A LAMENT
Like a song that is sung, like a tale that is told,
The life in me hushes the voice of its gladness;
Youth walks by my side, but his hands have grown cold,
And deep in his eyes lurks the shadow of sadness.
Alas! for the flowers that never come to me;
Alas! for the morning again, now day closes;
The joy of a love is as nothing, for through me
There passes the deep-wounding thorn of the roses.
TO ——
The wind's on the hill,
The sun's on the lea,
The lark's on the wing
And the dawn's on the sea,
And the rapture that springeth of Love, is on me.
THOUGHTS
Ah! the kiss of the sweet night air,
And the still, deep eyes of the cloudy skies,
Grown dim with peace:
Peace, the angel of death, that is everywhere.
Ah! the bliss of the soul at rest,
And of eyes that weep growing calm in sleep,
Hushéd by night:
Night, the shadow of death, that in blessing is blessed.
SHIPS
Fair ships, happy and free,
Smile on the lonely sea,
Only to fade again
Into the mist and rain.
Ah! me.
Thus do bright hopes appear
On life's vast ocean drear;
Hopes that beguile the mind,
And passing leave behind
A tear.
THE DREAM-CHILD
There is a child who will come to me,
Often at dusk, when my mind is free.
She is the child that I used to be,
When I was only nine.
Over her hair is a wreath of flowers,
Those are the thoughts of the golden hours
Spent in the glory of childhood's bowers,
Fancy, those thoughts were mine!
Butterflies whiter than flakes of snow
Hover around her lips, and oh!
They are the prayers that I used to know,
God may remember still.
God who they tell us will not forget
Even a penitent child's regret!
Now I am callous of prayers, and yet—
Ah, how I hope that He will.
THE DAY
The day walks over the mountains,
To the splash of a thousand fountains,
To the song of a million streams.
Her hair is unbound and flowing,
Her eyes are as bluebells growing
In a valley of shade and dreams.
Her breast, than the snow is whiter,
Her lips, than the poppies brighter,
Her limbs are as strong white fire.
Thus she comes from the sky above her
To the arms of the Earth her lover,
In a splendour of warm desire.
FROM MY SOUL
Oh! but to find expression for the thoughts,
So marvellous and yet so undefined,
That flow from out the palpitating soul
To consecrate the mind.
Oh! but to have the gift to put in words,
That potent passion, that divine desire,
That thrills the aching spirit with unrest
And sets the brain on fire.
Oh! God, but once to rise above the flesh,
To breathe our inmost thoughts in one vast sigh
Of rapture. Oh! to realise ourselves,
And at that moment ... die.
WE
We who are made
Brave yet afraid,
Happy yet sad,
Good and yet bad,
Sane and yet mad,
What can we do?
Turmoil and strife,
Passion and life,
Love and desire,
Can these inspire
Spiritual fire?
How can we live?
Little have we
Bond and yet free,
Strong and yet weak,
Proud and yet meek,
Save but to seek
God in it all.
God with His hands
Holds all the lands;
Rules every sea,
Sets the winds free,
Counts every tree,
Makes every leaf.
Then shall we fear?
He placed us here.
If God commands
God understands,
Ponders, and plans;
Knowing it all.
TO SINGERS
Sing with your intellect and soul combined;
Not all technique, nor yet all wild emotion,
Thus shall you touch the heart and please the mind,
Winning a real and merited devotion.
THE MAY TREE
A garden in the month of May,
The fading of a golden day
Upon the tulip flowers.
An anthem sung by little birds,
The sigh more eloquent than words
Of earth to listening hours.
And shadows ... like the fringe that lies
On cheek, at close of drowsy eyes,
And paths, grown damp with dew;
And secret places, where to tread
Were to disturb the bridal bed
Of creatures born anew.
And fairer than each living thing
That stirs with longings of the Spring,
A May tree, bearing flower.
Like some young nymph the sunlight charms
She stretches forth her slender arms,
New decked with leafy dower.
While through her wondrous, living form
The sap of life leaps strong and warm,
Awaking from repose
The folded buds to know the Spring,
It seems I almost hear them sing
For rapture as it flows.
Ay! and it seems as though my heart
Strained upward, but to take some part
In that sweet hymn of praise;
As though my pulses quicker beat,
To see perfection so complete
Revealéd to my gaze.
As though the problem of unrest
Were solved at last, in this behest
To silently fulfil;
And deeper still, my soul perceives
The mighty Presence that conceives
Such beauty at Its will.
PURGATORY
She said, "I want to live no matter what
The penalty, give me on earth the lot
I most desire.
Let me drink deep of love, of joy, of life.
Scatter the roses, let the wine run rife
Dear Gods above, and then let fall the knife
I will expire."
The Gods smiled sadly, very well they knew
Her ardent spirit could ascend the blue,
And force their will.
Such weak old Deities these latter days
Could but comply to her imperious ways.
With woeful doubts they showed the flowery maze
Of rapturous ill.
And she was happy: with that hot content
That burns away the flesh, that ravishment
Of youth grown bold.
Until one morn the roses of her bed
Were turned to nettles, all the joy was dead,
The passion cold.
She cried, "Now let me die, to live a day
Were Purgatory. See the awful way
I gaze upon."
The Gods were silent; powerless to avert
The consequence, grown wearily inert.
So—she lived on.
TO ——
The sound of the waves is the sound of tears,
And the wind that drifts on the sea
Is the restless ghost of the bygone years,
With their pain and their ecstasy.
The far white ships with their shining sails
Are the hopes of a faithful heart,
Sent forth to fight through the storm and gales,
With never a guiding chart.
And what of the pilot who stands above
And steadfastly holds the wheel?
Oh! he is the man who believed in love
Before he forgot to feel.
A SPRING POSY
A spray of blossoms, and as well
Some violets, gathered yesterday
From leafy wood and shaded dell,
Sweet children of a fruitful May;
Dear minstrels of that silent lay
More potent than an organ's swell.
And now they're withered! all the joy
Has gone for ever, and the scent;
Relentless fingers can alloy
So much of nature's sentiment,
So many strains of deep content,
It takes so little to destroy.
AWAKENING
To open both your drowsy eyes,
To stretch your limbs and realise
That day is here.
To watch the dancing, shifting beam
Of sun, awake yet half in dream,
Uncertain if the fitful gleam
Be far or near.
To turn with soft, contented sigh,
And through the window watch the sky,
All opal blue.
To feel the air steal in the room,
Made fragrant by the soft perfume
Of lime-trees, when their scented bloom
Is damp with dew.
To hear the rustling voice of leaves,
The chirp of birds beneath the eaves,
But now awake.
The tiny hum of timid things
That fly with gauzy, fragile wings,
Where yet the dusk to daylight clings,
When mornings break.
To feel the soul look forth and smile,
Contented with each fruitful mile
That it beholds.
To hear the heart beat loud and strong,
In unison with Nature's song,
That echoes tremulous and long
While dawn unfolds.
To know yourself a thing complete,
With strength of mind and limb replete,
With vast desire;
A creature made to dominate
The lesser things of earth, a fate
On whom the universe must wait,
With force entire.
And then to cry in deep delight
God made the world and made it right;
Dear Heaven above!
Was ere completeness so complete,
Was ever sweetness half so sweet,
Was ever loving half so meet;
Thank God for love.
SHE IS DEAD
Well! She is dead and gone,
God willed it so.
Died ere her child was born,
Ever to know.
Dead! oh, how still and cold!
Yet full of rest.
She was not very old
Still, it was best.
Hush, chide her not, not now,
Save by a tear,
Dropped on that marble brow
So smooth and dear.
Pity her as she lies
There all alone;
Tenderly close her eyes,
Sorrowful grown.
Yes; she has sinned maybe,
Willing to fall,
Yet now forgive ... ah! see,
Death atones all.
TO ——
Dear, if you were in this city,
In this misty, dreary city,
With its sombre walls and towers—
All its poorer streets and byways,
All its richer streets and highways,
All the buildings stern and old,
And the river deep and cold,
Would become as summer to me,
Decked with sweet, perfuming flowers.
THE WHOLE OF IT
A joy that passes, a pain that stays,
Such is life.
A moment's rapture, then weary days,
Years of strife,
Such is life.
A kiss of passion, a sigh of pain,
Such is love.
A flash of splendour, then night again,
God above,
Such is love!
A sudden blindness, a creeping fear,
Such is death.
An awful vastness, an unknown sphere,
Choking breath,
And then ... death.
A SONG
A cloud is over the sun,
The wind is laden with rain,
A frost has smitten the flowers;
The time of Winter is pain.
But kiss me and I shall live,
The sun shall nourish the plain,
The dawn be happy with birds
And love bring Summer again.
IF LIKE THE BIRD
If like the bird who sits and swings
Upon a branch, and blithely sings,
I could but spread two faithful wings,
And by their aid could smoothly skim
The highest peaks, the summits dim,
Until I reached the sunlight's rim,
Would I not then in pity gaze
Upon the turmoil and the maze
Of earth, and all its foolish ways?