Love Within VowsToC
We love, and O! we know it; yet Love's name
Upon our lips a tremulous wish must die;
We both were made for loving, you and I,
And still was Love denied. To both it came,
More fleeting than the beauty of a flame:
Now each within the other's hungering eye
Beholds the corse of Joy embalmèd lie,
And smiles to know his penury the same.
There is no sorrow in this love, O Friend,
New-sprung from ruin, tho' our lips be sealed
By silence and the world's hard fetter. Dear
To me your being; yet we know nor fear
Of loss nor of possession; here's a shield
Shall part us nobly faithful to the end.
The ExileToC
You too mistook me; for no man is wise
Whom Love enclouds. Nor soul-piercing nor keen
Your vision, else there never would have been
A cause for parting. Love-enwrapped, your eyes
Failed in my love Love's self to recognise:
You saw its outer garment, where the green
Of perfect faith was marred by passion's sheen,
By outworn patience and desire's disguise.
Had you but read me to the inner soul,
You would have held me fast. I can forego
All that is sought of hand and lip, the whole
Of Love's poor joy. But I have need to know
That, when the heart fails, I may come and rest
My head upon your wide and sheltering breast.
The Scar IndelibleToC
O your voice, your voice in the night!
How shall I wipe your voice from the night?
Only Hope could wipe it away—
And you have driven Hope away.
O your eyes, your eyes in my sight!
How shall I hide your eyes from my sight?
Only Joy could hide them away,
And you have driven Joy away.
O your name, your name in the light!
How shall I thrust your name from the light?
Only Love could thrust it away,
And you have driven Love away.
RevulsionToC
My heart is weary of Love and Hate:
Too sick of its Love to love you still,
Too sick of its Hate to hate you yet—
My heart is weary and would forget.
O give me nothing! 'Tis far too late:
Your much were little my thirst to fill,
Your little were scorn of Faith so deep—
O give me nothing!—and let me sleep.
The CaptiveToC
I want to take my heart away,
Break it away from the branch where it clings;
I want to quit the barren spray
Where now no throstle sings.
The butterflies have long since gone,
Gone to the bough where the gay blossoms are;
The sinking sun now bears the dawn
To other lands afar.
I want to break my heart away,
Tear it away from the bough where it grows;
O for the light of a free new day,
On the hill beyond the snows!
Possession's AnguishToC
One tree in my garden, one tree
Out of all the forests of the world:
One little ship afloat upon the sea,
One shell beneath the waves, flawless and pearled:
One rose on my bower, one rose
For a day to scatter on the grass:
One shifting star agleam where the wind blows,
One gem upheld, that all may share who pass:
One heart to be ached for, one heart
Out of all the bosoms that are here:
One fragile hope alive, the starver's part,
One joy already faint and pale with fear:
One flame in the darkness, one flame
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For the night to sever with a breath:
One poor faith fettered to a mortal name—
And over all, the beating wings of death....
Treasures of PovertyToC
I sometimes watch the lips of other women
And think of all the kisses they have known;
I sometimes touch the hands of other women
In wonder at the memoried palms they own....
The kiss upon my brow was sadly given,
The hands I held but once were not my own;
And yet I would not change what I was given
For all the kisses I have never known....
Nor would I change again my heart's white desert;
O wondrous are the meetings I have known,
And strange the eyes that seek me in the desert,
Then smiling vanish to rejoin their own....
SolitudeToC
Now empty lies the house. The languid air
Unstirred by voices creeps from room to room;
No footstep falls upon the silent stair,
All's still and dark. In every nook the tomb
Of some thought lies; remembrance everywhere
Lingers to seek a joy no longer there;
And, as I sit here lonely in the gloom,
I ask myself which evil I would choose:
Never to have, or else to have, and lose.
The Heart AsleepToC
Within me now my heart's asleep
And none shall wake it more;
The silence of all pain is deep
Within me. Now my heart's asleep,
It dreams of joys it might not keep;
And nothing looks before
Within me now. My heart's asleep
And none shall wake it more.
AdversityToC
Black winds of the world!
There is pity in your breath,
Against wild tempest weaponing.
Grey clouds of the sky!
You are gentle in your shade,
Against night-darkness tempering.
Red wounds of the heart!
There is mercy in your blood,
Against hope-murder hardening.
Pale swoons of the soul!
You are tender in your pangs
Against dire death emboldening.
Faces of the DeadToC
I dreamed that, wandering by a river's bank,
I came across a lonely ship that sank
In lifeless waters. Day was dim;—in dreams
We see nor sun, nor moon; unearthly gleams
Of deadened light fall strangely from the sky.—
There were but three that struggled not to die:
A man, a woman, and a tender child;
He sought to save them both with effort wild
And dragged his love to the entangled shore;
But down the slimy weeds she slid once more
Into the water, and her lover's breast
Received her, and together they found rest.
The child was saved; my hand towards her hand
Outstretched, drew all her sweetness to the land,
Where naked, like a lily wet with rain,
She sank and loudly wept at her life's gain.
Quite small she was, and light; I bore her fast
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To what seemed home, and there she smiled at last
And sat upright within my arms; I found
A bright-hued veil wherein to wrap her round,
Tissues that far in morning-lands were spun
By those who love the flowers and the sun.
I laid her softly in a silken bed,
Strewed fragrant violets about her head
And left her.
'Twas my dream then that I slept.
But when at dawn unto her bed I crept,
The child was lost. Her pillow was all wet
With tears that still flowed on; and faster yet
They flowed in quickening rills, until I thought
I stood beside a torrent wide that sought
An unknown sea. The day was sad, tho' young;
Upon a misty branch some bird had sung
And left a trembling silence; all around
I saw the little daisies on the ground
Fast closed, with folded arm-petals in vain
Shielding their yellow hearts from the cold rain.
—A voice invisible made murmur then:
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'Come here and look upon these poor drowned men!
The ship was sunk a year ago to-day....'
But I stepped back and shuddering turned away,
For I had never seen the face of Death.
Yet Fear itself soon drew me with quick breath
Back to the place, even to the river's brink
Where I had seen that lonely vessel sink.
And there in waters deep I saw them lie,
With hands at rest and eyes that sought the sky:
Clear eyes wide open to an unseen day.
In wondrous silence motionless they lay,
With white lips smiling on their spirit's bliss.
'Is Death but this?' I cried, 'no more but this?'
And answer came: 'Among those faces there
Are all unknown?'
'Twas then I saw him, fair
With perfect peace, my enemy, even he
Of all the world who most had tortured me.
He lay there, blessed among the blessed, and smiled
With eyes more pure than any wakening child.
The little waves in passing—like the breeze
[79]
That stirs the foliage of the unmoved trees—
Played in their hair, and fluttering grasses rose
And fell and danced about their mute repose.
But I gazed on until I too had drunk
Of their lips' joy, until their peace had sunk
Into my troubling earth-stirred heart that ached
To join them ... and then waked....
The SleeperToC
There lay a man on clovered ground
Whose life was death, he slept so sound;
A child bent low to watch his eyes—
He smiling waked, and saw the skies.
I know a soul now, fast asleep,
Whose dreams are sad: I hear him weep;
I bend and gaze for pity's sake—
But all in vain; he will not wake.
O Kings and Queens, that in my happy heart,
As in a royal chapel, warm and white,
Ensanctuaried are! I come to-night
Beneath the moonless sky—this radiant chart
Of the unfathomable Heavens where dart
Beam-trailing stars—with lamp of love alight
Unto your images; my reverent sight
Enfolds you, and I bring you each your part
Of piety. The Will that guides each star
Gave jewels to my hands I might not hold,
Whose grace remembered fills my palm. So rest,
O Joy-givers! your kingdoms are afar,
Yet here I own you, shrined in pearls and gold,
The sovereign captives of my loyal breast.
Trelawny's GraveToC
I know a garden near the gates of Rome
Where Life and Death hold hands in silence; here
In solemn shade where towering cypress rear
Their green eternal, white as wind-led foam
Lie scattered stones that shield the final home
Of exiles. Fair their bed; by violets dear
And swaying roses decked; above them, clear
In bluest glory arches Heaven's dome.
'Twas here my heart encountered peace one day
Beside an old man's grave that said: If God
Condemn you live beyond your friend, this way
You too may rest.—The heart is childish; dread
Of earth-loss fades before Trelawny dead
Close-gathered to his Shelley in the sod.
January 22, 1901.
As, in a house where solemn-footed Death
Has trodden, all the little children stand
Before a silent door, with quickened breath,
Holding each other tightly by the hand—
So we, O Mother! at the keyless door
Stand gathered, heart-astir with nameless fears:
A strength has left the hour; the world before
Was warmer; and we face the day with tears.
Lines on a Picture by Mary GowToC
O whirling World! I know a corner still
Unsoiled by Hate and Strife:
Where hushed and gentle is the voice of Life:
Where Time—a summer rill
Soft-flowing through the grass—in measure slow
Sings sweetly as we go.
Here is a room wherein the white day gleams:
Silence o'er Peace has spread her pearly wings:
A smiling woman reads of simple things:
A child's blue eyes are blinded by their dreams....
To SerenityToC
Before a Madonna—by Botticelli.
Thine is the face our driven souls shall wear,
O sweet serenity!—No earthly wind
Can rend thine azure mantle now, nor tear
Those veils that shield the radiant locks they bind.
Thy brow is calm with storm appeased; thy lids
Are heavy with the wisdom of all tears:
Thy mouth is strong with silence that forbids
Weary lament and craven wail of fears.
Within thy guarded bosom now no fire
Is ardent; thou hast hidden all thy scars:
We too may tread the ashes of desire,
And wing our spirits thus to touch the stars.
ELEVEN SONNETS
I will not close the door, O Love, on thee,
Although I fear thee still. In days of old
Thy magic echoes lured me on to be
The slave of dreams; but now that I behold
The earth again, and that my wings are gone,
I will take refuge, simply, on thy breast.
No miracle I seek, no rapturous dawn
Of an unearthly day; I will but rest
My weary eyes, and lay between thy hands
These empty fingers that have ceased to clutch
At stars. Because my spirit understands
Renouncement, thou wilt give, maybe. Not much
I ask of thee: I only ask to keep
Thee near, O Love! until my heart's asleep.
My Friend of Friends! in you my heart's at rest,
That wandered homeless as the ocean-wind
Hither and thither, seeking still to find
Some refuge. As a ship that east and west
Roams havenless, and quits each shore distressed,
So wandered I, so left each land behind,
Bearing my soul as helmsman, sage but blind;
And still we journeyed on at Fate's behest.
But now I hold my harbour, and the ship
Casts anchor here. The unnested winds that blow
May reach me still and rock me to and fro.
What matter? Here is Peace that bids me slip
Closer and closer to the enfolding shore,
Lower the sails, and stay for evermore.
Are we not happy? though this bond of ours
Be strange and out of harmony with life
As men accept it, in this world of strife
Between the spirit and the flesh?—Dark hours
Are in the doom of every love; no flowers
Bloom rainless; wind and war and pain are rife
Within us all.—Yet we are happy. Wife
Or sister, these are earth-words; the soul showers
Its gifts of love and seeks no earthly bond.
So ask we none but, smiling, soul to soul
Stand gathered in Love's very essence, whole
And indivisible. These white strong bands
Suffice; 'tis but the shell, too frail and fond,
That weeps, alas! and wrings her mortal hands.
Farewell! you cannot go from me, my dear,
For I have closed you in my inmost heart,
Beyond the reach of earthly things that part
The loving from the loved. Now far or near
Ceases to be; I am where you are; here
Or there, no matter. Mild should be the smart
Of leave-taking, where nothing stays apart
But what is mortal, and where souls are clear.
Beloved! I can but lose you earthly-wise;
The hunger of the years is stilled; no pain
Of solitude can chill my heart again,
Possessing you. Therefore with steadfast eyes
I say farewell, O brother! nor dare weep
My little loss, with all this wealth to keep.
I seek to call you near me in the dark
And silent prison of my solitude,
Where Memory with visions heaven-hued
Now mocks the night, and Hope with timid spark
Kindles vain torches. Lonely in my ark
Of Faith, on battling waves I float, pursued
By all those doubting monsters that delude
Pain-sunken breasts, and bid the soul embark
For perilous despair. I call you near
That I may cheat the helmsman of his fear:
And yet I know you far, I know you lost
To me, on this same ocean tempest-tossed
Alone—O you who should my pilot be!
You, whom my love could steer through any sea....
When Spring awakens and no Spring is there,
None for the heart, it is a joyless thing.
Yet Winter softens, and all breezes bring
To the hard earth now tidings vague and fair.
The lilac buds are swelling, the mild air
Tempts forth the green; at dusk the thrushes sing
Out in the garden, and their raptures wring
The heart whose joy is of the past. I bear
Remembrance in me of dear foliage gone,
Of wilted heather and of perished flowers.
For me not one of Spring's foreshadowed hours
Is quick with presages of joy. Alone
Who cares to creep? The solitary ways
Are primrose-less, and vain the violet days.
If I must live without you, I must learn
To love the earth and all that grows once more,
With the old good love that satisfied before
I saw you smile. Now, let me turn and turn,
Your memory covers earth and sky; I yearn
For you, and not for Spring; my heart is sore
With absence, not with Winter's length. Of yore,
When climbing noons began to softly burn,
There seemed a tender joy in every bud
That swelled and burst, in every little spear
That broke the clods; and Spring sang in my blood
As in the sap; and all that lived was dear.
These treasures now are veiled and strange and far,
Whilst I go wandering where your footprints are.