Beloved! are we not wanderers on a roadUnknown, that grope their way among the rocksTogether?—Yes, together; for these shocksOur hearts have borne and given, part not, goadUnto no hatred. Though I be your loadOf care and you my anguish, something locksOur hands, my brother: Destiny, that mocksMan's thinkings, and here finds a new strange modeOf welding chance-divided loves, a linkThat's more than human, that is half divine,Since, beggared of you, still I hold you mineAbove all bonds. So love me well. We'll drinkOf all pure streams together, dear, and breakThese rocks to sand for one another's sake.
Beloved! are we not wanderers on a roadUnknown, that grope their way among the rocksTogether?—Yes, together; for these shocksOur hearts have borne and given, part not, goadUnto no hatred. Though I be your loadOf care and you my anguish, something locksOur hands, my brother: Destiny, that mocksMan's thinkings, and here finds a new strange modeOf welding chance-divided loves, a linkThat's more than human, that is half divine,Since, beggared of you, still I hold you mineAbove all bonds. So love me well. We'll drinkOf all pure streams together, dear, and breakThese rocks to sand for one another's sake.
Yes, love me, love me well. You need not fearTo hurt me further. Like a careless knightThat riding lonely, with averted sight,Has struck a passer unawares, so hereHave you struck me amid the branches sereOf this dark forest. If you now alight,Give water to my lips and through the nightKeep peril from me, with the morning's clearNew dawn I'll rise again, and both will reapThe mercy of the wound you dealt. Asleep,Awake, I'll be your shield-bearer, and guardYour steps upon this road so long and hard.Then help us both, for all the love you giveBut turns to strength whereby we both may live.
Yes, love me, love me well. You need not fearTo hurt me further. Like a careless knightThat riding lonely, with averted sight,Has struck a passer unawares, so hereHave you struck me amid the branches sereOf this dark forest. If you now alight,Give water to my lips and through the nightKeep peril from me, with the morning's clearNew dawn I'll rise again, and both will reapThe mercy of the wound you dealt. Asleep,Awake, I'll be your shield-bearer, and guardYour steps upon this road so long and hard.Then help us both, for all the love you giveBut turns to strength whereby we both may live.
Dearest of all, and nearest though most far!My spirit follows you across both seaAnd land; all bounds, all spaces, are to meErased; my heart upon its wingèd carOf thought outstrips you; nothing now shall marMy joy in you, O brother!—save that weAre of the earth and ask to touch and seeThe thing we love upon this yearning star.O world of strange desires! Have not we twoLived to behold each other and to smile?Have our two notes not mingled in one chord?What ails us? Were we joined this earthly while,You would not love me better than you do,Nor in my heart be otherwise adored.
Dearest of all, and nearest though most far!My spirit follows you across both seaAnd land; all bounds, all spaces, are to meErased; my heart upon its wingèd carOf thought outstrips you; nothing now shall marMy joy in you, O brother!—save that weAre of the earth and ask to touch and seeThe thing we love upon this yearning star.O world of strange desires! Have not we twoLived to behold each other and to smile?Have our two notes not mingled in one chord?What ails us? Were we joined this earthly while,You would not love me better than you do,Nor in my heart be otherwise adored.
Without, you seem forgotten. Am I sadOr happy? None can tell. The lonely daysRecur, and draw me on the beaten waysOf all who strive and toil. The things I hadRemain; all daily happenings, good or bad,Fall as they did: success and loss, delaysThat sweeten victory: the balance swaysUnceasingly, makes heavy, or makes glad.And this is life, such as the world demands.Within, 'tis otherwise; for in the farDepths where my soul recoilèd sits, there areNo echoes of such wisdom; there my handsAre folded, and in yours: I seek your eyes,Your voice, your smile.... Within, 'tis otherwise.
Without, you seem forgotten. Am I sadOr happy? None can tell. The lonely daysRecur, and draw me on the beaten waysOf all who strive and toil. The things I hadRemain; all daily happenings, good or bad,Fall as they did: success and loss, delaysThat sweeten victory: the balance swaysUnceasingly, makes heavy, or makes glad.And this is life, such as the world demands.Within, 'tis otherwise; for in the farDepths where my soul recoilèd sits, there areNo echoes of such wisdom; there my handsAre folded, and in yours: I seek your eyes,Your voice, your smile.... Within, 'tis otherwise.
O winter Sun!How beautiful thy beamsUpon the chainèd earth!The snows are melting and the galeIs hushed; thou shinest, soft and pale,O Winter Sun!Upon a world that dreams,And trembles with awakened hopes of birth.O Joyful Green!'Mid snowy patches gayThou peerest, and the skyShines blue through twiggèd boughs; each treeIs aching now with thoughts of thee,O Joyful Green!Spring's heart is in the dayThough Winter's hands upon night's bosom lie.Fairseat.
O winter Sun!How beautiful thy beamsUpon the chainèd earth!The snows are melting and the galeIs hushed; thou shinest, soft and pale,O Winter Sun!Upon a world that dreams,And trembles with awakened hopes of birth.
O Joyful Green!'Mid snowy patches gayThou peerest, and the skyShines blue through twiggèd boughs; each treeIs aching now with thoughts of thee,O Joyful Green!Spring's heart is in the dayThough Winter's hands upon night's bosom lie.
Fairseat.
Sing, cuckoo, sing,Dear herald of the Spring!Minstrels in all ages born,Hearing thee on such a morn—When the cowslips all aroundWaft their fragrance from the ground,And the blossom of the pearQuivers white in bluest air—Such as I, in all the agesThus have covered rapturous pagesWith thy praise, O loveliest birdEar of man has ever heard!Though thy note be one of sadness,Messenger thou art of gladnessOnly; for thou comest firstWhen the buds their prison burst,When, upon an April day,[105]Earth awakes to cast awayWhat remains of wintry sorrow,And to don for summer's morrowJoyful garb of newest green.Spirit-like thou sing'st, unseen:East and west thy piercing noteFrom the forest seems to floatOver plain and over hill,And thy echoing cries instilHope into each breath that blows.Who that hears thy voice but knowsThat the joys of June are nearing?See the lilies in the clearing,How they raise their green young bells!Every hasty bud that swellsAnswers thee in joyfulness;And the winter's long distress,Like a lifted cloud at dawn,Melts and quivers and is gone.Autumn leaves that strew the ways[106]Have outlived their kindly days:Now the sun shall warm the earth:Now all things of tender birth,Newly waked from shielded sleep,Lift their coverlet and peepGaily at the world.Dear Voice,Sing! and bid each soul rejoice!Spring's for every breast that wills;And thy note, O Cuckoo, stillsAll the ache of winter here.Lo! the scattered leaves are sereOf my sorrow; and I tread themInto earth. The bough that shed them,Soon in budded joy shall beHarmonious with the day's felicity.Montmélian, April 1902.
Sing, cuckoo, sing,Dear herald of the Spring!Minstrels in all ages born,Hearing thee on such a morn—When the cowslips all aroundWaft their fragrance from the ground,And the blossom of the pearQuivers white in bluest air—Such as I, in all the agesThus have covered rapturous pagesWith thy praise, O loveliest birdEar of man has ever heard!
Though thy note be one of sadness,Messenger thou art of gladnessOnly; for thou comest firstWhen the buds their prison burst,When, upon an April day,[105]Earth awakes to cast awayWhat remains of wintry sorrow,And to don for summer's morrowJoyful garb of newest green.Spirit-like thou sing'st, unseen:East and west thy piercing noteFrom the forest seems to floatOver plain and over hill,And thy echoing cries instilHope into each breath that blows.Who that hears thy voice but knowsThat the joys of June are nearing?See the lilies in the clearing,How they raise their green young bells!Every hasty bud that swellsAnswers thee in joyfulness;And the winter's long distress,Like a lifted cloud at dawn,Melts and quivers and is gone.Autumn leaves that strew the ways[106]Have outlived their kindly days:Now the sun shall warm the earth:Now all things of tender birth,Newly waked from shielded sleep,Lift their coverlet and peepGaily at the world.
Dear Voice,Sing! and bid each soul rejoice!Spring's for every breast that wills;And thy note, O Cuckoo, stillsAll the ache of winter here.Lo! the scattered leaves are sereOf my sorrow; and I tread themInto earth. The bough that shed them,Soon in budded joy shall beHarmonious with the day's felicity.
Montmélian, April 1902.
O sister! 'tis day-time,The world's happy May-time,Come out to the woods where the new nests are!'Tis sin to be pining,The hedge-drops are shining,And the wild winds have fled to the snow-lands far.O come! and be merry,For white blows the cherry,The bluebells ring out on their stem so tall:Each cowslip's dear yellowCries joy to its fellow,And the wind-flowers dance to the cuckoo's call.O what is the sun for?[108]Come, grief is all done for,The folded leaves creep from their beds in the bough:The seeds are awaking,The furrows are breaking,And the blessing of God's on the blackthorn now.Meopham.
O sister! 'tis day-time,The world's happy May-time,Come out to the woods where the new nests are!'Tis sin to be pining,The hedge-drops are shining,And the wild winds have fled to the snow-lands far.
O come! and be merry,For white blows the cherry,The bluebells ring out on their stem so tall:Each cowslip's dear yellowCries joy to its fellow,And the wind-flowers dance to the cuckoo's call.
O what is the sun for?[108]Come, grief is all done for,The folded leaves creep from their beds in the bough:The seeds are awaking,The furrows are breaking,And the blessing of God's on the blackthorn now.
Meopham.
The leaves are green, and in the grassLie daisy-patches, white and sweet,That spring beneath the tender feetOf baby-girls at play:From ancient boughs, serenely tall,The chequered shadows length'ning fall,And town seems far away.Such rest is here as woodland yields:Here too are lambs in flowered fields—Why heed the wheels that pass?Thought sinks beneath our fitful speechInto the tremor of our peace,This hallowed hour of releaseFrom dust and whirl and haste:[110]Thus each may find within his breastA respite to the world's unrest,Fresh verdure in the waste:Life's wheels encircle us—but, thereWhere Friendship is, the untainted airOf Heaven seems in reach.
The leaves are green, and in the grassLie daisy-patches, white and sweet,That spring beneath the tender feetOf baby-girls at play:From ancient boughs, serenely tall,The chequered shadows length'ning fall,And town seems far away.Such rest is here as woodland yields:Here too are lambs in flowered fields—Why heed the wheels that pass?
Thought sinks beneath our fitful speechInto the tremor of our peace,This hallowed hour of releaseFrom dust and whirl and haste:[110]Thus each may find within his breastA respite to the world's unrest,Fresh verdure in the waste:Life's wheels encircle us—but, thereWhere Friendship is, the untainted airOf Heaven seems in reach.
O who would dwell in the dingy townWhen June is fair and green?O who would stay in the chimneyed townWhere brooks are never seen?Come! roses blow: sweet flowerWill snow the virgin's-bower:The shaded lane, the woodland wild,Are better both for man and child.O who would live in the narrow streetWhen skies are broad and free?O who would bide in the stony streetWhen the sun is on the sea?Come! leave the dust and hastenTo the breath of winds that chasten:The surging waves, the starry span,Are better both for child and man.Fairseat.
O who would dwell in the dingy townWhen June is fair and green?O who would stay in the chimneyed townWhere brooks are never seen?Come! roses blow: sweet flowerWill snow the virgin's-bower:The shaded lane, the woodland wild,Are better both for man and child.
O who would live in the narrow streetWhen skies are broad and free?O who would bide in the stony streetWhen the sun is on the sea?Come! leave the dust and hastenTo the breath of winds that chasten:The surging waves, the starry span,Are better both for child and man.
Fairseat.
Over the world a breathHas fallen as of Spring; the tender skyHangs tremulous, a shield through which the sunShines as the heart smiles in a mist of tears.The trees are green still, but their branches bearThe blossoms of the fall; each quivering birchShakes golden coins upon her silver stem;The little rowan rears his corals gay,The purple sloes are thick upon the thorn,And every breeze new-scatters to the groundSpoils red and yellow. Here upon the hillWhere at our feet bee-haunted heather glowsAmong the rocks, sweet peace enfolds us; see,On velvet slopes afar the patient kineIn silence browse; the plough in furrows wideHas turned the weary earth to rest; the sun[113]Sinks and, across the valley, mountains fadeFrom blue to grey and pearl-like touch the sky.The hour of silver comes now, for the moonAwakes and softly films the dusk with light;The narrow river in her ample bedAnswers the stars, and soft serenityHas spread her wings upon the earth....O HeartOf man!—why must you throb apart and knowA tempered Peace where Nature's Peace is pure?Already winter's snows upon the hillsLike phantoms to our vision rise; the treesGroan leafless in the wind, and ghosts of painFlit dark between the present and our eyes.'Tis thus we murder Joy, and let To-morrow,A still-born Terror, anguish dear To-day:'Tis thus, possessing Wealth, we shiver poorEre we are stricken: thus our claspèd handsGrow cold and ache with Solitude to be....Kąśna, September 1901.
Over the world a breathHas fallen as of Spring; the tender skyHangs tremulous, a shield through which the sunShines as the heart smiles in a mist of tears.The trees are green still, but their branches bearThe blossoms of the fall; each quivering birchShakes golden coins upon her silver stem;The little rowan rears his corals gay,The purple sloes are thick upon the thorn,And every breeze new-scatters to the groundSpoils red and yellow. Here upon the hillWhere at our feet bee-haunted heather glowsAmong the rocks, sweet peace enfolds us; see,On velvet slopes afar the patient kineIn silence browse; the plough in furrows wideHas turned the weary earth to rest; the sun[113]Sinks and, across the valley, mountains fadeFrom blue to grey and pearl-like touch the sky.The hour of silver comes now, for the moonAwakes and softly films the dusk with light;The narrow river in her ample bedAnswers the stars, and soft serenityHas spread her wings upon the earth....O HeartOf man!—why must you throb apart and knowA tempered Peace where Nature's Peace is pure?Already winter's snows upon the hillsLike phantoms to our vision rise; the treesGroan leafless in the wind, and ghosts of painFlit dark between the present and our eyes.'Tis thus we murder Joy, and let To-morrow,A still-born Terror, anguish dear To-day:'Tis thus, possessing Wealth, we shiver poorEre we are stricken: thus our claspèd handsGrow cold and ache with Solitude to be....
Kąśna, September 1901.
Red apple in the leaves,Red robin on the bough,The oats are all in sheaves—Where's summer now?White foam along the sea,White mist upon the dawn,No flower for the bee—'Tis summer gone.Black bird is silent, lone,Black berry decks the spray;And Autumn's breath has blownUpon the day.Longueil.
Red apple in the leaves,Red robin on the bough,The oats are all in sheaves—Where's summer now?
White foam along the sea,White mist upon the dawn,No flower for the bee—'Tis summer gone.
Black bird is silent, lone,Black berry decks the spray;And Autumn's breath has blownUpon the day.
Longueil.
The grey clouds hide the sun nowAnd the leaves flow down with the rain:The golden days are done nowAnd Winter looms again.'Tis bed-time for the seeds nowFor the earth is weary of green:She'll hide the very weeds nowTill nothing gay be seen.Yet wait! it is not death nowThat strips the meadow and grove:The rose but holds her breath nowIn the garden that we love:'Tis sleep—the earth must rest now.[116]O Winter's a wondrous thing!For she hides within her breast nowThe jocund heart of Spring.Fairseat.
The grey clouds hide the sun nowAnd the leaves flow down with the rain:The golden days are done nowAnd Winter looms again.
'Tis bed-time for the seeds nowFor the earth is weary of green:She'll hide the very weeds nowTill nothing gay be seen.
Yet wait! it is not death nowThat strips the meadow and grove:The rose but holds her breath nowIn the garden that we love:
'Tis sleep—the earth must rest now.[116]O Winter's a wondrous thing!For she hides within her breast nowThe jocund heart of Spring.
Fairseat.
O voices of the sea and land,How sweet upon my ear you fall!The curlew's cry, the heron's call,The grey gull's chatter on the strand,The robin on the mossy wall,The coal-tit almost at my hand—How I thank Heaven for you all!O wonder of the hills and sky,How dear your beauty to my sight!The wintry noon, the sea's delight,The ruddy moorland far and high,The pendant larch's silver white,The golden wind-blown leaves that lie—How I thank God for all this light!Rosneath.
O voices of the sea and land,How sweet upon my ear you fall!The curlew's cry, the heron's call,The grey gull's chatter on the strand,The robin on the mossy wall,The coal-tit almost at my hand—How I thank Heaven for you all!
O wonder of the hills and sky,How dear your beauty to my sight!The wintry noon, the sea's delight,The ruddy moorland far and high,The pendant larch's silver white,The golden wind-blown leaves that lie—How I thank God for all this light!
Rosneath.
Edinburgh: Printed byT. and A. Constable