The Project Gutenberg eBook ofSome Verses

The Project Gutenberg eBook ofSome VersesThis ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.Title: Some VersesAuthor: Helen Hay WhitneyRelease date: March 14, 2013 [eBook #42330]Most recently updated: October 23, 2024Language: EnglishCredits: Produced by Nicole Henn-Kneif, Greg Bergquist and theOnline Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net(This file was produced from images generously madeavailable by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SOME VERSES ***

This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.

Title: Some VersesAuthor: Helen Hay WhitneyRelease date: March 14, 2013 [eBook #42330]Most recently updated: October 23, 2024Language: EnglishCredits: Produced by Nicole Henn-Kneif, Greg Bergquist and theOnline Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net(This file was produced from images generously madeavailable by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)

Title: Some Verses

Author: Helen Hay Whitney

Release date: March 14, 2013 [eBook #42330]Most recently updated: October 23, 2024

Language: English

Credits: Produced by Nicole Henn-Kneif, Greg Bergquist and theOnline Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net(This file was produced from images generously madeavailable by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SOME VERSES ***

Transcriber's Notes:Variations in spelling, punctuation and hyphenation have been retained except in obvious cases of typographical error:"Ehere is not one..." has been changed to "There is not one..."

BYHELEN HAY

DUCKWORTH AND CO.3 HENRIETTA ST. COVENT GARDEN1898

To my Father

A long grim corridor—a sullen barOf light athwart the darkness—where no fleetPale sunshine spreads for dark his winding sheetA light, not born of noon nor placid starGlows lurid thro' the gloom—while from afar,Beats marching of innumerable feet.Is this the place where tragic armies meet?The throb of terror that presages war?—I strain to see, then softly on my sightThere falls the vision, manifold they come—White listless Day chained to her brother Night—Their hands are shackled and their lips are dumb,And as they meet the air where each one dies,They turn and smile at me—with weary eyes.

A long grim corridor—a sullen bar

Of light athwart the darkness—where no fleet

Pale sunshine spreads for dark his winding sheet

A light, not born of noon nor placid star

Glows lurid thro' the gloom—while from afar,

Beats marching of innumerable feet.

Is this the place where tragic armies meet?

The throb of terror that presages war?—

I strain to see, then softly on my sight

There falls the vision, manifold they come—

White listless Day chained to her brother Night—

Their hands are shackled and their lips are dumb,

And as they meet the air where each one dies,

They turn and smile at me—with weary eyes.

And shall it be that these undaunted snowsThat poise so lightly on the mountains' crest—A lily laid to cheer its lonely breast—Shall their chill smile still face the wind, that blowsAcross the field whereon no blossom grows,And light the land where no gay life may restSave glowing hasty fingers of the West,When our two hearts lie cold beneath the rose?These silver flakes of ancient hoary frost,Surviving all our joys' supremest powers,And though the petals of your lips be lostAnd gone the summer of your golden head,This pale eternal growth of winter's flowersShall still live on—though our sweet love be dead.

And shall it be that these undaunted snows

That poise so lightly on the mountains' crest—

A lily laid to cheer its lonely breast—

Shall their chill smile still face the wind, that blows

Across the field whereon no blossom grows,

And light the land where no gay life may rest

Save glowing hasty fingers of the West,

When our two hearts lie cold beneath the rose?

These silver flakes of ancient hoary frost,

Surviving all our joys' supremest powers,

And though the petals of your lips be lost

And gone the summer of your golden head,

This pale eternal growth of winter's flowers

Shall still live on—though our sweet love be dead.

He had a vision of a golden throneFronting an altar; both alike were bare,But o'er the purple of the regal chairBlazed the device, "I wait for him aloneWho with the world has held his soul his own."He sadly turned, this height he could not dare.But—Stay—the text upon the altar there—"I wait for him who has not made a moanHowe'er his kind have used his heaven-sent dower.Fear not, and burn thine incense, lowly heart."And sudden brightness turns the averted face,To holy sense of majesty and power—And a voice:—"Master—this indeed thou art."Wondrous music trembles thro' the space.

He had a vision of a golden throne

Fronting an altar; both alike were bare,

But o'er the purple of the regal chair

Blazed the device, "I wait for him alone

Who with the world has held his soul his own."

He sadly turned, this height he could not dare.

But—Stay—the text upon the altar there—

"I wait for him who has not made a moan

Howe'er his kind have used his heaven-sent dower.

Fear not, and burn thine incense, lowly heart."

And sudden brightness turns the averted face,

To holy sense of majesty and power—

And a voice:—"Master—this indeed thou art."

Wondrous music trembles thro' the space.

You have not ceased for me. Though stern-browed FateLaid our two paths apart; when in the WestShe gave you over to the seas, and greatWide winds of enterprise, and set your breastAgainst the suns and shadows of the earth;Then with a gilded largess, led my waysToward the time-worn East, who paints her dearthWith purple vain imaginings; the praiseOf all her languid incense and the prideOf ancient mysteries and hopeless creedsHold for my heart no spell when warm and wideI see across the blue of Isis' veilThe thunderous breakers of your ocean paleAnd glints of prairie sun through river reeds.

You have not ceased for me. Though stern-browed Fate

Laid our two paths apart; when in the West

She gave you over to the seas, and great

Wide winds of enterprise, and set your breast

Against the suns and shadows of the earth;

Then with a gilded largess, led my ways

Toward the time-worn East, who paints her dearth

With purple vain imaginings; the praise

Of all her languid incense and the pride

Of ancient mysteries and hopeless creeds

Hold for my heart no spell when warm and wide

I see across the blue of Isis' veil

The thunderous breakers of your ocean pale

And glints of prairie sun through river reeds.

The pallid waves caress the paler sand,Falter and tremble, then reluctant wane,Fearing advance, yet venturing again.Grey deep sea waves that never knew the land,Tired with the tumult, stretch a crooked handTo win a precious sweet surcease from pain,But, glancing back upon the mighty main,Perforce return to swell the strong command.So fretful Life sees Death's cold sands and faintsTo fling thereon the wearing of her wave,Yet, turning ere she finds the gloomy shore,Seeing ahead the idle senseless grave,Behind—the Kings, the Patriots and the Saints,She sighing turns to face the fight once more.

The pallid waves caress the paler sand,

Falter and tremble, then reluctant wane,

Fearing advance, yet venturing again.

Grey deep sea waves that never knew the land,

Tired with the tumult, stretch a crooked hand

To win a precious sweet surcease from pain,

But, glancing back upon the mighty main,

Perforce return to swell the strong command.

So fretful Life sees Death's cold sands and faints

To fling thereon the wearing of her wave,

Yet, turning ere she finds the gloomy shore,

Seeing ahead the idle senseless grave,

Behind—the Kings, the Patriots and the Saints,

She sighing turns to face the fight once more.

I asked for water and they brought me wine;Wine in a jewelled chalice, where the goldGleamed thro' the purple beads, as if unrolled—One saw the sun-rays of a life-time shine.So drinking, I forgot my dream divineOf crystal purity, for in my holdWere wealth and Fame and Passions manifoldWhich with the draught I fancied might be mine."Ah, Youth," I said, "Ah, Faith and Love!" I said;"These are but broken lances in the strife!What shall remain when all these things are sped?"Then crashed the dream. I clutched the hand of FateAmid the ruins of my shattered life,And found the Gods had cheated, all too late.

I asked for water and they brought me wine;

Wine in a jewelled chalice, where the gold

Gleamed thro' the purple beads, as if unrolled—

One saw the sun-rays of a life-time shine.

So drinking, I forgot my dream divine

Of crystal purity, for in my hold

Were wealth and Fame and Passions manifold

Which with the draught I fancied might be mine.

"Ah, Youth," I said, "Ah, Faith and Love!" I said;"These are but broken lances in the strife!What shall remain when all these things are sped?"Then crashed the dream. I clutched the hand of FateAmid the ruins of my shattered life,And found the Gods had cheated, all too late.

"Ah, Youth," I said, "Ah, Faith and Love!" I said;

"These are but broken lances in the strife!

What shall remain when all these things are sped?"

Then crashed the dream. I clutched the hand of Fate

Amid the ruins of my shattered life,

And found the Gods had cheated, all too late.

Cruel and fair! within thy hollowed handMy heart is lying as a little rose,So faint and faded, scarce could one supposeIt might look in thine eyes and understandThe song they sing unto a weary land,Making it radiant, yet because I dare,To love thee, being weak, lose not thine airOf passive distance, fateful and most grand.Pity me not, nor turn away awhileTill absence's cloud has caught my passion up.Ah, be not kind! for love's sake, be not kind!Grant me the tragic deepness of the cup,And when thine eyes have flashed and made me blind,Kill me beneath the shadow of thy smile.

Cruel and fair! within thy hollowed hand

My heart is lying as a little rose,

So faint and faded, scarce could one suppose

It might look in thine eyes and understand

The song they sing unto a weary land,

Making it radiant, yet because I dare,

To love thee, being weak, lose not thine air

Of passive distance, fateful and most grand.

Pity me not, nor turn away awhileTill absence's cloud has caught my passion up.Ah, be not kind! for love's sake, be not kind!Grant me the tragic deepness of the cup,And when thine eyes have flashed and made me blind,Kill me beneath the shadow of thy smile.

Pity me not, nor turn away awhile

Till absence's cloud has caught my passion up.

Ah, be not kind! for love's sake, be not kind!

Grant me the tragic deepness of the cup,

And when thine eyes have flashed and made me blind,

Kill me beneath the shadow of thy smile.

A vast screen of unequal downward lines,An orange purple halo 'round the rain,Twists from a space whose very size is pain.Here in this vortex day with night combinesRuby and Emerald glint their blazing spines;Closing and smothering, wheels a brazen main,A shuddering sea of silence; in its trainA Thought—a cry, whose snake—fear trembling twinesAround—above—alive yet uttered not;But my heart hears—and shrieking dies of dread,Then soaring breaks its bands and o'er the rimWhite winged it rends the dark with jagged blot,Glimpsing the iris gateway barred ahead,And, gazing thro', the eyes of cherubim.

A vast screen of unequal downward lines,

An orange purple halo 'round the rain,

Twists from a space whose very size is pain.

Here in this vortex day with night combines

Ruby and Emerald glint their blazing spines;

Closing and smothering, wheels a brazen main,

A shuddering sea of silence; in its train

A Thought—a cry, whose snake—fear trembling twines

Around—above—alive yet uttered not;

But my heart hears—and shrieking dies of dread,

Then soaring breaks its bands and o'er the rim

White winged it rends the dark with jagged blot,

Glimpsing the iris gateway barred ahead,

And, gazing thro', the eyes of cherubim.

I will not look for him—I will not hearMy heart's loud beating, as I strain to seeAcross the rain forlorn and hopelessly,Nor starting, think 'tis he that draws so near.I will forget how tenderly and dearHe might in coming hold his arms to me,For I will prove what woman's pride can beWhen faint love lingers in the darkness drear.I will not—Ah, but should he come to-nightI think my life might break thro' very bliss,This little will should so be torn apartThat all my soul might fail in golden lightAnd let me die—So do I long for this.Ah, love, thine eyes!—Nay, love—Thy heart, thy heart!

I will not look for him—I will not hear

My heart's loud beating, as I strain to see

Across the rain forlorn and hopelessly,

Nor starting, think 'tis he that draws so near.

I will forget how tenderly and dear

He might in coming hold his arms to me,

For I will prove what woman's pride can be

When faint love lingers in the darkness drear.

I will not—Ah, but should he come to-night

I think my life might break thro' very bliss,

This little will should so be torn apart

That all my soul might fail in golden light

And let me die—So do I long for this.

Ah, love, thine eyes!—Nay, love—Thy heart, thy heart!

I have a dream, that somewhere in the days,Since when a myriad suns have burned and died,There was a time my soul was not for prideOf spendthrift youth, the pensioner who paysDole for the pain of searching thro' the hazeWhere joy lies hidden. As the puff balls ride,The wandering wind across the Summer's sideSo winged my spirit in a golden blazeOf pure and careless Present—Future naughtBut a sad dotard's wail—and I was young,Who now am old. Now years like flashes seem,Lambent or grey on the great wall of Thought—This is a song a poet may have sung—No proof remains, I have but dreamed a dream.

I have a dream, that somewhere in the days,

Since when a myriad suns have burned and died,

There was a time my soul was not for pride

Of spendthrift youth, the pensioner who pays

Dole for the pain of searching thro' the haze

Where joy lies hidden. As the puff balls ride,

The wandering wind across the Summer's side

So winged my spirit in a golden blaze

Of pure and careless Present—Future naught

But a sad dotard's wail—and I was young,

Who now am old. Now years like flashes seem,

Lambent or grey on the great wall of Thought—

This is a song a poet may have sung—

No proof remains, I have but dreamed a dream.

Ah love, my love, upon this alien shoreI lean and watch the pale uneasy shipsSlip thro' the waving mist in strange eclipse,Like spirits of some time and land of yore.I did not think my heart could love thee more,And yet, when lightlier than a swallow dips,The wind lays ghostly kisses on my lipsI seem to know of love the eternal core.Here is no throbbing of impassioned breathTo beat upon my cheek, no pulsing heartWhich might be silenced by the touch of Death,No smile which other smile has softly kissedOr doting gaze which Time must draw apart,But spirit's spirit in the trailing mist.

Ah love, my love, upon this alien shore

I lean and watch the pale uneasy ships

Slip thro' the waving mist in strange eclipse,

Like spirits of some time and land of yore.

I did not think my heart could love thee more,

And yet, when lightlier than a swallow dips,

The wind lays ghostly kisses on my lips

I seem to know of love the eternal core.

Here is no throbbing of impassioned breath

To beat upon my cheek, no pulsing heart

Which might be silenced by the touch of Death,

No smile which other smile has softly kissed

Or doting gaze which Time must draw apart,

But spirit's spirit in the trailing mist.

High on the mountain's slope I pause and turn—Over my head, by the rough crag-points high,Seems rent and torn the tender hovering sky,Till almost—thro'—I see a Heaven-spark burn;Then downward to the sleeping world I yearnWhose eyes so heavy droop they may not tryTo catch the higher gleam—and live thereby—Youth passes graveward—and they never learn.Then faint with brooding o'er a careless earthI turn to Nature and her broad warm breast,Strive for a friendship with her sun-burnt mirth,Teach my sad soul to catch her cadence deep,Dream that in her absorbed my heart must rest;But Nature smiles, and turns once more in sleep.

High on the mountain's slope I pause and turn—

Over my head, by the rough crag-points high,

Seems rent and torn the tender hovering sky,

Till almost—thro'—I see a Heaven-spark burn;

Then downward to the sleeping world I yearn

Whose eyes so heavy droop they may not try

To catch the higher gleam—and live thereby—

Youth passes graveward—and they never learn.

Then faint with brooding o'er a careless earth

I turn to Nature and her broad warm breast,

Strive for a friendship with her sun-burnt mirth,

Teach my sad soul to catch her cadence deep,

Dream that in her absorbed my heart must rest;

But Nature smiles, and turns once more in sleep.

Beloved, when the tides of life run lowAs sobbing echoes of a dead refrain,And I may sit and watch the silent rainAnd muse upon the fulness of my woe,Then is my burden lighter, for I knowThe roses of my heart shall bloom againThe fairer for this plenitude of pain,And Summer shall forget the chilly snow.But when life calls me to its revels gayAnd I must face the world's wide-gazing eyesNor find sweet rest by night or peace by day,E'en seems your love, where I would turn for aid,As distant as the blue in sunny skies;Then am I very lonely and afraid.

Beloved, when the tides of life run low

As sobbing echoes of a dead refrain,

And I may sit and watch the silent rain

And muse upon the fulness of my woe,

Then is my burden lighter, for I know

The roses of my heart shall bloom again

The fairer for this plenitude of pain,

And Summer shall forget the chilly snow.

But when life calls me to its revels gay

And I must face the world's wide-gazing eyes

Nor find sweet rest by night or peace by day,

E'en seems your love, where I would turn for aid,

As distant as the blue in sunny skies;

Then am I very lonely and afraid.

Earth holds no sweeter secret anywhereThan this my brook, that lisps along the greenOf mossy channels, where slim birch trees leanLike tall pale ladies whose delicious hairLures and invites the kiss of wanton air.The smooth soft grasses, delicate betweenThe rougher stalks, by waifs alone are seen,Shy things that live in sweet seclusion there.And is it still the same, and do these eyesOf every silver ripple meet the treesThat bend above like guarding emerald skies?I turn—who read the city's beggared bookAnd hear across the moan of many seasThe whisper and the laughter of my brook.

Earth holds no sweeter secret anywhere

Than this my brook, that lisps along the green

Of mossy channels, where slim birch trees lean

Like tall pale ladies whose delicious hair

Lures and invites the kiss of wanton air.

The smooth soft grasses, delicate between

The rougher stalks, by waifs alone are seen,

Shy things that live in sweet seclusion there.

And is it still the same, and do these eyes

Of every silver ripple meet the trees

That bend above like guarding emerald skies?

I turn—who read the city's beggared book

And hear across the moan of many seas

The whisper and the laughter of my brook.

Give me thy hand, Beloved! Here where stillThe night wind hovers 'neath the pallid moonGive me this fleeting moment; all too soonThe listless day will break upon the hill;This last sweet night is mine. The tremulous thrillUpon thy lips is all the precious boonI begged of Heaven, the garish sun of noonIs theirs—the rest—mine is this moment's will.Our love could never be the love of day.I have not claimed the welcome of thy lips;No touch save fluttering hand, and for the payI gave my minstrelsy of sea and sky.Once more thine eyes! Now sun-stained finger tips,Send through the hush of dawn a glad good-bye.

Give me thy hand, Beloved! Here where still

The night wind hovers 'neath the pallid moon

Give me this fleeting moment; all too soon

The listless day will break upon the hill;

This last sweet night is mine. The tremulous thrill

Upon thy lips is all the precious boon

I begged of Heaven, the garish sun of noon

Is theirs—the rest—mine is this moment's will.

Our love could never be the love of day.

I have not claimed the welcome of thy lips;

No touch save fluttering hand, and for the pay

I gave my minstrelsy of sea and sky.

Once more thine eyes! Now sun-stained finger tips,

Send through the hush of dawn a glad good-bye.

Ah—she was fair, this daughter of a queen!Jewels upon her breast's soft fall of snow,Jewels—in golden hair—and fierce aglow,The gem of pride upon her brow serene!Sleeping soft moonstone, emerald's baleful green,A single sapphire, singing soft and lowOf wars for beauty's sake in years ago,And flaming opal—wed with tourmaline.Yet was there one great stone she might not wear,And so her eyes were weary, and her mouthCurved in the listless line of vain desire.No diamond pure was hers the right to bear,But—crimson poison petal of the South—The ruby shone in deep unholy fire.

Ah—she was fair, this daughter of a queen!

Jewels upon her breast's soft fall of snow,

Jewels—in golden hair—and fierce aglow,

The gem of pride upon her brow serene!

Sleeping soft moonstone, emerald's baleful green,

A single sapphire, singing soft and low

Of wars for beauty's sake in years ago,

And flaming opal—wed with tourmaline.

Yet was there one great stone she might not wear,

And so her eyes were weary, and her mouth

Curved in the listless line of vain desire.

No diamond pure was hers the right to bear,

But—crimson poison petal of the South—

The ruby shone in deep unholy fire.

The painted World has laid her jewels down,Let fall the pinchbeck hair about her faceAnd croons a love song. In a far-off placeWhere she was strutting in her silken gownShe met the Youth. His face was young and brown."Good day to you," she cried, the frosty laceAbout her shoulders trembled. Ah—disgrace!He turned, and left her weeping in the town.She smiles not any more, her heart disdainsThe wind's rough courting, loud and indiscreet.Her tears dissolve the earth in ceaseless rainsAnd though her searching steps be light and fleetThrough frowning city or soft country lanes,Now never more may Spring and Autumn meet.

The painted World has laid her jewels down,

Let fall the pinchbeck hair about her face

And croons a love song. In a far-off place

Where she was strutting in her silken gown

She met the Youth. His face was young and brown.

"Good day to you," she cried, the frosty lace

About her shoulders trembled. Ah—disgrace!

He turned, and left her weeping in the town.

She smiles not any more, her heart disdains

The wind's rough courting, loud and indiscreet.

Her tears dissolve the earth in ceaseless rains

And though her searching steps be light and fleet

Through frowning city or soft country lanes,

Now never more may Spring and Autumn meet.

This moment I so careless threw away,Tossed to the ages, with a spendthrift hand,Little I recked the labour that had plannedThis flash eternal of a Summer day;Æons of sequent toil had passed to payWealth to the freighted instant. Slow and grandWavers a solemn dirge across the land,One soul, in my lost moment, found a wayTo throw the mock to Time, and call him slave.And I—a pauper still—gaze wise at lastTo all the grey horizon line of nought.But from the heart I deemed an empty graveGleams forth like spark my precious gem of pastShrined in the setting of a deathless thought.

This moment I so careless threw away,

Tossed to the ages, with a spendthrift hand,

Little I recked the labour that had planned

This flash eternal of a Summer day;

Æons of sequent toil had passed to pay

Wealth to the freighted instant. Slow and grand

Wavers a solemn dirge across the land,

One soul, in my lost moment, found a way

To throw the mock to Time, and call him slave.

And I—a pauper still—gaze wise at last

To all the grey horizon line of nought.

But from the heart I deemed an empty grave

Gleams forth like spark my precious gem of past

Shrined in the setting of a deathless thought.

I dreamed that love came, as the oak trees grow,By the chance dropping of a tiny seed;And then from moon to moon with steady speed,Tho' torn by winds and chilled with heedless snow,The sap of pulsing life would upward flow,'Till in its might the heavens themselves could readPortents of power that they must learn to heed.This was my dream—the waking proved not so—For love came like a flower, and grew apace;I saw it blossom tenderly and frailTill the dear Spring had run its eager race,Then the rough wind tossed wide the petals red;The seeds fell far in soil beyond my pale.I know not, now, if love be lost, or dead.

I dreamed that love came, as the oak trees grow,

By the chance dropping of a tiny seed;

And then from moon to moon with steady speed,

Tho' torn by winds and chilled with heedless snow,

The sap of pulsing life would upward flow,

'Till in its might the heavens themselves could read

Portents of power that they must learn to heed.

This was my dream—the waking proved not so—

For love came like a flower, and grew apace;

I saw it blossom tenderly and frail

Till the dear Spring had run its eager race,

Then the rough wind tossed wide the petals red;

The seeds fell far in soil beyond my pale.

I know not, now, if love be lost, or dead.

The purple stretches of the evening skyLean to the fair white city waiting here,Flecking with gold the marble's lifted tier,Down the blue marsh where crows to Southward fly.Flanked by dim ramparts, where the tide dreams by,High from the city's heart, a lifted spear,In its straight splendour makes the heavens seem near,Symbol of man-made force that shall not die.To the tall crest we gaze in self-command,Assured the world's our own and we may dareTo raise our Babel thro' forbidden aislesAnd hold the skirt of knowledge in our hand,Great in our moment, spurn the world's despair;While Heaven looks down through calm unmeasured miles.

The purple stretches of the evening sky

Lean to the fair white city waiting here,

Flecking with gold the marble's lifted tier,

Down the blue marsh where crows to Southward fly.

Flanked by dim ramparts, where the tide dreams by,

High from the city's heart, a lifted spear,

In its straight splendour makes the heavens seem near,

Symbol of man-made force that shall not die.

To the tall crest we gaze in self-command,

Assured the world's our own and we may dare

To raise our Babel thro' forbidden aisles

And hold the skirt of knowledge in our hand,

Great in our moment, spurn the world's despair;

While Heaven looks down through calm unmeasured miles.

Kiss me but once—and in that space supremeMy whole dark life shall quiver to an end,Sweet Death shall see my heart and comprehendThat life is crowned—and in an endless gleamWill fix the colour of the dying streamThat Life and Death may meet as friend with friendAn endless immortality to blend;Kiss me but once, and so shall end my dream.And then Love heard me and bestowed his kiss,And straight I cried to Death: I will not die!Earth is so fair when one remembers this;Life is but just begun! Ah, come not yet!The very world smiles up to kiss the skyAnd in the grave one may forget—forget.

Kiss me but once—and in that space supreme

My whole dark life shall quiver to an end,

Sweet Death shall see my heart and comprehend

That life is crowned—and in an endless gleam

Will fix the colour of the dying stream

That Life and Death may meet as friend with friend

An endless immortality to blend;

Kiss me but once, and so shall end my dream.

And then Love heard me and bestowed his kiss,

And straight I cried to Death: I will not die!

Earth is so fair when one remembers this;

Life is but just begun! Ah, come not yet!

The very world smiles up to kiss the sky

And in the grave one may forget—forget.

The sun rose dimly thro' the pallid rain,Dear Heart—and have we strength to face the day?The times and life alike are old and grey,All worn with long monotonies of pain.Lo—we are working out the curse of Cain,Who never felt the fire of passion's sway.Ah—show us crimson in some tragic wayThat we may live!—Fate laughed in her disdain.A thread of scarlet clashed upon mine eyesHung for a moment and was swept behind,And blankly I beheld the hopeless skiesFor day by contrast now is grimmest night—Remembering light as do the newly blindI pray for death to hide the bitter sight.

The sun rose dimly thro' the pallid rain,

Dear Heart—and have we strength to face the day?

The times and life alike are old and grey,

All worn with long monotonies of pain.

Lo—we are working out the curse of Cain,

Who never felt the fire of passion's sway.

Ah—show us crimson in some tragic way

That we may live!—Fate laughed in her disdain.

A thread of scarlet clashed upon mine eyes

Hung for a moment and was swept behind,

And blankly I beheld the hopeless skies

For day by contrast now is grimmest night—

Remembering light as do the newly blind

I pray for death to hide the bitter sight.

The ruddy banners of the Autumn leavesToss out a challenge to the waiting snows,Where Winter stalks from o'er the mountain rows;This fiery blaze his onward march receives,A mock defence his coward heart believes,And turns him sulking to his moated close.Now Man the confidence of Nature knows,And feels the mighty heart that loves and grieves.Not as in rude young March or hoyden June,Hard in their beauty, laughing thro' their days;Their fine indifference is out of tune.In the dark paths we tread in hope and fearLook we to Autumn and her gracious ways,The great last swan-song of the dying year.

The ruddy banners of the Autumn leaves

Toss out a challenge to the waiting snows,

Where Winter stalks from o'er the mountain rows;

This fiery blaze his onward march receives,

A mock defence his coward heart believes,

And turns him sulking to his moated close.

Now Man the confidence of Nature knows,

And feels the mighty heart that loves and grieves.

Not as in rude young March or hoyden June,

Hard in their beauty, laughing thro' their days;

Their fine indifference is out of tune.

In the dark paths we tread in hope and fear

Look we to Autumn and her gracious ways,

The great last swan-song of the dying year.

Love, when you leave me, as with moon-bent tideThe glad waves leave the beaches of my heart;Slowly and indolently they departRipple by ripple, till the light has diedAnd left the naked sands forlorn to bideThe sea's return. No might of human powerCan fill the empty waste, nor take one hourFrom that long durance in Earth's prison wide.But when you come again, and hold your handsDear hands, outstretched to take me, then, the waves,They turn, full flooded on the fainting sands,And all the dimpled hollows smile again,And brimmed with life, the deep mysterious cavesForget the distant night of lonely pain.

Love, when you leave me, as with moon-bent tide

The glad waves leave the beaches of my heart;

Slowly and indolently they depart

Ripple by ripple, till the light has died

And left the naked sands forlorn to bide

The sea's return. No might of human power

Can fill the empty waste, nor take one hour

From that long durance in Earth's prison wide.

But when you come again, and hold your hands

Dear hands, outstretched to take me, then, the waves,

They turn, full flooded on the fainting sands,

And all the dimpled hollows smile again,

And brimmed with life, the deep mysterious caves

Forget the distant night of lonely pain.

Does the pearl know, that in its shade and sheenThe dreamy rose, and tender wavering green,Are hid the hearts of all the ranging seas—That Beauty weeps for gifts as fair as these?Does it desire aught else when its rare blushReflects Aurora in the morning's hush,Encircling all perfection can bestow—Does the pearl know?Does the bird know, when thro' the waking dawnHe soaring sees below the silvered lawn,And weary men who wait to watch the daySteal o'er the heights where he may wheel and stray?Can he conceive his fee divine to share,As a free joyous peer with sun and air,And pity the sad things that creep below—Does the bird know?Does the heart know, when filled to utter brim,The least quick throb, a sacrificial hymnTo a great god who scorns the frown of JoveThat here it finds the awful power of love?Think you the new-born babe in first wise sleepFathoms the gift the heavens have bade him keepYet if this be—if all these things are so—Does the heart know?

Does the pearl know, that in its shade and sheen

The dreamy rose, and tender wavering green,

Are hid the hearts of all the ranging seas—

That Beauty weeps for gifts as fair as these?

Does it desire aught else when its rare blush

Reflects Aurora in the morning's hush,

Encircling all perfection can bestow—

Does the pearl know?

Does the bird know, when thro' the waking dawnHe soaring sees below the silvered lawn,And weary men who wait to watch the daySteal o'er the heights where he may wheel and stray?Can he conceive his fee divine to share,As a free joyous peer with sun and air,And pity the sad things that creep below—Does the bird know?

Does the bird know, when thro' the waking dawn

He soaring sees below the silvered lawn,

And weary men who wait to watch the day

Steal o'er the heights where he may wheel and stray?

Can he conceive his fee divine to share,

As a free joyous peer with sun and air,

And pity the sad things that creep below—

Does the bird know?

Does the heart know, when filled to utter brim,The least quick throb, a sacrificial hymnTo a great god who scorns the frown of JoveThat here it finds the awful power of love?Think you the new-born babe in first wise sleepFathoms the gift the heavens have bade him keepYet if this be—if all these things are so—Does the heart know?

Does the heart know, when filled to utter brim,

The least quick throb, a sacrificial hymn

To a great god who scorns the frown of Jove

That here it finds the awful power of love?

Think you the new-born babe in first wise sleep

Fathoms the gift the heavens have bade him keep

Yet if this be—if all these things are so—

Does the heart know?

The gold-red leaves have burnedTo their last great glow, and diedAnd underfootBy the strong oak's rootThey are seized by the angry wind and spurnedAnd into a common grave have turnedFor Summer—warm and wide.A year must a sapling wageIts life with the sun and rain,Then its tender youthWithout reck or ruthIs frozen and beaten to harsh old ageBy a stroke of Nature mother's rageAnd the sturdy fight seems vain.It wails to the oak o'erheadAs the coffin-cold wraps round"The end of lifeIs toil and strifeAnd the secret of being, I have foundIs a seed in the wind and a log on the ground.I hope I will soon be dead.""Peace little struggler—sleep"—And the great oak croons a song,"Death is but nightAnd a cradle whiteFor one dark space may the shadows creep,Then Spring will rise from her dungeon keepAnd life wake, wise and strong.

The gold-red leaves have burned

To their last great glow, and died

And underfoot

By the strong oak's root

They are seized by the angry wind and spurned

And into a common grave have turned

For Summer—warm and wide.

A year must a sapling wageIts life with the sun and rain,Then its tender youthWithout reck or ruthIs frozen and beaten to harsh old ageBy a stroke of Nature mother's rageAnd the sturdy fight seems vain.

A year must a sapling wage

Its life with the sun and rain,

Then its tender youth

Without reck or ruth

Is frozen and beaten to harsh old age

By a stroke of Nature mother's rage

And the sturdy fight seems vain.

It wails to the oak o'erheadAs the coffin-cold wraps round"The end of lifeIs toil and strifeAnd the secret of being, I have foundIs a seed in the wind and a log on the ground.I hope I will soon be dead."

It wails to the oak o'erhead

As the coffin-cold wraps round

"The end of life

Is toil and strife

And the secret of being, I have found

Is a seed in the wind and a log on the ground.

I hope I will soon be dead."

"Peace little struggler—sleep"—And the great oak croons a song,"Death is but nightAnd a cradle whiteFor one dark space may the shadows creep,Then Spring will rise from her dungeon keepAnd life wake, wise and strong.

"Peace little struggler—sleep"—

And the great oak croons a song,

"Death is but night

And a cradle white

For one dark space may the shadows creep,

Then Spring will rise from her dungeon keep

And life wake, wise and strong.

Sweet Lady Night is paling white.Why lags her Lord and Master?She weeping, lays her jewels off—Ah—may he not come faster.But hush—the tender rosy blushHer beauty fair adorningHer love steps o'er the mountain's rim,They kiss—and here's the morning.

Sweet Lady Night is paling white.Why lags her Lord and Master?She weeping, lays her jewels off—Ah—may he not come faster.

Sweet Lady Night is paling white.

Why lags her Lord and Master?

She weeping, lays her jewels off—

Ah—may he not come faster.

But hush—the tender rosy blushHer beauty fair adorningHer love steps o'er the mountain's rim,They kiss—and here's the morning.

But hush—the tender rosy blush

Her beauty fair adorning

Her love steps o'er the mountain's rim,

They kiss—and here's the morning.

A Man once loved a Woman, in the days of old,Our bond is the strongest in the world, they said—The Angels up aboveAre jealous of our love,Perhaps they are wishing we were dead, overhead.So they loved for a Time and the passing of a Time,And the Angel of Indifference, smiling down, saw their fire,And he covered for a spaceWith his sombre wings his face,That they twain might have of love all desire, without tire.But love's perfect joy within them burned at last to a flameTill they longed for a breeze that would gently cool the heart.For absence! cooling snowThey sighed apart and low,Tho' they murmured still their love, hand and heart loth to part.But at length they prayed together to the calm Angel—pale,Ah—we yearn, scorched and weary, for the peace of thy breast.For that land where love seemsBut the shadow of dreams,Where all sleep in the silver of the West, give us rest.And he heard, and he bore them to the cool grey heights,Where all men may drift and himself alone stands fast,And gave them for their tokenThe peace of dreams unbrokenWhere their souls, his faithful vassals, rest at last, from the past.

A Man once loved a Woman, in the days of old,Our bond is the strongest in the world, they said—The Angels up aboveAre jealous of our love,Perhaps they are wishing we were dead, overhead.

A Man once loved a Woman, in the days of old,

Our bond is the strongest in the world, they said—

The Angels up above

Are jealous of our love,

Perhaps they are wishing we were dead, overhead.

So they loved for a Time and the passing of a Time,And the Angel of Indifference, smiling down, saw their fire,And he covered for a spaceWith his sombre wings his face,That they twain might have of love all desire, without tire.

So they loved for a Time and the passing of a Time,

And the Angel of Indifference, smiling down, saw their fire,

And he covered for a space

With his sombre wings his face,

That they twain might have of love all desire, without tire.

But love's perfect joy within them burned at last to a flameTill they longed for a breeze that would gently cool the heart.For absence! cooling snowThey sighed apart and low,Tho' they murmured still their love, hand and heart loth to part.

But love's perfect joy within them burned at last to a flame

Till they longed for a breeze that would gently cool the heart.

For absence! cooling snow

They sighed apart and low,

Tho' they murmured still their love, hand and heart loth to part.

But at length they prayed together to the calm Angel—pale,Ah—we yearn, scorched and weary, for the peace of thy breast.For that land where love seemsBut the shadow of dreams,Where all sleep in the silver of the West, give us rest.

But at length they prayed together to the calm Angel—pale,

Ah—we yearn, scorched and weary, for the peace of thy breast.

For that land where love seems

But the shadow of dreams,

Where all sleep in the silver of the West, give us rest.

And he heard, and he bore them to the cool grey heights,Where all men may drift and himself alone stands fast,And gave them for their tokenThe peace of dreams unbrokenWhere their souls, his faithful vassals, rest at last, from the past.

And he heard, and he bore them to the cool grey heights,

Where all men may drift and himself alone stands fast,

And gave them for their token

The peace of dreams unbroken

Where their souls, his faithful vassals, rest at last, from the past.

The winds have chilled the loving odorous South,All wan and grey she seeks a place to die,Her tossing hair, her pleading passionate mouth,Pity that things so fair in death must lie;But Winter holds and kills her with a sigh.One kiss he lays upon her lips so proud,Shuts the blue eyes and winds her sombre shroud.I walk between the narrow way of yew.The glowing amaranth droops upon its stalk,The shivering birds are timorous and few,And waifs of Summer strew th' untended walk;With vague sweet forms I seem to pass and talk.The ladies of those days in Summer's primeWhose smiles prevailed not for the frown of Time.Their little tripping feet reluctant turnedDown the dark paths they had not known before;Behind them all the glow of living burned,But they must enter thro' the gloomy door,And leave behind the loves that plead no more,The dear frivolity of wiles and waysThey neither need nor know in these grim days.Here in their garden's close I spend no tear,No smile—too rare the heights for such display.But on the frosted hedges' lifted spearAnd with my head a little bowed, I layA pale camelia, proud and cold as theyWho wait beneath their ashen pall of snow—Perhaps the fair dead dames will see and know.

The winds have chilled the loving odorous South,

All wan and grey she seeks a place to die,

Her tossing hair, her pleading passionate mouth,

Pity that things so fair in death must lie;

But Winter holds and kills her with a sigh.

One kiss he lays upon her lips so proud,

Shuts the blue eyes and winds her sombre shroud.

I walk between the narrow way of yew.The glowing amaranth droops upon its stalk,The shivering birds are timorous and few,And waifs of Summer strew th' untended walk;With vague sweet forms I seem to pass and talk.The ladies of those days in Summer's primeWhose smiles prevailed not for the frown of Time.

I walk between the narrow way of yew.

The glowing amaranth droops upon its stalk,

The shivering birds are timorous and few,

And waifs of Summer strew th' untended walk;

With vague sweet forms I seem to pass and talk.

The ladies of those days in Summer's prime

Whose smiles prevailed not for the frown of Time.

Their little tripping feet reluctant turnedDown the dark paths they had not known before;Behind them all the glow of living burned,But they must enter thro' the gloomy door,And leave behind the loves that plead no more,The dear frivolity of wiles and waysThey neither need nor know in these grim days.

Their little tripping feet reluctant turned

Down the dark paths they had not known before;

Behind them all the glow of living burned,

But they must enter thro' the gloomy door,

And leave behind the loves that plead no more,

The dear frivolity of wiles and ways

They neither need nor know in these grim days.

Here in their garden's close I spend no tear,No smile—too rare the heights for such display.But on the frosted hedges' lifted spearAnd with my head a little bowed, I layA pale camelia, proud and cold as theyWho wait beneath their ashen pall of snow—Perhaps the fair dead dames will see and know.

Here in their garden's close I spend no tear,

No smile—too rare the heights for such display.

But on the frosted hedges' lifted spear

And with my head a little bowed, I lay

A pale camelia, proud and cold as they

Who wait beneath their ashen pall of snow—

Perhaps the fair dead dames will see and know.

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