SONNETS
One soiled and shamed and foiled in this world’s fight,Deserter from the host of God, that hereStill darkly struggles,—waked from death in fear,And strove to screen his forehead from the whiteAnd blinding glory of the awful Light,The revelation and reproach austere.Then with strong hand outstretched a Shape drew near,Bright-browed, majestic, armoured like a knight.“Great Angel, servant of the Highest, whyStoop’st thou to me?” although his lips were mute,His eyes inquired. The Shining One replied:“Thy Book, thy birth, life of thy life am I,Son of thy soul, thy youth’s forgotten fruit.We two go up to judgment side by side.”
One soiled and shamed and foiled in this world’s fight,Deserter from the host of God, that hereStill darkly struggles,—waked from death in fear,And strove to screen his forehead from the whiteAnd blinding glory of the awful Light,The revelation and reproach austere.Then with strong hand outstretched a Shape drew near,Bright-browed, majestic, armoured like a knight.“Great Angel, servant of the Highest, whyStoop’st thou to me?” although his lips were mute,His eyes inquired. The Shining One replied:“Thy Book, thy birth, life of thy life am I,Son of thy soul, thy youth’s forgotten fruit.We two go up to judgment side by side.”
One soiled and shamed and foiled in this world’s fight,Deserter from the host of God, that hereStill darkly struggles,—waked from death in fear,And strove to screen his forehead from the whiteAnd blinding glory of the awful Light,The revelation and reproach austere.Then with strong hand outstretched a Shape drew near,Bright-browed, majestic, armoured like a knight.
One soiled and shamed and foiled in this world’s fight,
Deserter from the host of God, that here
Still darkly struggles,—waked from death in fear,
And strove to screen his forehead from the white
And blinding glory of the awful Light,
The revelation and reproach austere.
Then with strong hand outstretched a Shape drew near,
Bright-browed, majestic, armoured like a knight.
“Great Angel, servant of the Highest, whyStoop’st thou to me?” although his lips were mute,His eyes inquired. The Shining One replied:“Thy Book, thy birth, life of thy life am I,Son of thy soul, thy youth’s forgotten fruit.We two go up to judgment side by side.”
“Great Angel, servant of the Highest, why
Stoop’st thou to me?” although his lips were mute,
His eyes inquired. The Shining One replied:
“Thy Book, thy birth, life of thy life am I,
Son of thy soul, thy youth’s forgotten fruit.
We two go up to judgment side by side.”
Brave racer, who hast sped the living lightWith throat outstretched and every nerve astrain,Now on thy left hand labours gray-faced Pain,And Death hangs close behind thee on the right.Soon flag the flying feet, soon fails the sight,With every pulse the gaunt pursuers gain;And all thy splendour of strong life must waneAnd set into the mystery of night.Yet fear not, though in falling, blindness hideWhose hand shall snatch, before it sears the sod,The light thy lessening grasp no more controls:Truth’s rescuer, Truth shall instantly provide:This is the torch-race game, that noblest soulsPlay on through time beneath the eyes of God.
Brave racer, who hast sped the living lightWith throat outstretched and every nerve astrain,Now on thy left hand labours gray-faced Pain,And Death hangs close behind thee on the right.Soon flag the flying feet, soon fails the sight,With every pulse the gaunt pursuers gain;And all thy splendour of strong life must waneAnd set into the mystery of night.Yet fear not, though in falling, blindness hideWhose hand shall snatch, before it sears the sod,The light thy lessening grasp no more controls:Truth’s rescuer, Truth shall instantly provide:This is the torch-race game, that noblest soulsPlay on through time beneath the eyes of God.
Brave racer, who hast sped the living lightWith throat outstretched and every nerve astrain,Now on thy left hand labours gray-faced Pain,And Death hangs close behind thee on the right.Soon flag the flying feet, soon fails the sight,With every pulse the gaunt pursuers gain;And all thy splendour of strong life must waneAnd set into the mystery of night.
Brave racer, who hast sped the living light
With throat outstretched and every nerve astrain,
Now on thy left hand labours gray-faced Pain,
And Death hangs close behind thee on the right.
Soon flag the flying feet, soon fails the sight,
With every pulse the gaunt pursuers gain;
And all thy splendour of strong life must wane
And set into the mystery of night.
Yet fear not, though in falling, blindness hideWhose hand shall snatch, before it sears the sod,The light thy lessening grasp no more controls:Truth’s rescuer, Truth shall instantly provide:This is the torch-race game, that noblest soulsPlay on through time beneath the eyes of God.
Yet fear not, though in falling, blindness hide
Whose hand shall snatch, before it sears the sod,
The light thy lessening grasp no more controls:
Truth’s rescuer, Truth shall instantly provide:
This is the torch-race game, that noblest souls
Play on through time beneath the eyes of God.
“Backward,” he said, “dear heart, I like to lookTo those half-spring, half-winter days, when firstWe drew together, ere the leaf-buds burst.Sunbeams were silver yet, keen gusts yet shookThe boughs. Have you remembered that kind bookThat for our sake Galeotto’s part rehearsed,(The friend of lovers,—this time blessed, not cursed!)And that best hour, when reading we forsook?”She, listening, wore the smile a mother wearsAt childish fancies needless to control;Yet felt a fine, hid pain with pleasure blend.Better it seemed to think that love of theirs,Native as breath, eternal as the soul,Knew no beginning, could not have an end.
“Backward,” he said, “dear heart, I like to lookTo those half-spring, half-winter days, when firstWe drew together, ere the leaf-buds burst.Sunbeams were silver yet, keen gusts yet shookThe boughs. Have you remembered that kind bookThat for our sake Galeotto’s part rehearsed,(The friend of lovers,—this time blessed, not cursed!)And that best hour, when reading we forsook?”She, listening, wore the smile a mother wearsAt childish fancies needless to control;Yet felt a fine, hid pain with pleasure blend.Better it seemed to think that love of theirs,Native as breath, eternal as the soul,Knew no beginning, could not have an end.
“Backward,” he said, “dear heart, I like to lookTo those half-spring, half-winter days, when firstWe drew together, ere the leaf-buds burst.Sunbeams were silver yet, keen gusts yet shookThe boughs. Have you remembered that kind bookThat for our sake Galeotto’s part rehearsed,(The friend of lovers,—this time blessed, not cursed!)And that best hour, when reading we forsook?”
“Backward,” he said, “dear heart, I like to look
To those half-spring, half-winter days, when first
We drew together, ere the leaf-buds burst.
Sunbeams were silver yet, keen gusts yet shook
The boughs. Have you remembered that kind book
That for our sake Galeotto’s part rehearsed,
(The friend of lovers,—this time blessed, not cursed!)
And that best hour, when reading we forsook?”
She, listening, wore the smile a mother wearsAt childish fancies needless to control;Yet felt a fine, hid pain with pleasure blend.Better it seemed to think that love of theirs,Native as breath, eternal as the soul,Knew no beginning, could not have an end.
She, listening, wore the smile a mother wears
At childish fancies needless to control;
Yet felt a fine, hid pain with pleasure blend.
Better it seemed to think that love of theirs,
Native as breath, eternal as the soul,
Knew no beginning, could not have an end.
He loved her; having felt his love beginWith that first look,—as lover oft avers.He made pale flowers his pleading ministers,Impressed sweet music, drew the springtime inTo serve his suit; but when he could not win,Forgot her face and those gray eyes of hers;And at her name his pulse no longer stirs,And life goes on as though she had not been.She never loved him; but she loved Love so,So reverenced Love, that all her being shookAt his demand whose entrance she denied.Her thoughts of him such tender colour tookAs western skies that keep the afterglow.The words he spoke were with her till she died.
He loved her; having felt his love beginWith that first look,—as lover oft avers.He made pale flowers his pleading ministers,Impressed sweet music, drew the springtime inTo serve his suit; but when he could not win,Forgot her face and those gray eyes of hers;And at her name his pulse no longer stirs,And life goes on as though she had not been.She never loved him; but she loved Love so,So reverenced Love, that all her being shookAt his demand whose entrance she denied.Her thoughts of him such tender colour tookAs western skies that keep the afterglow.The words he spoke were with her till she died.
He loved her; having felt his love beginWith that first look,—as lover oft avers.He made pale flowers his pleading ministers,Impressed sweet music, drew the springtime inTo serve his suit; but when he could not win,Forgot her face and those gray eyes of hers;And at her name his pulse no longer stirs,And life goes on as though she had not been.
He loved her; having felt his love begin
With that first look,—as lover oft avers.
He made pale flowers his pleading ministers,
Impressed sweet music, drew the springtime in
To serve his suit; but when he could not win,
Forgot her face and those gray eyes of hers;
And at her name his pulse no longer stirs,
And life goes on as though she had not been.
She never loved him; but she loved Love so,So reverenced Love, that all her being shookAt his demand whose entrance she denied.Her thoughts of him such tender colour tookAs western skies that keep the afterglow.The words he spoke were with her till she died.
She never loved him; but she loved Love so,
So reverenced Love, that all her being shook
At his demand whose entrance she denied.
Her thoughts of him such tender colour took
As western skies that keep the afterglow.
The words he spoke were with her till she died.
This windy sunlit morning after rain,The wet bright laurel laughs with beckoning gleamIn the blown wood, whence breaks the wild white streamRushing and flashing, glorying in its gain;Nor swerves nor parts, but with a swift disdainO’erleaps the boulders lying in long dream,Lapped in cold moss; and in its joy doth seemA wood-born creature bursting from a chain.And “Triumph, triumph, triumph!” is its hoarseFierce-whispered word. O fond, and dost not knowThy triumph on another wise must be,—To render all the tribute of thy force,And lose thy little being in the flowOf the unvaunting river toward the sea!
This windy sunlit morning after rain,The wet bright laurel laughs with beckoning gleamIn the blown wood, whence breaks the wild white streamRushing and flashing, glorying in its gain;Nor swerves nor parts, but with a swift disdainO’erleaps the boulders lying in long dream,Lapped in cold moss; and in its joy doth seemA wood-born creature bursting from a chain.And “Triumph, triumph, triumph!” is its hoarseFierce-whispered word. O fond, and dost not knowThy triumph on another wise must be,—To render all the tribute of thy force,And lose thy little being in the flowOf the unvaunting river toward the sea!
This windy sunlit morning after rain,The wet bright laurel laughs with beckoning gleamIn the blown wood, whence breaks the wild white streamRushing and flashing, glorying in its gain;Nor swerves nor parts, but with a swift disdainO’erleaps the boulders lying in long dream,Lapped in cold moss; and in its joy doth seemA wood-born creature bursting from a chain.
This windy sunlit morning after rain,
The wet bright laurel laughs with beckoning gleam
In the blown wood, whence breaks the wild white stream
Rushing and flashing, glorying in its gain;
Nor swerves nor parts, but with a swift disdain
O’erleaps the boulders lying in long dream,
Lapped in cold moss; and in its joy doth seem
A wood-born creature bursting from a chain.
And “Triumph, triumph, triumph!” is its hoarseFierce-whispered word. O fond, and dost not knowThy triumph on another wise must be,—To render all the tribute of thy force,And lose thy little being in the flowOf the unvaunting river toward the sea!
And “Triumph, triumph, triumph!” is its hoarse
Fierce-whispered word. O fond, and dost not know
Thy triumph on another wise must be,—
To render all the tribute of thy force,
And lose thy little being in the flow
Of the unvaunting river toward the sea!
That sunless day no living shadow sweptAcross the hills, fleet shadow chasing light,Twin of the sailing cloud: but mists wool-white,Slow-stealing mists, on those heaved shoulders crept,And wrought about the strong hills while they sleptIn witches’ wise, and rapt their forms from sight.Dreams were they; less than dream, the noblest heightAnd farthest; and the chilly woodland wept.A sunless day and sad: yet all the whileWithin the grave green twilight of the wood,Inscrutable, immutable, apart,Hearkening the brook, whose song she understood,The secret birch-tree kept her silver smile,Strange as the peace that gleams at sorrow’s heart.
That sunless day no living shadow sweptAcross the hills, fleet shadow chasing light,Twin of the sailing cloud: but mists wool-white,Slow-stealing mists, on those heaved shoulders crept,And wrought about the strong hills while they sleptIn witches’ wise, and rapt their forms from sight.Dreams were they; less than dream, the noblest heightAnd farthest; and the chilly woodland wept.A sunless day and sad: yet all the whileWithin the grave green twilight of the wood,Inscrutable, immutable, apart,Hearkening the brook, whose song she understood,The secret birch-tree kept her silver smile,Strange as the peace that gleams at sorrow’s heart.
That sunless day no living shadow sweptAcross the hills, fleet shadow chasing light,Twin of the sailing cloud: but mists wool-white,Slow-stealing mists, on those heaved shoulders crept,And wrought about the strong hills while they sleptIn witches’ wise, and rapt their forms from sight.Dreams were they; less than dream, the noblest heightAnd farthest; and the chilly woodland wept.
That sunless day no living shadow swept
Across the hills, fleet shadow chasing light,
Twin of the sailing cloud: but mists wool-white,
Slow-stealing mists, on those heaved shoulders crept,
And wrought about the strong hills while they slept
In witches’ wise, and rapt their forms from sight.
Dreams were they; less than dream, the noblest height
And farthest; and the chilly woodland wept.
A sunless day and sad: yet all the whileWithin the grave green twilight of the wood,Inscrutable, immutable, apart,Hearkening the brook, whose song she understood,The secret birch-tree kept her silver smile,Strange as the peace that gleams at sorrow’s heart.
A sunless day and sad: yet all the while
Within the grave green twilight of the wood,
Inscrutable, immutable, apart,
Hearkening the brook, whose song she understood,
The secret birch-tree kept her silver smile,
Strange as the peace that gleams at sorrow’s heart.
The common street climbed up against the sky,Gray meeting gray; and wearily to and froI saw the patient, common people go,Each with his sordid burden trudging by.And the rain dropped; there was not any sighOr stir of a live wind; dull, dull and slowAll motion; as a tale told long agoThe faded world; and creeping night drew nigh.Then burst the sunset, flooding far and fleet,Leavening the whole of life with magic leaven.Suddenly down the long wet glistening hillPure splendour poured—and lo! the common street,A golden highway into golden heaven,With the dark shapes of men ascending still.
The common street climbed up against the sky,Gray meeting gray; and wearily to and froI saw the patient, common people go,Each with his sordid burden trudging by.And the rain dropped; there was not any sighOr stir of a live wind; dull, dull and slowAll motion; as a tale told long agoThe faded world; and creeping night drew nigh.Then burst the sunset, flooding far and fleet,Leavening the whole of life with magic leaven.Suddenly down the long wet glistening hillPure splendour poured—and lo! the common street,A golden highway into golden heaven,With the dark shapes of men ascending still.
The common street climbed up against the sky,Gray meeting gray; and wearily to and froI saw the patient, common people go,Each with his sordid burden trudging by.And the rain dropped; there was not any sighOr stir of a live wind; dull, dull and slowAll motion; as a tale told long agoThe faded world; and creeping night drew nigh.
The common street climbed up against the sky,
Gray meeting gray; and wearily to and fro
I saw the patient, common people go,
Each with his sordid burden trudging by.
And the rain dropped; there was not any sigh
Or stir of a live wind; dull, dull and slow
All motion; as a tale told long ago
The faded world; and creeping night drew nigh.
Then burst the sunset, flooding far and fleet,Leavening the whole of life with magic leaven.Suddenly down the long wet glistening hillPure splendour poured—and lo! the common street,A golden highway into golden heaven,With the dark shapes of men ascending still.
Then burst the sunset, flooding far and fleet,
Leavening the whole of life with magic leaven.
Suddenly down the long wet glistening hill
Pure splendour poured—and lo! the common street,
A golden highway into golden heaven,
With the dark shapes of men ascending still.