her chair goes to and fro;
As she sat once in the hours
That are gone; that, like the flowers,
Died, with all that youth embowers,
Long ago.
With the tranquil firelight flitting
On her face and fitful knitting,
While her chair goes to and fro;
As she sat once in the hours
That are gone; that, like the flowers,
Died, with all that youth embowers,
Long ago.
SELF
A Sufi said to me in dreams:
Behold! from Sodomite to Peri
Earth tablets us: man lives and is
Man’s own long commentary.
Behold! from Sodomite to Peri
Earth tablets us: man lives and is
Man’s own long commentary.
Is one begat at Bassora,
One lies at Damietta dying—
The plausibilities of God
All possibles o’erlying.
One lies at Damietta dying—
The plausibilities of God
All possibles o’erlying.
But when lust burns within the flesh—
Hell’s but a homily on Heaven—
Put then the individual first,
And of thyself be shriven.
Hell’s but a homily on Heaven—
Put then the individual first,
And of thyself be shriven.
Neither in adamant nor brass
The scrutinizing eye records it:
The arm is rooted in the heart,
The heart that rules and lords it.
The scrutinizing eye records it:
The arm is rooted in the heart,
The heart that rules and lords it.
ASPIRATION
God knew he strove against pale lust and vice,
Wound in the net of their voluptuous hair:
God knew that to their kisses he was ice,
Their arms around him there.
Wound in the net of their voluptuous hair:
God knew that to their kisses he was ice,
Their arms around him there.
God knew against the front of fate he set
A front as stern, with lips as sternly pressed;
Raised clenched and ineffectual hands that met
The iron of her breast.
A front as stern, with lips as sternly pressed;
Raised clenched and ineffectual hands that met
The iron of her breast.
God knew what motive his sad soul inspired:
God knew the star for which he climbed and craved:
God knew, and only God, the hell that fired
His heart and in it raved.
God knew the star for which he climbed and craved:
God knew, and only God, the hell that fired
His heart and in it raved.
PEACE
I
When rose-leaves ’neath the rose-bush lie
And lilies bloom and lilacs die,
When days fall sadder than a sigh,
Lay me asleep;
Where breezes blow the rose-leaves by,
Lay me asleep.
And lilies bloom and lilacs die,
When days fall sadder than a sigh,
Lay me asleep;
Where breezes blow the rose-leaves by,
Lay me asleep.
II
III
SIN
There is a legend of an old Hartz tower
That tells of one, a noble, who had sold
His soul unto the Fiend; who grew not old
On this condition: that the Demon’s power
Cease every midnight for a single hour,
And, in that hour, his body should lie cold
With limbs up-shriveled, and with face, behold!
Shrunk to a death’s-head in the taper’s glower.—
So unto Sin Life gives his best. Her arts
Make all his outward seeming beautiful
Before the world; but in his heart of hearts
Abides an hour when her strength is null;
When he shall feel the death through all his parts
Strike, and his countenance become a skull.
That tells of one, a noble, who had sold
His soul unto the Fiend; who grew not old
On this condition: that the Demon’s power
Cease every midnight for a single hour,
And, in that hour, his body should lie cold
With limbs up-shriveled, and with face, behold!
Shrunk to a death’s-head in the taper’s glower.—
So unto Sin Life gives his best. Her arts
Make all his outward seeming beautiful
Before the world; but in his heart of hearts
Abides an hour when her strength is null;
When he shall feel the death through all his parts
Strike, and his countenance become a skull.
THE HOUSE OF FEAR
Vast are its halls, as vast the halls and lone
Where Death sits, listening to the wind and rain;
And dark the house, where I shall meet again
That long-dead Sin in some dread way unknown:
For I have dreamed of stairs of haunted stone,
And spectre footsteps I have fled in vain;
And windows glaring with a blood-red stain,
And hollow eyes, that burn me to the bone,
Within a face that looks as that black night
It looked when deep I dug for it a grave,—
The dagger wound above the brow, the thin
Blood trickling slantwise down the cheek’s dead white;—
And I have dreamed not even God can save
Me and my soul from that arisen Sin.
Where Death sits, listening to the wind and rain;
And dark the house, where I shall meet again
That long-dead Sin in some dread way unknown:
For I have dreamed of stairs of haunted stone,
And spectre footsteps I have fled in vain;
And windows glaring with a blood-red stain,
And hollow eyes, that burn me to the bone,
Within a face that looks as that black night
It looked when deep I dug for it a grave,—
The dagger wound above the brow, the thin
Blood trickling slantwise down the cheek’s dead white;—
And I have dreamed not even God can save
Me and my soul from that arisen Sin.
SATAN
Still shall I stand the everlasting hate
Colossal Chaos builded ’neath thine eyes,
The symbol of all evil, that defies
Thy victory, and, vanquished, still can wait.
Scar me again with such vast flame as late
Hurled abrupt thunder and archangel cries,
’Mid fiery whirlwinds of the terrible skies,
Down the deep’s roar against Hell’s monster gate!
Thy wrath can not abolish or make less
Me, an eternal wile opposed to wrath:
Me, who to thwart thee evermore shall plan!
Behold thy Eden’s vanished loveliness!—
Why hast thou set a sword within its path,
And cursed and exiled thine own image, Man?
Colossal Chaos builded ’neath thine eyes,
The symbol of all evil, that defies
Thy victory, and, vanquished, still can wait.
Scar me again with such vast flame as late
Hurled abrupt thunder and archangel cries,
’Mid fiery whirlwinds of the terrible skies,
Down the deep’s roar against Hell’s monster gate!
Thy wrath can not abolish or make less
Me, an eternal wile opposed to wrath:
Me, who to thwart thee evermore shall plan!
Behold thy Eden’s vanished loveliness!—
Why hast thou set a sword within its path,
And cursed and exiled thine own image, Man?