THE·HOVSE·OF·DREAMS

ISATE in my soul’s house one dayThe world-wide book before me layAnd in mine eyes, as through a glassThe colours of all things did pass,And thought and life, in mingled stream,Strange semblance showed as in a dream.My soul’s still house lies hid in trees,And sitting in its porch one sees,Before the feet, a garden green,Amidst a wild and dark demesne,When sight may range by lea and lawn,From sunset to the gate of dawn,Till through the utmost wood may beDescried a dim and dreadful sea.Five gates it hath, five porches fair,That know bright guests of light and air,And through the windows, clear and high,The winged thoughts come from earth and skyThat show me things by shore and sea,And visions high of things to be.Anigh the house a water clear,Born of some secret crystal mereAmong the mountains of the land,And flowing to the dim sea-strand;But still and silent in its pace,That in its smooth translucent faceBright image flashed of many a thing,And folk that passed in wandering,With colours fresh of tree and flower.Here kept my soul a secret bower;And in the garden all the yearOne plied his craft of gardener,Nor slept between the moon and sun,Nor ever was his labour done;For this was Time who told my hoursAnd gave, and took away, my flowers.And one beside him fed a fireWith listless hands, whose whole desireWas not therein, but far awayShe watched an ever dying day:She smiled sometimes, and oft she wept,But through her tears her watch she kept:Time brought her flowers; she cast the sameTo feed the hungering tongues of flame—Yea, all men know the dreamful dame,Pale Memory, ye rede her name.In my soul’s house, alway to be,Dwelt spirits five for company,And fair they were in form and face,And well my soul’s white house did grace:For one the chambers garnished fitWith boughs and flowers, and them she litBy night and day, for she was SightAnd rulèd all my soul’s delight.Her sister to my table bareSweet pleasure of earth’s fruits and rare,As every season brought its meedOr ever as my soul had need.Another made sweet incense riseFrom out a censer in such wiseThat mingled sweet of every kind,And let the slender smoke enwindThe pillars of the roof, and sendThe pleasant mist from end to end.The while another yet of theseWith music soft my soul would please;To every thought in every moodShe made her tuneful interlude:She touched the strings, she ruled the lute,And many a soft harmonious fluteThat mocked the birds in leafy quire;But oft this spirit would aspireTo lift the solemn organ’s voice,And this would be her dearest choice,Till, with its deeper soul embued,My soul forgot its solitude.Yet one there was, both dumb and blind,Who yet was wise in every kind,And many a thing her hand could teach,In silent service serving each.These watched the house and kept it fairAs each its several part had care.Thus sate my soul and talked with theseIn its white porch among the trees;And each brought word what she had seenOf all that ranged that region green:For many folk passed to and fro,As flew the hours or footed slow.One came in garment green and paleAcross the hill, adown the dale,And blossoms in her hand she bore;A swallow skimmed her path before;It was a herald bright of spring,And this the song that she did sing:There fell a day of sun and shower,Spring stirred within her leafless bower,She sent me from her wintry home—“Go forth and tell the world I come.”Beneath the windows of the dawnI took my way, by lake and lawn,I saw of flowers the firstling born,I gathered of the flowering thorn:And from the dale and from the downI passed into the sleeping town,Along the stoney streets to spillMy flowers, by door and window sill:But they were like the eyes of men,Sleep-locked, though some were open then:I saw within a darkened roomAn old man, lying in the gloom.He saw my flowers, and then he sighed,And turned upon his bed and died.I took my way with soundless feet,But none I met my steps to greet.Save when a wakeful babe me spied,And stretched his dimpled arms and cried.They hushed his voice, nor knew his will—I left the city sleeping still.She ceased her song, and there was hush,As after when the tuneful thrushHath warbled clear the wood is stillEre yet again the quire sings shrillFor very joy.And then I heard,Among the grass, Time grind and girdUpon his blade: He stooped to slay,And soon before his feet there layThe fallen emblems of the hours—A harvest sheaf of spring’s first flowers—Which she beside him gathering flungInto the fire the while they sung,And thus I heard their voices chime:

ISATE in my soul’s house one day

The world-wide book before me lay

And in mine eyes, as through a glass

The colours of all things did pass,

And thought and life, in mingled stream,

Strange semblance showed as in a dream.

My soul’s still house lies hid in trees,And sitting in its porch one sees,Before the feet, a garden green,Amidst a wild and dark demesne,When sight may range by lea and lawn,From sunset to the gate of dawn,Till through the utmost wood may beDescried a dim and dreadful sea.

My soul’s still house lies hid in trees,

And sitting in its porch one sees,

Before the feet, a garden green,

Amidst a wild and dark demesne,

When sight may range by lea and lawn,

From sunset to the gate of dawn,

Till through the utmost wood may be

Descried a dim and dreadful sea.

Five gates it hath, five porches fair,That know bright guests of light and air,And through the windows, clear and high,The winged thoughts come from earth and skyThat show me things by shore and sea,And visions high of things to be.

Five gates it hath, five porches fair,

That know bright guests of light and air,

And through the windows, clear and high,

The winged thoughts come from earth and sky

That show me things by shore and sea,

And visions high of things to be.

Anigh the house a water clear,Born of some secret crystal mereAmong the mountains of the land,And flowing to the dim sea-strand;But still and silent in its pace,That in its smooth translucent faceBright image flashed of many a thing,And folk that passed in wandering,With colours fresh of tree and flower.

Anigh the house a water clear,

Born of some secret crystal mere

Among the mountains of the land,

And flowing to the dim sea-strand;

But still and silent in its pace,

That in its smooth translucent face

Bright image flashed of many a thing,

And folk that passed in wandering,

With colours fresh of tree and flower.

Here kept my soul a secret bower;And in the garden all the yearOne plied his craft of gardener,Nor slept between the moon and sun,Nor ever was his labour done;For this was Time who told my hoursAnd gave, and took away, my flowers.

Here kept my soul a secret bower;

And in the garden all the year

One plied his craft of gardener,

Nor slept between the moon and sun,

Nor ever was his labour done;

For this was Time who told my hours

And gave, and took away, my flowers.

And one beside him fed a fireWith listless hands, whose whole desireWas not therein, but far awayShe watched an ever dying day:She smiled sometimes, and oft she wept,But through her tears her watch she kept:Time brought her flowers; she cast the sameTo feed the hungering tongues of flame—Yea, all men know the dreamful dame,Pale Memory, ye rede her name.

And one beside him fed a fire

With listless hands, whose whole desire

Was not therein, but far away

She watched an ever dying day:

She smiled sometimes, and oft she wept,

But through her tears her watch she kept:

Time brought her flowers; she cast the same

To feed the hungering tongues of flame—

Yea, all men know the dreamful dame,

Pale Memory, ye rede her name.

In my soul’s house, alway to be,Dwelt spirits five for company,And fair they were in form and face,And well my soul’s white house did grace:For one the chambers garnished fitWith boughs and flowers, and them she litBy night and day, for she was SightAnd rulèd all my soul’s delight.Her sister to my table bareSweet pleasure of earth’s fruits and rare,As every season brought its meedOr ever as my soul had need.

In my soul’s house, alway to be,

Dwelt spirits five for company,

And fair they were in form and face,

And well my soul’s white house did grace:

For one the chambers garnished fit

With boughs and flowers, and them she lit

By night and day, for she was Sight

And rulèd all my soul’s delight.

Her sister to my table bare

Sweet pleasure of earth’s fruits and rare,

As every season brought its meed

Or ever as my soul had need.

Another made sweet incense riseFrom out a censer in such wiseThat mingled sweet of every kind,And let the slender smoke enwindThe pillars of the roof, and sendThe pleasant mist from end to end.The while another yet of theseWith music soft my soul would please;To every thought in every moodShe made her tuneful interlude:She touched the strings, she ruled the lute,And many a soft harmonious fluteThat mocked the birds in leafy quire;But oft this spirit would aspireTo lift the solemn organ’s voice,And this would be her dearest choice,Till, with its deeper soul embued,My soul forgot its solitude.

Another made sweet incense rise

From out a censer in such wise

That mingled sweet of every kind,

And let the slender smoke enwind

The pillars of the roof, and send

The pleasant mist from end to end.

The while another yet of these

With music soft my soul would please;

To every thought in every mood

She made her tuneful interlude:

She touched the strings, she ruled the lute,

And many a soft harmonious flute

That mocked the birds in leafy quire;

But oft this spirit would aspire

To lift the solemn organ’s voice,

And this would be her dearest choice,

Till, with its deeper soul embued,

My soul forgot its solitude.

Yet one there was, both dumb and blind,Who yet was wise in every kind,And many a thing her hand could teach,In silent service serving each.

Yet one there was, both dumb and blind,

Who yet was wise in every kind,

And many a thing her hand could teach,

In silent service serving each.

These watched the house and kept it fairAs each its several part had care.Thus sate my soul and talked with theseIn its white porch among the trees;And each brought word what she had seenOf all that ranged that region green:For many folk passed to and fro,As flew the hours or footed slow.One came in garment green and paleAcross the hill, adown the dale,And blossoms in her hand she bore;A swallow skimmed her path before;It was a herald bright of spring,And this the song that she did sing:

These watched the house and kept it fair

As each its several part had care.

Thus sate my soul and talked with these

In its white porch among the trees;

And each brought word what she had seen

Of all that ranged that region green:

For many folk passed to and fro,

As flew the hours or footed slow.

One came in garment green and pale

Across the hill, adown the dale,

And blossoms in her hand she bore;

A swallow skimmed her path before;

It was a herald bright of spring,

And this the song that she did sing:

There fell a day of sun and shower,Spring stirred within her leafless bower,She sent me from her wintry home—“Go forth and tell the world I come.”

There fell a day of sun and shower,

Spring stirred within her leafless bower,

She sent me from her wintry home—

“Go forth and tell the world I come.”

Beneath the windows of the dawnI took my way, by lake and lawn,I saw of flowers the firstling born,I gathered of the flowering thorn:

Beneath the windows of the dawn

I took my way, by lake and lawn,

I saw of flowers the firstling born,

I gathered of the flowering thorn:

And from the dale and from the downI passed into the sleeping town,Along the stoney streets to spillMy flowers, by door and window sill:

And from the dale and from the down

I passed into the sleeping town,

Along the stoney streets to spill

My flowers, by door and window sill:

But they were like the eyes of men,Sleep-locked, though some were open then:I saw within a darkened roomAn old man, lying in the gloom.

But they were like the eyes of men,

Sleep-locked, though some were open then:

I saw within a darkened room

An old man, lying in the gloom.

He saw my flowers, and then he sighed,And turned upon his bed and died.I took my way with soundless feet,But none I met my steps to greet.

He saw my flowers, and then he sighed,

And turned upon his bed and died.

I took my way with soundless feet,

But none I met my steps to greet.

Save when a wakeful babe me spied,And stretched his dimpled arms and cried.They hushed his voice, nor knew his will—I left the city sleeping still.

Save when a wakeful babe me spied,

And stretched his dimpled arms and cried.

They hushed his voice, nor knew his will—

I left the city sleeping still.

She ceased her song, and there was hush,As after when the tuneful thrushHath warbled clear the wood is stillEre yet again the quire sings shrillFor very joy.And then I heard,Among the grass, Time grind and girdUpon his blade: He stooped to slay,And soon before his feet there layThe fallen emblems of the hours—A harvest sheaf of spring’s first flowers—Which she beside him gathering flungInto the fire the while they sung,And thus I heard their voices chime:

She ceased her song, and there was hush,

As after when the tuneful thrush

Hath warbled clear the wood is still

Ere yet again the quire sings shrill

For very joy.

And then I heard,

Among the grass, Time grind and gird

Upon his blade: He stooped to slay,

And soon before his feet there lay

The fallen emblems of the hours—

A harvest sheaf of spring’s first flowers—

Which she beside him gathering flung

Into the fire the while they sung,

And thus I heard their voices chime:

TIME.Spring-tide come and winter going;Flower to seed, and seed to sowing;Seed and harvest, reaping, mowing.MEMORY.Life beginning, and life ending;Life his substance ever spending;Time to life his little lending.TIME.Hark! the wingèd winds are calling;Clouds the young year’s path appalling;Blooms of spring like snow are falling.MEMORY.Snows of spring green earth bestrewing!Wasted hopes must I be rueing,Spring of life there’s no renewing.And after these had ceased their song,A company there passed along,In divers weed, and changeful mien,And glad, or sad, athwart my green:Their fluttering robes of dark or pale,Like leaves adrift on Autumn gale;And they like shadows o’er the grassBefore my porch did singly pass,But through the house their voices rang,Tune-tongued like bells, as thus they sang:—

TIME.Spring-tide come and winter going;Flower to seed, and seed to sowing;Seed and harvest, reaping, mowing.

TIME.

Spring-tide come and winter going;

Flower to seed, and seed to sowing;

Seed and harvest, reaping, mowing.

MEMORY.Life beginning, and life ending;Life his substance ever spending;Time to life his little lending.

MEMORY.

Life beginning, and life ending;

Life his substance ever spending;

Time to life his little lending.

TIME.Hark! the wingèd winds are calling;Clouds the young year’s path appalling;Blooms of spring like snow are falling.

TIME.

Hark! the wingèd winds are calling;

Clouds the young year’s path appalling;

Blooms of spring like snow are falling.

MEMORY.Snows of spring green earth bestrewing!Wasted hopes must I be rueing,Spring of life there’s no renewing.

MEMORY.

Snows of spring green earth bestrewing!

Wasted hopes must I be rueing,

Spring of life there’s no renewing.

And after these had ceased their song,A company there passed along,In divers weed, and changeful mien,And glad, or sad, athwart my green:Their fluttering robes of dark or pale,Like leaves adrift on Autumn gale;And they like shadows o’er the grassBefore my porch did singly pass,But through the house their voices rang,Tune-tongued like bells, as thus they sang:—

And after these had ceased their song,

A company there passed along,

In divers weed, and changeful mien,

And glad, or sad, athwart my green:

Their fluttering robes of dark or pale,

Like leaves adrift on Autumn gale;

And they like shadows o’er the grass

Before my porch did singly pass,

But through the house their voices rang,

Tune-tongued like bells, as thus they sang:—

Between the gates of night and morn,With sleepless hands and sleepless eyes,We watch the sun and moon outworn,The silent stars that sink and rise.In hidden chambers of the night,The thread of Fate we sit and spin,Through death and life, in dark and light,From life’s slim staff to wind and win.With joinèd hands and parting feet,The work is wove, and still undone;But still we tread Time’s measure fleet,As through the glass the sand is spun.With linkèd hands and feet that windBetween the pillars of the day,Around the house the garland bind,For spring hath come, we cannot stay.They passed. A change came o’er the sky.I heard a shout—I heard a cry.A horn’s far sound the woods awoke,And sudden from the thicket broke,In my soul’s sight, a thing of flame,And after, swift, a horseman came—A youth intent upon the chase;But ever, as he urged his pace,One laid her hands upon his rein,And from that end would him restrain;While did the stirring horn resound,And in the leash each panting houndPressed hard to slip the tightened chain.What would that eager hunter gain?Some magic thing whose form and hueStill changed as he did close pursue—A flame, a bubble of the air?A woman, marvellously fair?Yea, every shape it hath in turnThat makes man’s troubled soul to burn,And doth his baffled sight eludeTo leave the world a solitude.Again the sounding horn did bray,The hounds were slipt and broke away,And swift throughout the close they sped,Still as the changeful quarry led;Till far beyond the open greenThey flashed the forest stems between,And soon were lost in night of wood.Again I heard Time’s interlude:—

Between the gates of night and morn,With sleepless hands and sleepless eyes,We watch the sun and moon outworn,The silent stars that sink and rise.

Between the gates of night and morn,

With sleepless hands and sleepless eyes,

We watch the sun and moon outworn,

The silent stars that sink and rise.

In hidden chambers of the night,The thread of Fate we sit and spin,Through death and life, in dark and light,From life’s slim staff to wind and win.

In hidden chambers of the night,

The thread of Fate we sit and spin,

Through death and life, in dark and light,

From life’s slim staff to wind and win.

With joinèd hands and parting feet,The work is wove, and still undone;But still we tread Time’s measure fleet,As through the glass the sand is spun.

With joinèd hands and parting feet,

The work is wove, and still undone;

But still we tread Time’s measure fleet,

As through the glass the sand is spun.

With linkèd hands and feet that windBetween the pillars of the day,Around the house the garland bind,For spring hath come, we cannot stay.

With linkèd hands and feet that wind

Between the pillars of the day,

Around the house the garland bind,

For spring hath come, we cannot stay.

They passed. A change came o’er the sky.I heard a shout—I heard a cry.A horn’s far sound the woods awoke,And sudden from the thicket broke,In my soul’s sight, a thing of flame,And after, swift, a horseman came—A youth intent upon the chase;But ever, as he urged his pace,One laid her hands upon his rein,And from that end would him restrain;While did the stirring horn resound,And in the leash each panting houndPressed hard to slip the tightened chain.

They passed. A change came o’er the sky.

I heard a shout—I heard a cry.

A horn’s far sound the woods awoke,

And sudden from the thicket broke,

In my soul’s sight, a thing of flame,

And after, swift, a horseman came—

A youth intent upon the chase;

But ever, as he urged his pace,

One laid her hands upon his rein,

And from that end would him restrain;

While did the stirring horn resound,

And in the leash each panting hound

Pressed hard to slip the tightened chain.

What would that eager hunter gain?Some magic thing whose form and hueStill changed as he did close pursue—A flame, a bubble of the air?A woman, marvellously fair?Yea, every shape it hath in turnThat makes man’s troubled soul to burn,And doth his baffled sight eludeTo leave the world a solitude.

What would that eager hunter gain?

Some magic thing whose form and hue

Still changed as he did close pursue—

A flame, a bubble of the air?

A woman, marvellously fair?

Yea, every shape it hath in turn

That makes man’s troubled soul to burn,

And doth his baffled sight elude

To leave the world a solitude.

Again the sounding horn did bray,The hounds were slipt and broke away,And swift throughout the close they sped,Still as the changeful quarry led;Till far beyond the open greenThey flashed the forest stems between,And soon were lost in night of wood.Again I heard Time’s interlude:—

Again the sounding horn did bray,

The hounds were slipt and broke away,

And swift throughout the close they sped,

Still as the changeful quarry led;

Till far beyond the open green

They flashed the forest stems between,

And soon were lost in night of wood.

Again I heard Time’s interlude:—

Whence the way and whither wending?Seeks hot youth, till eld descending,Leaves unread the secret pending.What is Life? Truth answers never;Darkly flows the secret river,But its springs are hid for ever.What is Truth? Man’s long endeavourFinds the web but not the weaver:Sleeps the riddle none may sever.As it was in Time’s beginning,Then, as now, while Fate is spinningMan her clue would still be winning.My soul knew rest no more that day.I heard Time’s voice sink far away,And long did muse till light was gone,Still sitting in my porch alone.Strange thoughts like flashes went and came,And dreams of love, and hopes of fame,With dim desires that inly burned;Dead hopes that rose again and yearnedTo follow still that unknown quest,And failing, fluttered back to rest.Then had my soul a vision strange,As far in spirit did I range,And I beheld a far dim plain,Dyed in day’s last Tyrean stain,And through its dark and desert groundA gleaming vein of water wound,Where lonely piles of ruin oldLoomed vast, with hollow chambers cold,Where horror dwelt with night and death,And filled they were with ghostly breath.But there amid the gathering glooms,Among the temples and the tombs,One wandered in a pilgrim’s guise,Who fixed afar his wistful eyes;His footsteps kept the river’s side,A glowing lamp his feet did guide,That shone upon that desert’s dearth,As like a star there fall’n to earth;And moving through the twilight dim,By shattered arch and column slim,With staff and scrip he kept his way,Among those wrecks of ancient day.Far, far upon that desert land,Half buried in her grave of sand,The ancient head of Egypt rose;And, still sublime in death’s repose,Great Memnon kept his awful throneOutwatching day and night alone:And where the Greek laid stone on stoneThe faces of his gods were shown,When to the world—a youth—there cameFair Wisdom, Power, and Beauty’s dame,Heré, not Pallas, had his choiceBut Aphrodité won his voice.The crumbling strength of mighty Rome,Her grave, her cradle, and her home;There stood the emblems of her reign—The Arch that would the world sustain,And still doth span in legioned rangeThe gulf of time, the waves of change.Long stood the Pilgrim here at gaze,As lost in thought of antique days,As far his searching eyes could scanBeneath the age-worn arches’ span.He marked each age’s builded pileLoom dimly down the endless aisle,Where shone the winding waters’ thread,A wandering life among the dead,Until his sight no more could traceIts courses from their hidden place,Wrapt in the clinging mists that shroudThe trackless mountains dim with cloud;But still his spirit found no homeBeneath the broad eternal dome.At last the Pilgrim turned and sighed,Nor stayed he where a cross besideMarked how a greater power and prideDid conquer Rome, and still doth bide.Full many a stone about that groundMade stumbling, but of flowers were foundNone save the sanguined poppy’s hueBetween still sleep and death that grew.The Pilgrim stayed for sleep nor rest,As bent upon some hidden quest;Nor turned he from his painful wayWhere folk made feast and holidayBeneath fair vines and fruited trees,As pipe, and dance, and song them please.He seemed the world of men to shun,And joyed when he a wood had won,Sweet cloistered green, and roofed above,Where soft he heard the wooing dove,And sound of wandering water near;He drank its crystal cup and clear,And kept his path beside the streamTill he beheld white pillars gleam.He passed from green to blossomed boughsThat compassed fair a secret house;Still music drew him to the door,Swift beat his heart, and trembling more,He entered, to a gold dim spaceFlame-lit before an altar daïs,Rose-garlanded, most fair and meet,And all the air was still and sweet,But over these in fairer caseShone the clear semblance of a face.He knelt before that altar stone,The anthem soothed his heart’s faint tone,And seraph voices high and soft,In measured cadence quired aloft,Or sailed in tempest gusts of soundWhen passion’s music shook the ground.Filled was the Pilgrim’s soul and bowed,Till in his stress he cried aloud:“O Love! This is thy holy place,Give me, I pray, my lady’s grace!”

Whence the way and whither wending?Seeks hot youth, till eld descending,Leaves unread the secret pending.

Whence the way and whither wending?

Seeks hot youth, till eld descending,

Leaves unread the secret pending.

What is Life? Truth answers never;Darkly flows the secret river,But its springs are hid for ever.

What is Life? Truth answers never;

Darkly flows the secret river,

But its springs are hid for ever.

What is Truth? Man’s long endeavourFinds the web but not the weaver:Sleeps the riddle none may sever.

What is Truth? Man’s long endeavour

Finds the web but not the weaver:

Sleeps the riddle none may sever.

As it was in Time’s beginning,Then, as now, while Fate is spinningMan her clue would still be winning.

As it was in Time’s beginning,

Then, as now, while Fate is spinning

Man her clue would still be winning.

My soul knew rest no more that day.I heard Time’s voice sink far away,And long did muse till light was gone,Still sitting in my porch alone.

My soul knew rest no more that day.

I heard Time’s voice sink far away,

And long did muse till light was gone,

Still sitting in my porch alone.

Strange thoughts like flashes went and came,And dreams of love, and hopes of fame,With dim desires that inly burned;Dead hopes that rose again and yearnedTo follow still that unknown quest,And failing, fluttered back to rest.

Strange thoughts like flashes went and came,

And dreams of love, and hopes of fame,

With dim desires that inly burned;

Dead hopes that rose again and yearned

To follow still that unknown quest,

And failing, fluttered back to rest.

Then had my soul a vision strange,As far in spirit did I range,And I beheld a far dim plain,Dyed in day’s last Tyrean stain,And through its dark and desert groundA gleaming vein of water wound,Where lonely piles of ruin oldLoomed vast, with hollow chambers cold,Where horror dwelt with night and death,And filled they were with ghostly breath.

Then had my soul a vision strange,

As far in spirit did I range,

And I beheld a far dim plain,

Dyed in day’s last Tyrean stain,

And through its dark and desert ground

A gleaming vein of water wound,

Where lonely piles of ruin old

Loomed vast, with hollow chambers cold,

Where horror dwelt with night and death,

And filled they were with ghostly breath.

But there amid the gathering glooms,Among the temples and the tombs,One wandered in a pilgrim’s guise,Who fixed afar his wistful eyes;His footsteps kept the river’s side,A glowing lamp his feet did guide,That shone upon that desert’s dearth,As like a star there fall’n to earth;And moving through the twilight dim,By shattered arch and column slim,With staff and scrip he kept his way,Among those wrecks of ancient day.

But there amid the gathering glooms,

Among the temples and the tombs,

One wandered in a pilgrim’s guise,

Who fixed afar his wistful eyes;

His footsteps kept the river’s side,

A glowing lamp his feet did guide,

That shone upon that desert’s dearth,

As like a star there fall’n to earth;

And moving through the twilight dim,

By shattered arch and column slim,

With staff and scrip he kept his way,

Among those wrecks of ancient day.

Far, far upon that desert land,Half buried in her grave of sand,The ancient head of Egypt rose;And, still sublime in death’s repose,Great Memnon kept his awful throneOutwatching day and night alone:And where the Greek laid stone on stoneThe faces of his gods were shown,When to the world—a youth—there cameFair Wisdom, Power, and Beauty’s dame,Heré, not Pallas, had his choiceBut Aphrodité won his voice.The crumbling strength of mighty Rome,Her grave, her cradle, and her home;There stood the emblems of her reign—The Arch that would the world sustain,And still doth span in legioned rangeThe gulf of time, the waves of change.

Far, far upon that desert land,

Half buried in her grave of sand,

The ancient head of Egypt rose;

And, still sublime in death’s repose,

Great Memnon kept his awful throne

Outwatching day and night alone:

And where the Greek laid stone on stone

The faces of his gods were shown,

When to the world—a youth—there came

Fair Wisdom, Power, and Beauty’s dame,

Heré, not Pallas, had his choice

But Aphrodité won his voice.

The crumbling strength of mighty Rome,

Her grave, her cradle, and her home;

There stood the emblems of her reign—

The Arch that would the world sustain,

And still doth span in legioned range

The gulf of time, the waves of change.

Long stood the Pilgrim here at gaze,As lost in thought of antique days,As far his searching eyes could scanBeneath the age-worn arches’ span.He marked each age’s builded pileLoom dimly down the endless aisle,Where shone the winding waters’ thread,A wandering life among the dead,Until his sight no more could traceIts courses from their hidden place,Wrapt in the clinging mists that shroudThe trackless mountains dim with cloud;But still his spirit found no homeBeneath the broad eternal dome.

Long stood the Pilgrim here at gaze,

As lost in thought of antique days,

As far his searching eyes could scan

Beneath the age-worn arches’ span.

He marked each age’s builded pile

Loom dimly down the endless aisle,

Where shone the winding waters’ thread,

A wandering life among the dead,

Until his sight no more could trace

Its courses from their hidden place,

Wrapt in the clinging mists that shroud

The trackless mountains dim with cloud;

But still his spirit found no home

Beneath the broad eternal dome.

At last the Pilgrim turned and sighed,Nor stayed he where a cross besideMarked how a greater power and prideDid conquer Rome, and still doth bide.Full many a stone about that groundMade stumbling, but of flowers were foundNone save the sanguined poppy’s hueBetween still sleep and death that grew.

At last the Pilgrim turned and sighed,

Nor stayed he where a cross beside

Marked how a greater power and pride

Did conquer Rome, and still doth bide.

Full many a stone about that ground

Made stumbling, but of flowers were found

None save the sanguined poppy’s hue

Between still sleep and death that grew.

The Pilgrim stayed for sleep nor rest,As bent upon some hidden quest;Nor turned he from his painful wayWhere folk made feast and holidayBeneath fair vines and fruited trees,As pipe, and dance, and song them please.He seemed the world of men to shun,And joyed when he a wood had won,Sweet cloistered green, and roofed above,Where soft he heard the wooing dove,And sound of wandering water near;He drank its crystal cup and clear,And kept his path beside the streamTill he beheld white pillars gleam.

The Pilgrim stayed for sleep nor rest,

As bent upon some hidden quest;

Nor turned he from his painful way

Where folk made feast and holiday

Beneath fair vines and fruited trees,

As pipe, and dance, and song them please.

He seemed the world of men to shun,

And joyed when he a wood had won,

Sweet cloistered green, and roofed above,

Where soft he heard the wooing dove,

And sound of wandering water near;

He drank its crystal cup and clear,

And kept his path beside the stream

Till he beheld white pillars gleam.

He passed from green to blossomed boughsThat compassed fair a secret house;Still music drew him to the door,Swift beat his heart, and trembling more,He entered, to a gold dim spaceFlame-lit before an altar daïs,Rose-garlanded, most fair and meet,And all the air was still and sweet,But over these in fairer caseShone the clear semblance of a face.

He passed from green to blossomed boughs

That compassed fair a secret house;

Still music drew him to the door,

Swift beat his heart, and trembling more,

He entered, to a gold dim space

Flame-lit before an altar daïs,

Rose-garlanded, most fair and meet,

And all the air was still and sweet,

But over these in fairer case

Shone the clear semblance of a face.

He knelt before that altar stone,The anthem soothed his heart’s faint tone,And seraph voices high and soft,In measured cadence quired aloft,Or sailed in tempest gusts of soundWhen passion’s music shook the ground.Filled was the Pilgrim’s soul and bowed,Till in his stress he cried aloud:“O Love! This is thy holy place,Give me, I pray, my lady’s grace!”

He knelt before that altar stone,

The anthem soothed his heart’s faint tone,

And seraph voices high and soft,

In measured cadence quired aloft,

Or sailed in tempest gusts of sound

When passion’s music shook the ground.

Filled was the Pilgrim’s soul and bowed,

Till in his stress he cried aloud:

“O Love! This is thy holy place,

Give me, I pray, my lady’s grace!”

LOVE’S·LABYRINTH

WHEN summer reigned in leafy sheen,I found me in a garden green,Deep hidden from the sun’s gold edge,Beneath a rose-hung thorny hedge,Upon a space of cool fair grass,Whereon not yet the scythe should pass;Though in the meadows was it laid,Where Time was stooping in the shadeAs, foot by foot, with measured sweepHis engine cleft the grassy deep;And thence fresh fragrance wafted sweetThe smell of roses blown to meet,Mixed in the drowsèd air and stoleIn slumber to my dreamful soul.Full long I lay in leafy lair,Until, upon the murmurous air,One murmur grew with deep’ning noteAnd soon my sleeping ear it smote,And woke a trouble in my breast—A joyful pain more sweet than rest.Like as the voice of plaining stringsWhen magic hands the music bringsOut of the viols’ soul in soundThat hath a power when speech is bound,To lift the whirlwind and the wailOf passion’s tempest, and the veilOf dumb desires and hopes that cry,Until the strong winds sinking die,Though still the wrought waves strike the shore,Above them shrill a voice dost soar;Or with the soft gale, falling low,To lull the soul, sings sweet and slow,And folds the fluttering wings of peace:So thrilled that music through the trees;The leaves were stirred upon the boughs,The petals shaken from a rose,As though a spirit moved anear.Then from the hedge a voice broke clear:—“O Time! O Time! Thy dial stay,And lend to Love thy little day,And make him free of thy domain;And thou shalt not have less of gain,For he must pay thee back againIn penal hours of longing pain.“O Time! O Time! Thy labour stayBetween the sun and moon to-day:Tell not thy hours of moon and noonLest they should find us swift and soonTo steal from us our secret joy,And give us to the world’s annoy.“Let Love be king in hour and place,And give thy garden for his chase,Set all with lilies fair and white,And roses for his heart’s delight,Both red, and crimson dark, and paleLike snow that hidden fire doth veil:Yea, give them on their thorny stem,Before thy breath shalt shatter them,That chaplets Love may bind for thoseWho wander in his tangled close.”Time, ceasing not his toil, far heard,Gave back to Love this answering word:—“Love, to Time dost thou come sueing?Love, with all thy debt accrueing?Time can give thee no renewing.“Ask the hearts thy sceptre schooleth,Seek the kings thy kingship ruleth,Who is he that Time befooleth?“Rest thee, Love, in thine own city,But of my dominion quit ye,Time is hard, and hath no pity.“Erst for king didst thou disown me,Wouldst thou o’er thy kingdom crown me?Thee I serve when thou hast won me.“Slave and servant, no man’s master,They who will me slow or fasterUrge me to their own disaster.“Lo! this garden for thy going,Fair and sweet life-blooms in growing,Gather, ere its leaves be strowing.“Hive thy honey, sweet bestowing,Take life’s apples, red and glowing,Ere they fall to earth unknowing.“Days and hours, perforce, Time gives theeBy the sun’s swift wheel that drives ye,Rest you merry! Time survives Thee.”His shadow passed, his voice had died,And from the rosy covert side,Clear shining in his goodlihead,Love to my soul came forth and said:—“Arise, O Soul! and go with me,And thou shalt read my book and seeThings hidden from the wise, and knowThe height of joy, the depth of woe,And hear the seas of passion roll,And scan the dim strange human scroll,The writing of its speechless lore,And poesy’s unfathomed store;The mystic birth of Song and ArtIn painted chambers of the heart;Love’s histories of bliss and strife,And woven mysteries of life—Yea, all that in Love’s house do dwellBetween the doors of heaven and hell.”Now in this garden lay apartA space contrived with cunning art,Where whoso entered at its gateMight choose of pleasant paths and straight,Green walled in privet, rose, and yew,Anon that interlaced and drewThe wildered wight still to and fro,Who wists not if to turn or go,Amid the close entangled ways,Where oft, for his yet more amaze,Soft voices, wandering, called his name,And through the leaves sweet music came,Clear faces showed like sudden light,To vanish from his longing sightEre he might hope of help to winThe secret bliss hid far within.Few ’scape from out that pleasaunce whole,Few gain the inmost golden goal;Full many wander there forlorn,Or come out thence sore wounded, torn,To weep their wasted lives forespent.Thither by Love my soul was bent:Soon in the green maze sweet and still,I heard the brown and blackbird trill,Where, linkèd lanes and alleys through,Love led me by his secret clue;And oft the scented briar would cling,Or in the hedge some fluttering thingShake soft adown a summer snowOf roses bloom in overblow,Among the leaves all fair bedightAnd prankt with buds of red and white.But still by these Love’s footsteps led,Dim paths before him turned and fled;Full oft some sweet or anguished faceWould part the leaves to seek his grace;For many folk did wander there,Both gleaming knights and dames most fair,And o’er the level hedge and trimFair showed in quaint attire and slimOf samite, broidery, and brocade,As folk of passèd time portrayedBy cunning painters, skilled full well,That mid so goodly sights did dwell.And there about the stems were hungSweet names and legends poets sung,Ywrought on scrolls and tablets fine,And bound with knots that true loves twine;And oft the lute’s full tender strainAmid the rose leaves made soft plain,As songs were heard in women’s fameThat crownèd singers sweet proclaim—Prophets and kings of lyre and pen,Who sound the hearts of silent menThat hold their word as treasure troveIn the immortal book of love.These all were passed, and in a while,Love showed my soul a dim green aisle,And far at end a stone-built stair,That led us from the woody lair,Forth issuing through a night of treesTo know anew the day’s increase,And there a fragrant arbour found,With clinging jasmine close embound.Soon, in this leafy ambush set,Love bade my soul look forth and letSight wonder at its might or will.Then saw I those that wandered stillLost in the green and covert ways,And all the secret of the maze.How there, as folks distraught, misled,Sought lovers for their lover, who fledFar from them, or, unwitting, pastThe prisoning hedge that shut them fast:How, oft their eyes met far amainIn severed paths that kept them twain;How, after toil and weary pace,Some met at last with shamefast face,And silent lips, or coldly maskedWith wintry speech their hearts that askedFor utterance, and leapt, and cried—Love’s dear deliverance denied.Thereby great heaviness and painHad then my soul, and turned againTo ask of him who stood besideWhat hope for these might yet betide.Clothed in his godhead strong he stood,He bent his bow above the wood,And swift the wingèd arrow leftThe quivering string—what heart it cleftMy soul ne’er knew, for then the lightOf falling day dazed all my sightWith splendour, as the level sunBlazed in his gold pavilion spunOut of his rays whose burning threadA glorious tapestry outspreadWith all life’s hues commingling blent.And ere the golden web was rentBy darkness, Love led me away,And passed, about the end of day,Beneath the hanging umbrage dreadTill grew in sight a summer stead,Fair corniced, roofed, and pillared clean,Closed in the midmost heart of green,And girt about with garlands round,Clear-built upon a pleasant ground,That gardened was and set with flowers,Which had the speech of love and powersAfter that they are dead to keepSweet thoughts in heart and cherished deep.Also of mythic trees and rareThat grew in love’s high region there,My soul did mark fair Daphne’s leaf;The almond bloom, for love and grief,When Phillis died; and Syrinx’ reed,Like sprung of legendary seed,The sun’s broad flower, that shows his flameAnd blooms in Clyte’s sculptured fame.Amidst them fair and high uproseThe carven images of thoseThat wrought with men for good or ill,And gave good gifts, and god-like skill,And reverence had upon the earth—Yea, still, in all man’s strife and mirthHave part and glory, yet for himThe mingled cup of life they brim,As gods, who here Love’s lordship ownCasting their crowns before his throne.Their marble image broken fellWhere leapt a water from its wellGemmed in the green and grassy spaceBefore the pillars of the place,Where now my soul love’s travel brought.Soon trod we both the marble court,And passed into a painted hall,Most goodly wrought on roof and wallWith dreams, and golden mysteriesOf love and love’s rich historiesWherein dumb thoughts of heart and brainTook form and speech and breathed again.Natheless, ere we the end might winWas hung a veil, fine-woven, thin,But through the veil a fire glowed dim,And faint-heard music soft did swim,Till out of vague and murmurous toneRose up a voice to take its throne:—“Last night my lady talked with me,As on a green hill, I and sheSat close, where erst alone I stoodBeneath the dusk-leaved ilex wood.“The earth was gathered to her rest,Sweet silence lay upon her breast,Well nigh asleep, save that she heardThe wandering waters’ silver word.“The sun had kissed the earth’s dark lipsThat grow so ruddy ere he dips,Wine-coloured to his golden rim,As purple evening pours for him.“Low stooped his head as he would drink,Till out of sight we saw him sink,And with his splendour in our eyes,Full-orbed we watched the great moon rise.“Rose-tinged in the dim sky shone sheLike Venus from the opal sea,So grew her glory in our sight,Till in her face we saw love’s light,“Love’s light in hers, like flame on flame—Yea, very Love in presence came,Between the fires of moon and sunHe stood, like dawn ere night begun.“Clear-aureoled his golden head,His eyes our burning hearts well read,And in the sanctuary of my soulI won of love the golden goal.”

WHEN summer reigned in leafy sheen,

I found me in a garden green,

Deep hidden from the sun’s gold edge,

Beneath a rose-hung thorny hedge,

Upon a space of cool fair grass,

Whereon not yet the scythe should pass;

Though in the meadows was it laid,

Where Time was stooping in the shade

As, foot by foot, with measured sweep

His engine cleft the grassy deep;

And thence fresh fragrance wafted sweet

The smell of roses blown to meet,

Mixed in the drowsèd air and stole

In slumber to my dreamful soul.

Full long I lay in leafy lair,Until, upon the murmurous air,One murmur grew with deep’ning noteAnd soon my sleeping ear it smote,And woke a trouble in my breast—A joyful pain more sweet than rest.Like as the voice of plaining stringsWhen magic hands the music bringsOut of the viols’ soul in soundThat hath a power when speech is bound,To lift the whirlwind and the wailOf passion’s tempest, and the veilOf dumb desires and hopes that cry,Until the strong winds sinking die,Though still the wrought waves strike the shore,Above them shrill a voice dost soar;Or with the soft gale, falling low,To lull the soul, sings sweet and slow,And folds the fluttering wings of peace:So thrilled that music through the trees;The leaves were stirred upon the boughs,The petals shaken from a rose,As though a spirit moved anear.Then from the hedge a voice broke clear:—

Full long I lay in leafy lair,

Until, upon the murmurous air,

One murmur grew with deep’ning note

And soon my sleeping ear it smote,

And woke a trouble in my breast—

A joyful pain more sweet than rest.

Like as the voice of plaining strings

When magic hands the music brings

Out of the viols’ soul in sound

That hath a power when speech is bound,

To lift the whirlwind and the wail

Of passion’s tempest, and the veil

Of dumb desires and hopes that cry,

Until the strong winds sinking die,

Though still the wrought waves strike the shore,

Above them shrill a voice dost soar;

Or with the soft gale, falling low,

To lull the soul, sings sweet and slow,

And folds the fluttering wings of peace:

So thrilled that music through the trees;

The leaves were stirred upon the boughs,

The petals shaken from a rose,

As though a spirit moved anear.

Then from the hedge a voice broke clear:—

“O Time! O Time! Thy dial stay,And lend to Love thy little day,And make him free of thy domain;And thou shalt not have less of gain,For he must pay thee back againIn penal hours of longing pain.

“O Time! O Time! Thy dial stay,

And lend to Love thy little day,

And make him free of thy domain;

And thou shalt not have less of gain,

For he must pay thee back again

In penal hours of longing pain.

“O Time! O Time! Thy labour stayBetween the sun and moon to-day:Tell not thy hours of moon and noonLest they should find us swift and soonTo steal from us our secret joy,And give us to the world’s annoy.

“O Time! O Time! Thy labour stay

Between the sun and moon to-day:

Tell not thy hours of moon and noon

Lest they should find us swift and soon

To steal from us our secret joy,

And give us to the world’s annoy.

“Let Love be king in hour and place,And give thy garden for his chase,Set all with lilies fair and white,And roses for his heart’s delight,Both red, and crimson dark, and paleLike snow that hidden fire doth veil:Yea, give them on their thorny stem,Before thy breath shalt shatter them,That chaplets Love may bind for thoseWho wander in his tangled close.”

“Let Love be king in hour and place,

And give thy garden for his chase,

Set all with lilies fair and white,

And roses for his heart’s delight,

Both red, and crimson dark, and pale

Like snow that hidden fire doth veil:

Yea, give them on their thorny stem,

Before thy breath shalt shatter them,

That chaplets Love may bind for those

Who wander in his tangled close.”

Time, ceasing not his toil, far heard,Gave back to Love this answering word:—

Time, ceasing not his toil, far heard,

Gave back to Love this answering word:—

“Love, to Time dost thou come sueing?Love, with all thy debt accrueing?Time can give thee no renewing.

“Love, to Time dost thou come sueing?

Love, with all thy debt accrueing?

Time can give thee no renewing.

“Ask the hearts thy sceptre schooleth,Seek the kings thy kingship ruleth,Who is he that Time befooleth?

“Ask the hearts thy sceptre schooleth,

Seek the kings thy kingship ruleth,

Who is he that Time befooleth?

“Rest thee, Love, in thine own city,But of my dominion quit ye,Time is hard, and hath no pity.

“Rest thee, Love, in thine own city,

But of my dominion quit ye,

Time is hard, and hath no pity.

“Erst for king didst thou disown me,Wouldst thou o’er thy kingdom crown me?Thee I serve when thou hast won me.

“Erst for king didst thou disown me,

Wouldst thou o’er thy kingdom crown me?

Thee I serve when thou hast won me.

“Slave and servant, no man’s master,They who will me slow or fasterUrge me to their own disaster.

“Slave and servant, no man’s master,

They who will me slow or faster

Urge me to their own disaster.

“Lo! this garden for thy going,Fair and sweet life-blooms in growing,Gather, ere its leaves be strowing.

“Lo! this garden for thy going,

Fair and sweet life-blooms in growing,

Gather, ere its leaves be strowing.

“Hive thy honey, sweet bestowing,Take life’s apples, red and glowing,Ere they fall to earth unknowing.

“Hive thy honey, sweet bestowing,

Take life’s apples, red and glowing,

Ere they fall to earth unknowing.

“Days and hours, perforce, Time gives theeBy the sun’s swift wheel that drives ye,Rest you merry! Time survives Thee.”

“Days and hours, perforce, Time gives thee

By the sun’s swift wheel that drives ye,

Rest you merry! Time survives Thee.”

His shadow passed, his voice had died,And from the rosy covert side,Clear shining in his goodlihead,Love to my soul came forth and said:—

His shadow passed, his voice had died,

And from the rosy covert side,

Clear shining in his goodlihead,

Love to my soul came forth and said:—

“Arise, O Soul! and go with me,And thou shalt read my book and seeThings hidden from the wise, and knowThe height of joy, the depth of woe,And hear the seas of passion roll,And scan the dim strange human scroll,The writing of its speechless lore,And poesy’s unfathomed store;The mystic birth of Song and ArtIn painted chambers of the heart;Love’s histories of bliss and strife,And woven mysteries of life—Yea, all that in Love’s house do dwellBetween the doors of heaven and hell.”

“Arise, O Soul! and go with me,

And thou shalt read my book and see

Things hidden from the wise, and know

The height of joy, the depth of woe,

And hear the seas of passion roll,

And scan the dim strange human scroll,

The writing of its speechless lore,

And poesy’s unfathomed store;

The mystic birth of Song and Art

In painted chambers of the heart;

Love’s histories of bliss and strife,

And woven mysteries of life—

Yea, all that in Love’s house do dwell

Between the doors of heaven and hell.”

Now in this garden lay apartA space contrived with cunning art,Where whoso entered at its gateMight choose of pleasant paths and straight,Green walled in privet, rose, and yew,Anon that interlaced and drewThe wildered wight still to and fro,Who wists not if to turn or go,Amid the close entangled ways,Where oft, for his yet more amaze,Soft voices, wandering, called his name,And through the leaves sweet music came,Clear faces showed like sudden light,To vanish from his longing sightEre he might hope of help to winThe secret bliss hid far within.

Now in this garden lay apart

A space contrived with cunning art,

Where whoso entered at its gate

Might choose of pleasant paths and straight,

Green walled in privet, rose, and yew,

Anon that interlaced and drew

The wildered wight still to and fro,

Who wists not if to turn or go,

Amid the close entangled ways,

Where oft, for his yet more amaze,

Soft voices, wandering, called his name,

And through the leaves sweet music came,

Clear faces showed like sudden light,

To vanish from his longing sight

Ere he might hope of help to win

The secret bliss hid far within.

Few ’scape from out that pleasaunce whole,Few gain the inmost golden goal;Full many wander there forlorn,Or come out thence sore wounded, torn,To weep their wasted lives forespent.

Few ’scape from out that pleasaunce whole,

Few gain the inmost golden goal;

Full many wander there forlorn,

Or come out thence sore wounded, torn,

To weep their wasted lives forespent.

Thither by Love my soul was bent:Soon in the green maze sweet and still,I heard the brown and blackbird trill,Where, linkèd lanes and alleys through,Love led me by his secret clue;And oft the scented briar would cling,Or in the hedge some fluttering thingShake soft adown a summer snowOf roses bloom in overblow,Among the leaves all fair bedightAnd prankt with buds of red and white.

Thither by Love my soul was bent:

Soon in the green maze sweet and still,

I heard the brown and blackbird trill,

Where, linkèd lanes and alleys through,

Love led me by his secret clue;

And oft the scented briar would cling,

Or in the hedge some fluttering thing

Shake soft adown a summer snow

Of roses bloom in overblow,

Among the leaves all fair bedight

And prankt with buds of red and white.

But still by these Love’s footsteps led,Dim paths before him turned and fled;Full oft some sweet or anguished faceWould part the leaves to seek his grace;For many folk did wander there,Both gleaming knights and dames most fair,And o’er the level hedge and trimFair showed in quaint attire and slimOf samite, broidery, and brocade,As folk of passèd time portrayedBy cunning painters, skilled full well,That mid so goodly sights did dwell.

But still by these Love’s footsteps led,

Dim paths before him turned and fled;

Full oft some sweet or anguished face

Would part the leaves to seek his grace;

For many folk did wander there,

Both gleaming knights and dames most fair,

And o’er the level hedge and trim

Fair showed in quaint attire and slim

Of samite, broidery, and brocade,

As folk of passèd time portrayed

By cunning painters, skilled full well,

That mid so goodly sights did dwell.

And there about the stems were hungSweet names and legends poets sung,Ywrought on scrolls and tablets fine,And bound with knots that true loves twine;And oft the lute’s full tender strainAmid the rose leaves made soft plain,As songs were heard in women’s fameThat crownèd singers sweet proclaim—Prophets and kings of lyre and pen,Who sound the hearts of silent menThat hold their word as treasure troveIn the immortal book of love.

And there about the stems were hung

Sweet names and legends poets sung,

Ywrought on scrolls and tablets fine,

And bound with knots that true loves twine;

And oft the lute’s full tender strain

Amid the rose leaves made soft plain,

As songs were heard in women’s fame

That crownèd singers sweet proclaim—

Prophets and kings of lyre and pen,

Who sound the hearts of silent men

That hold their word as treasure trove

In the immortal book of love.

These all were passed, and in a while,Love showed my soul a dim green aisle,And far at end a stone-built stair,That led us from the woody lair,Forth issuing through a night of treesTo know anew the day’s increase,And there a fragrant arbour found,With clinging jasmine close embound.Soon, in this leafy ambush set,Love bade my soul look forth and letSight wonder at its might or will.Then saw I those that wandered stillLost in the green and covert ways,And all the secret of the maze.How there, as folks distraught, misled,Sought lovers for their lover, who fledFar from them, or, unwitting, pastThe prisoning hedge that shut them fast:How, oft their eyes met far amainIn severed paths that kept them twain;How, after toil and weary pace,Some met at last with shamefast face,And silent lips, or coldly maskedWith wintry speech their hearts that askedFor utterance, and leapt, and cried—Love’s dear deliverance denied.

These all were passed, and in a while,

Love showed my soul a dim green aisle,

And far at end a stone-built stair,

That led us from the woody lair,

Forth issuing through a night of trees

To know anew the day’s increase,

And there a fragrant arbour found,

With clinging jasmine close embound.

Soon, in this leafy ambush set,

Love bade my soul look forth and let

Sight wonder at its might or will.

Then saw I those that wandered still

Lost in the green and covert ways,

And all the secret of the maze.

How there, as folks distraught, misled,

Sought lovers for their lover, who fled

Far from them, or, unwitting, past

The prisoning hedge that shut them fast:

How, oft their eyes met far amain

In severed paths that kept them twain;

How, after toil and weary pace,

Some met at last with shamefast face,

And silent lips, or coldly masked

With wintry speech their hearts that asked

For utterance, and leapt, and cried—

Love’s dear deliverance denied.

Thereby great heaviness and painHad then my soul, and turned againTo ask of him who stood besideWhat hope for these might yet betide.Clothed in his godhead strong he stood,He bent his bow above the wood,And swift the wingèd arrow leftThe quivering string—what heart it cleftMy soul ne’er knew, for then the lightOf falling day dazed all my sightWith splendour, as the level sunBlazed in his gold pavilion spunOut of his rays whose burning threadA glorious tapestry outspreadWith all life’s hues commingling blent.And ere the golden web was rentBy darkness, Love led me away,And passed, about the end of day,Beneath the hanging umbrage dreadTill grew in sight a summer stead,Fair corniced, roofed, and pillared clean,Closed in the midmost heart of green,And girt about with garlands round,Clear-built upon a pleasant ground,That gardened was and set with flowers,Which had the speech of love and powersAfter that they are dead to keepSweet thoughts in heart and cherished deep.Also of mythic trees and rareThat grew in love’s high region there,My soul did mark fair Daphne’s leaf;The almond bloom, for love and grief,When Phillis died; and Syrinx’ reed,Like sprung of legendary seed,The sun’s broad flower, that shows his flameAnd blooms in Clyte’s sculptured fame.

Thereby great heaviness and pain

Had then my soul, and turned again

To ask of him who stood beside

What hope for these might yet betide.

Clothed in his godhead strong he stood,

He bent his bow above the wood,

And swift the wingèd arrow left

The quivering string—what heart it cleft

My soul ne’er knew, for then the light

Of falling day dazed all my sight

With splendour, as the level sun

Blazed in his gold pavilion spun

Out of his rays whose burning thread

A glorious tapestry outspread

With all life’s hues commingling blent.

And ere the golden web was rent

By darkness, Love led me away,

And passed, about the end of day,

Beneath the hanging umbrage dread

Till grew in sight a summer stead,

Fair corniced, roofed, and pillared clean,

Closed in the midmost heart of green,

And girt about with garlands round,

Clear-built upon a pleasant ground,

That gardened was and set with flowers,

Which had the speech of love and powers

After that they are dead to keep

Sweet thoughts in heart and cherished deep.

Also of mythic trees and rare

That grew in love’s high region there,

My soul did mark fair Daphne’s leaf;

The almond bloom, for love and grief,

When Phillis died; and Syrinx’ reed,

Like sprung of legendary seed,

The sun’s broad flower, that shows his flame

And blooms in Clyte’s sculptured fame.

Amidst them fair and high uproseThe carven images of thoseThat wrought with men for good or ill,And gave good gifts, and god-like skill,And reverence had upon the earth—Yea, still, in all man’s strife and mirthHave part and glory, yet for himThe mingled cup of life they brim,As gods, who here Love’s lordship ownCasting their crowns before his throne.Their marble image broken fellWhere leapt a water from its wellGemmed in the green and grassy spaceBefore the pillars of the place,Where now my soul love’s travel brought.

Amidst them fair and high uprose

The carven images of those

That wrought with men for good or ill,

And gave good gifts, and god-like skill,

And reverence had upon the earth—

Yea, still, in all man’s strife and mirth

Have part and glory, yet for him

The mingled cup of life they brim,

As gods, who here Love’s lordship own

Casting their crowns before his throne.

Their marble image broken fell

Where leapt a water from its well

Gemmed in the green and grassy space

Before the pillars of the place,

Where now my soul love’s travel brought.

Soon trod we both the marble court,And passed into a painted hall,Most goodly wrought on roof and wallWith dreams, and golden mysteriesOf love and love’s rich historiesWherein dumb thoughts of heart and brainTook form and speech and breathed again.

Soon trod we both the marble court,

And passed into a painted hall,

Most goodly wrought on roof and wall

With dreams, and golden mysteries

Of love and love’s rich histories

Wherein dumb thoughts of heart and brain

Took form and speech and breathed again.

Natheless, ere we the end might winWas hung a veil, fine-woven, thin,But through the veil a fire glowed dim,And faint-heard music soft did swim,Till out of vague and murmurous toneRose up a voice to take its throne:—

Natheless, ere we the end might win

Was hung a veil, fine-woven, thin,

But through the veil a fire glowed dim,

And faint-heard music soft did swim,

Till out of vague and murmurous tone

Rose up a voice to take its throne:—

“Last night my lady talked with me,As on a green hill, I and sheSat close, where erst alone I stoodBeneath the dusk-leaved ilex wood.

“Last night my lady talked with me,

As on a green hill, I and she

Sat close, where erst alone I stood

Beneath the dusk-leaved ilex wood.

“The earth was gathered to her rest,Sweet silence lay upon her breast,Well nigh asleep, save that she heardThe wandering waters’ silver word.

“The earth was gathered to her rest,

Sweet silence lay upon her breast,

Well nigh asleep, save that she heard

The wandering waters’ silver word.

“The sun had kissed the earth’s dark lipsThat grow so ruddy ere he dips,Wine-coloured to his golden rim,As purple evening pours for him.

“The sun had kissed the earth’s dark lips

That grow so ruddy ere he dips,

Wine-coloured to his golden rim,

As purple evening pours for him.

“Low stooped his head as he would drink,Till out of sight we saw him sink,And with his splendour in our eyes,Full-orbed we watched the great moon rise.

“Low stooped his head as he would drink,

Till out of sight we saw him sink,

And with his splendour in our eyes,

Full-orbed we watched the great moon rise.

“Rose-tinged in the dim sky shone sheLike Venus from the opal sea,So grew her glory in our sight,Till in her face we saw love’s light,

“Rose-tinged in the dim sky shone she

Like Venus from the opal sea,

So grew her glory in our sight,

Till in her face we saw love’s light,

“Love’s light in hers, like flame on flame—Yea, very Love in presence came,Between the fires of moon and sunHe stood, like dawn ere night begun.

“Love’s light in hers, like flame on flame—

Yea, very Love in presence came,

Between the fires of moon and sun

He stood, like dawn ere night begun.

“Clear-aureoled his golden head,His eyes our burning hearts well read,And in the sanctuary of my soulI won of love the golden goal.”

“Clear-aureoled his golden head,

His eyes our burning hearts well read,

And in the sanctuary of my soul

I won of love the golden goal.”

Page 33, line 5,for“moon”read“morn”.

THE·DIVIDING·GULF

AGULF divideth Heaven and HellWhose depth no fathom line can tell;A gulf is fixed between two soulsAs cold and deep, which ever rollsTo hinder messengers of light,Who else would wing in welcome flight,With water from love’s living spring,And peace to the tormented bring:But now if any will to passFrom hence to thence, alas! alas!The gulf is fixed, they cannot go,And all unaided lie in woe,Sad souls unto their succour near,And yet so far as though they wereDivided by an ocean plain;And so thoughts die within each brainThat might in interchanging wed,And fruitfulness and plenty spreadTo clothe and crown the naked fields,And give them bread for barren yields,That waste beneath a sunless skyTheir empty ears, or, blighted die.But as when we have longed to greetSome wished-for-one we never meet,Their semblance still may please our eyes,Their presence in our dreams arise;So, though lone thoughts ne’er meet their kind,Or, meeting in the darkness blind,Know not they meet—falls there no flashUpon the waters wide that washThe silent shores of either mind,And both by sudden pathway find?Shines there no light we never soughtOn all the ways of toil and thought—A flash in momentary course,Like lightning from an unseen sourceThat, in the trembling of a star,Shows all world anear and far,When in a flood of flame intenseThe gulf is banished from our sense,And in one moment, bridging space,Two spirits stand as face to face.

AGULF divideth Heaven and Hell

Whose depth no fathom line can tell;

A gulf is fixed between two souls

As cold and deep, which ever rolls

To hinder messengers of light,

Who else would wing in welcome flight,

With water from love’s living spring,

And peace to the tormented bring:

But now if any will to passFrom hence to thence, alas! alas!The gulf is fixed, they cannot go,And all unaided lie in woe,Sad souls unto their succour near,And yet so far as though they wereDivided by an ocean plain;And so thoughts die within each brainThat might in interchanging wed,And fruitfulness and plenty spreadTo clothe and crown the naked fields,And give them bread for barren yields,That waste beneath a sunless skyTheir empty ears, or, blighted die.

But now if any will to pass

From hence to thence, alas! alas!

The gulf is fixed, they cannot go,

And all unaided lie in woe,

Sad souls unto their succour near,

And yet so far as though they were

Divided by an ocean plain;

And so thoughts die within each brain

That might in interchanging wed,

And fruitfulness and plenty spread

To clothe and crown the naked fields,

And give them bread for barren yields,

That waste beneath a sunless sky

Their empty ears, or, blighted die.

But as when we have longed to greetSome wished-for-one we never meet,Their semblance still may please our eyes,Their presence in our dreams arise;So, though lone thoughts ne’er meet their kind,Or, meeting in the darkness blind,Know not they meet—falls there no flashUpon the waters wide that washThe silent shores of either mind,And both by sudden pathway find?Shines there no light we never soughtOn all the ways of toil and thought—A flash in momentary course,Like lightning from an unseen sourceThat, in the trembling of a star,Shows all world anear and far,When in a flood of flame intenseThe gulf is banished from our sense,And in one moment, bridging space,Two spirits stand as face to face.

But as when we have longed to greet

Some wished-for-one we never meet,

Their semblance still may please our eyes,

Their presence in our dreams arise;

So, though lone thoughts ne’er meet their kind,

Or, meeting in the darkness blind,

Know not they meet—falls there no flash

Upon the waters wide that wash

The silent shores of either mind,

And both by sudden pathway find?

Shines there no light we never sought

On all the ways of toil and thought—

A flash in momentary course,

Like lightning from an unseen source

That, in the trembling of a star,

Shows all world anear and far,

When in a flood of flame intense

The gulf is banished from our sense,

And in one moment, bridging space,

Two spirits stand as face to face.

THE·VALLEY·of·DELIVERANCE

SEA-BLUE infinitude of silent hills!That fold, like waves that crested are and smooth,The wide-spread vale that slowly eve instilsWith misty lakes, and all thy summits sooth.

SEA-BLUE infinitude of silent hills!

That fold, like waves that crested are and smooth,

The wide-spread vale that slowly eve instils

With misty lakes, and all thy summits sooth.

In baths of amber light where melt and mergeThe wandering purples into green and gold,Athwart the slumbrous fields, and moorland vergeO’ersailed by slow cloud-shadows softly rolled.

In baths of amber light where melt and merge

The wandering purples into green and gold,

Athwart the slumbrous fields, and moorland verge

O’ersailed by slow cloud-shadows softly rolled.

With alternations new and grateful changeOf burning tones to cool in magic show,As oft the opalescent sea do rangeOr in the sun-built arch transfused do glow.

With alternations new and grateful change

Of burning tones to cool in magic show,

As oft the opalescent sea do range

Or in the sun-built arch transfused do glow.

O silent hills! ye hold a meaning moreThan speech; ye are not voiceless, O ye vales!But eloquent of time and treasured loreOf memory, and filled with untold tales.

O silent hills! ye hold a meaning more

Than speech; ye are not voiceless, O ye vales!

But eloquent of time and treasured lore

Of memory, and filled with untold tales.

That well nigh dim my gazing eyes with tears,Whereas they follow those familiar lines;Dear as the features shaped by hopes and fearsOn friendship’s face, oft read and sought for signs.

That well nigh dim my gazing eyes with tears,

Whereas they follow those familiar lines;

Dear as the features shaped by hopes and fears

On friendship’s face, oft read and sought for signs.

For dear to me the crags—the weather-worn;The slopes of green, the waving woodland towersWhose crested pageantry of leaves adornThe shadowed graves of faded summer hours.

For dear to me the crags—the weather-worn;

The slopes of green, the waving woodland towers

Whose crested pageantry of leaves adorn

The shadowed graves of faded summer hours.

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