He gives me happiness, as flowers dependOn loyal sun and shower. I look to loveTo give me life. Why is it not enough?Divine contentment, stretching without endO’er happy meadows. He’s my love, my friend,And peace is in the word. You—heart’s despair—Sweep like a tempest through my sunsweet air,Wail like a lost soul through my blossomed grove.Tempest and calm, with him my heart might rest,Lulled by eternal spring. The dream is blest,Yet the wild grapes you crush make life divine.Out in the pathless dark, all yours, I go,Brave with the purple promise of the wine.You, you I love, because you bring me woe.
He gives me happiness, as flowers dependOn loyal sun and shower. I look to loveTo give me life. Why is it not enough?Divine contentment, stretching without endO’er happy meadows. He’s my love, my friend,And peace is in the word. You—heart’s despair—Sweep like a tempest through my sunsweet air,Wail like a lost soul through my blossomed grove.
Tempest and calm, with him my heart might rest,Lulled by eternal spring. The dream is blest,Yet the wild grapes you crush make life divine.Out in the pathless dark, all yours, I go,Brave with the purple promise of the wine.You, you I love, because you bring me woe.
And if I came, ah, if I came again,And laid my hand on your forgetful heart,Where once it lay so warm, could the pulse start,Remembering Spring? Now, at the sound of rain,I do but turn a little in disdainTo see the flowers renew their lovely part,Blooming afresh. For memory holds no smart,Love aches no more to know how it was slain.Yet if I came to you who heed no moreMy name upon the wind? Love’s ghost, lean near,I have a word that only you may hear.If you should come to me with dear desire,My soul’s dry staff should tremble to its coreAnd flame against your touch in buds of fire.
And if I came, ah, if I came again,And laid my hand on your forgetful heart,Where once it lay so warm, could the pulse start,Remembering Spring? Now, at the sound of rain,I do but turn a little in disdainTo see the flowers renew their lovely part,Blooming afresh. For memory holds no smart,Love aches no more to know how it was slain.
Yet if I came to you who heed no moreMy name upon the wind? Love’s ghost, lean near,I have a word that only you may hear.If you should come to me with dear desire,My soul’s dry staff should tremble to its coreAnd flame against your touch in buds of fire.
What shall I give to her who will not careIf I give soul or roses, will not knowHow that, for sweets she’ll spend, light smiles she’ll sow,I will reap bitter tears? If she could wearThose tears as stars to sparkle in her hair!What shall I give? I have not fall’n so lowI may not lay one gift before I goUpon the altar of my heart’s despair.She will not know; yet, in my love a king,I must be worthy of my crown and throne,And so can sacrifice no little thing.My life, my soul are worthless since her scorn.Slay we then love on love’s red altar-stone—Beggared of all, I face the world forlorn.
What shall I give to her who will not careIf I give soul or roses, will not knowHow that, for sweets she’ll spend, light smiles she’ll sow,I will reap bitter tears? If she could wearThose tears as stars to sparkle in her hair!What shall I give? I have not fall’n so lowI may not lay one gift before I goUpon the altar of my heart’s despair.
She will not know; yet, in my love a king,I must be worthy of my crown and throne,And so can sacrifice no little thing.My life, my soul are worthless since her scorn.Slay we then love on love’s red altar-stone—Beggared of all, I face the world forlorn.
Not you, nor all the gauds that Fate bestows,Can make me swerve so little from my dream.Across my veil of mystery you seemPerhaps a little dearer than the rose,Perhaps more fair than the long light that flowsBetween the lids of twilight. But the gleamOf iris on the breast of wisdom’s streamIs of a radiance that no rival knows.My heart is not my heart, or it might chanceTo sorrow for the sorrow in your tears;My soul is locked against all circumstanceOf life or love or death or heaven or hell;I have no place for laughter in my years,No room where little, little love might dwell.
Not you, nor all the gauds that Fate bestows,Can make me swerve so little from my dream.Across my veil of mystery you seemPerhaps a little dearer than the rose,Perhaps more fair than the long light that flowsBetween the lids of twilight. But the gleamOf iris on the breast of wisdom’s streamIs of a radiance that no rival knows.
My heart is not my heart, or it might chanceTo sorrow for the sorrow in your tears;My soul is locked against all circumstanceOf life or love or death or heaven or hell;I have no place for laughter in my years,No room where little, little love might dwell.
The pattern of the earth, so wonderful,Is, more than myrtle, very dear to me.Across the avenue of limes I seeA little mist by ghosts made magical,Tossing across the hills, more beautifulThan the deep eyes of amber women, freeOf shame and of disdain, on some far seaSwept by trade-winds the sun makes lyrical.There is no air the mind may not recall,Blown from the violet-beds of Greece; and allThe moons who drop their shattered petals hereLive from the days which hid Semiramis.Breezes upon my lips are subtly dear,Because they bear the burden of her kiss.
The pattern of the earth, so wonderful,Is, more than myrtle, very dear to me.Across the avenue of limes I seeA little mist by ghosts made magical,Tossing across the hills, more beautifulThan the deep eyes of amber women, freeOf shame and of disdain, on some far seaSwept by trade-winds the sun makes lyrical.
There is no air the mind may not recall,Blown from the violet-beds of Greece; and allThe moons who drop their shattered petals hereLive from the days which hid Semiramis.Breezes upon my lips are subtly dear,Because they bear the burden of her kiss.
The beggar thoughts pass down the lanes of day,And on the thorns that are the hours I findTheir tatters and their rags. Infirm and blind,They faded in the void, and all the wayMouthed senseless jeers at me. I dared not prayFor wisdom from these fools who throng the mindAnd leave no gifts but bitterness behind.Chin upon hand, I watched, nor bade them stay.Then wearily and indolently glancedWhere the thorns fluttered with their flags, and, lo,Fragments of cloth of silver gleamed and dancedIn the late sun, and linen white as snowAmong the beggar thoughts, with lowered eyes,Princes and kings had wandered in disguise.
The beggar thoughts pass down the lanes of day,And on the thorns that are the hours I findTheir tatters and their rags. Infirm and blind,They faded in the void, and all the wayMouthed senseless jeers at me. I dared not prayFor wisdom from these fools who throng the mindAnd leave no gifts but bitterness behind.Chin upon hand, I watched, nor bade them stay.
Then wearily and indolently glancedWhere the thorns fluttered with their flags, and, lo,Fragments of cloth of silver gleamed and dancedIn the late sun, and linen white as snowAmong the beggar thoughts, with lowered eyes,Princes and kings had wandered in disguise.
There’s a white, white road lies under the swinging moon,Stretched from the black of the deep to the black of the deep,And midway the graveyard lies, with its leaves a-croon,The only sound of the world, like a dream in sleep.There’s a white, white grave lies under the graveyard trees,Hung on the road as a single pearl on a thread,And silence waits, beast crouched, on the rim of the breeze,That moans where the only man in the world lies dead.
There’s a white, white road lies under the swinging moon,Stretched from the black of the deep to the black of the deep,And midway the graveyard lies, with its leaves a-croon,The only sound of the world, like a dream in sleep.
There’s a white, white grave lies under the graveyard trees,Hung on the road as a single pearl on a thread,And silence waits, beast crouched, on the rim of the breeze,That moans where the only man in the world lies dead.
Have I finished my life, am I done?Is my heart-blood thin and cold,That I gnaw the bones of the town?Am I empty and old?My flags are the chimneys’ grime,Tossed on a languid breeze.Have I dreamed of the roaring rhyme,A storm through the trees?The snow in the streets is black,Profaned with the city’s sin;I know of a star-lit trackWhere God’s hand has been.Have I finished with snow and sun,With the wind on the open plain,That I starve in the barren town—Is my life in vain?
Have I finished my life, am I done?Is my heart-blood thin and cold,That I gnaw the bones of the town?Am I empty and old?
My flags are the chimneys’ grime,Tossed on a languid breeze.Have I dreamed of the roaring rhyme,A storm through the trees?
The snow in the streets is black,Profaned with the city’s sin;I know of a star-lit trackWhere God’s hand has been.
Have I finished with snow and sun,With the wind on the open plain,That I starve in the barren town—Is my life in vain?
The black sky stretches to the pallid sea,As a false love and a dismantled heart.Empty of faith and eager to depart.He takes her yet once more, submissively,Against his lips, then, laughing, drifts awaySwiftly within the dawning of the day.Blindly she tosses up her foam-white hands,Crying for mercy, and the wind—her hair—Lashes the wide-sailed ships and leaves them bare.Blindly she hurls her rage against the sands.There, in the cold sky where her love had lainScornful, aloof, the sun reviews her pain.
The black sky stretches to the pallid sea,As a false love and a dismantled heart.Empty of faith and eager to depart.He takes her yet once more, submissively,Against his lips, then, laughing, drifts awaySwiftly within the dawning of the day.
Blindly she tosses up her foam-white hands,Crying for mercy, and the wind—her hair—Lashes the wide-sailed ships and leaves them bare.Blindly she hurls her rage against the sands.There, in the cold sky where her love had lainScornful, aloof, the sun reviews her pain.
How long the trail! How far the goal!Last year the moons might come and goLike dancing shadows on the snow.My heart was light, my heart was strong;I cared not though the way be long;But now—the end is you—my soul!—I fear the dark, I fear the dreadWhite frost that hovers round my heart,The cold, high sun, and, wide apart,The frozen, pitiless stars above.So far, so far from my true love,And, oh! I fear, I fear the dead!I fear their fingers, grasping and pale.I did not fear the dead last year—But now, the kisses of my dear!The breast of her, so kind and warm,Ah, heart! I must not come to harm—How far the goal! How long the trail!
How long the trail! How far the goal!Last year the moons might come and goLike dancing shadows on the snow.My heart was light, my heart was strong;I cared not though the way be long;But now—the end is you—my soul!—
I fear the dark, I fear the dreadWhite frost that hovers round my heart,The cold, high sun, and, wide apart,The frozen, pitiless stars above.So far, so far from my true love,And, oh! I fear, I fear the dead!
I fear their fingers, grasping and pale.I did not fear the dead last year—But now, the kisses of my dear!The breast of her, so kind and warm,Ah, heart! I must not come to harm—How far the goal! How long the trail!
The apple-tree is white with snow,My heart is empty as the day;The white hours indolently goGraveward, because my love’s away.Months lag, then spring and love’s return—Yet once again I seem to see,Flushed with delight, as kisses burn,White snow upon the apple-tree.
The apple-tree is white with snow,My heart is empty as the day;The white hours indolently goGraveward, because my love’s away.
Months lag, then spring and love’s return—Yet once again I seem to see,Flushed with delight, as kisses burn,White snow upon the apple-tree.
Pale as a petulant star,She held up her face to his love;Her spirit from his dwelt afarAs the sky from the sea is above.Yet he gazed till her whiteness was rose,Dawn bright with the morning above—As the sea from the sky wakes and glows,So his image was mirrored in love.
Pale as a petulant star,She held up her face to his love;Her spirit from his dwelt afarAs the sky from the sea is above.
Yet he gazed till her whiteness was rose,Dawn bright with the morning above—As the sea from the sky wakes and glows,So his image was mirrored in love.
To-morrow and to-morrow—shall there bePerchance a morrow when I may not seeYour face beside me any more? Ah, no!My love, my love, I cannot let you go.Like sun in Egypt, ever kind and fair,My heart must wake at dawn and know you there—No dread of day which holds a weeping rain,No dread of chilly love and bitter pain,But ever present, ever wise and true,To-morrow and to-morrow holding you.
To-morrow and to-morrow—shall there bePerchance a morrow when I may not seeYour face beside me any more? Ah, no!My love, my love, I cannot let you go.Like sun in Egypt, ever kind and fair,My heart must wake at dawn and know you there—No dread of day which holds a weeping rain,No dread of chilly love and bitter pain,But ever present, ever wise and true,To-morrow and to-morrow holding you.
Not that young Joy who looked with laughing eyes,That jocund sprite with open, idle fingersStretched to the dawn, the dawn whose gold light lingersAcross the far blue hills of Paradise.Not that young Joy, but one courageous, calm,Who—passed beyond the quiet morning meadowsBeyond the dawn of life’s delicious shadows—Holds the great sun and moon in either palm.In her wise heart she takes that little Joy,Kisses to sleep tired eyes with laughter over,Pointing to greater joys in heights above her—This shall be ours whom fate would fain destroy.
Not that young Joy who looked with laughing eyes,That jocund sprite with open, idle fingersStretched to the dawn, the dawn whose gold light lingersAcross the far blue hills of Paradise.
Not that young Joy, but one courageous, calm,Who—passed beyond the quiet morning meadowsBeyond the dawn of life’s delicious shadows—Holds the great sun and moon in either palm.
In her wise heart she takes that little Joy,Kisses to sleep tired eyes with laughter over,Pointing to greater joys in heights above her—This shall be ours whom fate would fain destroy.
Stained by the ardent silver of the stars,Glitter the leaves, a challenge to the day—The bright, fierce flame of naked scimitarsHolds still the argent night, folded away.Challenging day, yet, lovelier than light,Blushing with dawn the flick’ring leaves between,Burn the rose blossoms, traitors to the night—Color of joy upon the tranquil green.Brave to the amorous sun, who, fearing, grieves,At last the tree’s whole heart with love is crowned—The rose-red flowers warm against the leaves,The rose-red petals sweet against the ground.
Stained by the ardent silver of the stars,Glitter the leaves, a challenge to the day—The bright, fierce flame of naked scimitarsHolds still the argent night, folded away.
Challenging day, yet, lovelier than light,Blushing with dawn the flick’ring leaves between,Burn the rose blossoms, traitors to the night—Color of joy upon the tranquil green.
Brave to the amorous sun, who, fearing, grieves,At last the tree’s whole heart with love is crowned—The rose-red flowers warm against the leaves,The rose-red petals sweet against the ground.
Day that began with a tear,Will you end with a sigh?Stay! See the blossoming year,Laugh up to the sky.Nay, here’s a hope for your fear,Sweet sorrow—good-bye!
Day that began with a tear,Will you end with a sigh?Stay! See the blossoming year,Laugh up to the sky.Nay, here’s a hope for your fear,Sweet sorrow—good-bye!
My little boat is in a bay,It swings with gentle motion,And there I lie and watch all dayThe far-off, noisy ocean.The ships go up, the ships go down,And never see me spying.They are the pride and fear of town—Sails wide and colors flying.They are so strong, they are so tall,They fear no storm, no sorrow;With brave eyes to the sun, they allSet sail for some to-morrow.Sometimes I long to range and roam,My harbor life bewailing,But little boats must bide at home,To gayly speed the sailing.
My little boat is in a bay,It swings with gentle motion,And there I lie and watch all dayThe far-off, noisy ocean.
The ships go up, the ships go down,And never see me spying.They are the pride and fear of town—Sails wide and colors flying.
They are so strong, they are so tall,They fear no storm, no sorrow;With brave eyes to the sun, they allSet sail for some to-morrow.
Sometimes I long to range and roam,My harbor life bewailing,But little boats must bide at home,To gayly speed the sailing.
O life that flowered at the very top of the tree,Redder than all the roses out of the South,This was the blossom colored and wrought for me,Sweeter than scarlet bloom of a maiden’s mouth.Fain would I climb, and fain would I reach the flower.Ah, but the tree was tall as the flower was fair!Weary I grew and slept through the noonday hour;Winds caught my fate and strewed it over the air.
O life that flowered at the very top of the tree,Redder than all the roses out of the South,This was the blossom colored and wrought for me,Sweeter than scarlet bloom of a maiden’s mouth.
Fain would I climb, and fain would I reach the flower.Ah, but the tree was tall as the flower was fair!Weary I grew and slept through the noonday hour;Winds caught my fate and strewed it over the air.
Ah, dearest, dearest, not aloneI face the day’s white monotone.The fair, bright ribbon of the hours—A mountain brook bestead through flowers—Runs, a dear line, from you to you.There is no smallest deed I doThrough which the ribbon does not run,A silver string to pearls of sun.So glad I watch the moments flyAcross the high-hung summer sky,Till in a radiant flame they burn,To mark the hour of your return.
Ah, dearest, dearest, not aloneI face the day’s white monotone.The fair, bright ribbon of the hours—A mountain brook bestead through flowers—Runs, a dear line, from you to you.There is no smallest deed I doThrough which the ribbon does not run,A silver string to pearls of sun.So glad I watch the moments flyAcross the high-hung summer sky,Till in a radiant flame they burn,To mark the hour of your return.
The little vagrant gypsy flowerHas blossomed forth again—Your face against the autumn sky,Your face against the rain.The fevered youth of summer daysHas passed away in tears.The aged winter totters downThe pathway of the years.Yet, nodding, luring, laughing o’erThe tired world’s pain and scars,Joyous I find between my handsYour face—in aster stars.
The little vagrant gypsy flowerHas blossomed forth again—Your face against the autumn sky,Your face against the rain.
The fevered youth of summer daysHas passed away in tears.The aged winter totters downThe pathway of the years.
Yet, nodding, luring, laughing o’erThe tired world’s pain and scars,Joyous I find between my handsYour face—in aster stars.
Singing, he smote his heart—The woman smiled,And Love leaped, flaming,Into being—wild.Singing, he smote his hands—The woman sighed,And Love grew weary,Turned his face, and died.
Singing, he smote his heart—The woman smiled,And Love leaped, flaming,Into being—wild.
Singing, he smote his hands—The woman sighed,And Love grew weary,Turned his face, and died.
I lacked not Love, I lacked not lovely Love,But, ah, the apples of Hesperides!The golden apples and the emerald trees,The flower-sweet maidens, dancing in the breeze—Holds Love a blossom with such fruits as these?I gave up Love, I gave up lovely Love,And sought the island of enchanted skies,With little rainbow rifts of seraphs’ eyes,Round which the flaming sword forever pliesAgainst the darkened world of rue and sighs.Alas for Love! alas for lovely Love!In dreams I heard the beating of his wing;His soft voice, beautiful as sea in spring,Mourned through the empty songs the seraphs sing;Life seemed in sleep more dear than everything.Take me back, Love; take me back, lovely Love.Dark winds may drive me o’er thy tyrannous seas—Life is a world that breaks the thing it frees.I would be bound in all thy masteries—Yet, ah, the apples of Hesperides!
I lacked not Love, I lacked not lovely Love,But, ah, the apples of Hesperides!The golden apples and the emerald trees,The flower-sweet maidens, dancing in the breeze—Holds Love a blossom with such fruits as these?
I gave up Love, I gave up lovely Love,And sought the island of enchanted skies,With little rainbow rifts of seraphs’ eyes,Round which the flaming sword forever pliesAgainst the darkened world of rue and sighs.
Alas for Love! alas for lovely Love!In dreams I heard the beating of his wing;His soft voice, beautiful as sea in spring,Mourned through the empty songs the seraphs sing;Life seemed in sleep more dear than everything.
Take me back, Love; take me back, lovely Love.Dark winds may drive me o’er thy tyrannous seas—Life is a world that breaks the thing it frees.I would be bound in all thy masteries—Yet, ah, the apples of Hesperides!
Spirit of evil, heavily flying, turning,Dropping to earth,Caught to the light, with brown wings torn and burning,Whence was your birth?Was there a cause that, ceaselessly turning, flying,Drew you from night?All that we know is this—the aimless dying,Killed by the light.Evil the star that led you, spirit of evil,Out of your dark,Breeding desire that conquers us, man and devil—Passion’s red spark.
Spirit of evil, heavily flying, turning,Dropping to earth,Caught to the light, with brown wings torn and burning,Whence was your birth?
Was there a cause that, ceaselessly turning, flying,Drew you from night?All that we know is this—the aimless dying,Killed by the light.
Evil the star that led you, spirit of evil,Out of your dark,Breeding desire that conquers us, man and devil—Passion’s red spark.
Oh, it’s winter, winter, when you’re here,And summer when you’re gone.What need of birds when hearts sing clear,From dusk of day to dawn?The noble wind, the silver snow,High stars, and, best of all,The red-rose hearth—a golden glowWhen twilight curtains fall.Who’d cry the heat of summer skies,The bare, despairing sun,The languid flowers, with closing eyes,The earth’s fair wooing done?The possibilities of spring,The reticence of bliss,Love with the winter’s argent wing,We’ll scorn the sun for this.
Oh, it’s winter, winter, when you’re here,And summer when you’re gone.What need of birds when hearts sing clear,From dusk of day to dawn?
The noble wind, the silver snow,High stars, and, best of all,The red-rose hearth—a golden glowWhen twilight curtains fall.
Who’d cry the heat of summer skies,The bare, despairing sun,The languid flowers, with closing eyes,The earth’s fair wooing done?
The possibilities of spring,The reticence of bliss,Love with the winter’s argent wing,We’ll scorn the sun for this.
Youth and its pensive agonies! How soonThe restless heart forgets to crave the moon!Age is too weary for the butterflies—Spring’s rainbow radiance fluttering through sweet skies,Hope merrily deferred. We see the morn,We who are old, in shattered fragments. ScornFor laughter and for singing clouds our breast.Youth, take your fill of pleasure, for the restOf Age is endless. Sing, nor grudge the song—Youth is so short, and Age, quiet Age, so long!
Youth and its pensive agonies! How soonThe restless heart forgets to crave the moon!Age is too weary for the butterflies—Spring’s rainbow radiance fluttering through sweet skies,Hope merrily deferred. We see the morn,We who are old, in shattered fragments. ScornFor laughter and for singing clouds our breast.Youth, take your fill of pleasure, for the restOf Age is endless. Sing, nor grudge the song—Youth is so short, and Age, quiet Age, so long!
Persephone, Persephone—her sweet face wanders up to me,Through this bewildering maze of spring.At length she daunts the tyrannous year,Her little laugh usurps the tear,Her little song she dares to flingAgainst the black stars, merrily.Persephone, Persephone—her hands lean through the spring to me.Sweet, could I show you in what wiseYour song has blossomed—how the airIs mad with gold because your hair,Tossed golden ’neath your sea-blue eyes,And earth goes laughing with your glee?Persephone, Persephone, this hour sends out your heart to me.Child of the Dark, with soul sun-bright,Ah, give me largesse, give me May,So shall I charm the saddest day,And life—one amber dawn’s delight—Shall bear your song eternally.
Persephone, Persephone—her sweet face wanders up to me,Through this bewildering maze of spring.At length she daunts the tyrannous year,Her little laugh usurps the tear,Her little song she dares to flingAgainst the black stars, merrily.
Persephone, Persephone—her hands lean through the spring to me.Sweet, could I show you in what wiseYour song has blossomed—how the airIs mad with gold because your hair,Tossed golden ’neath your sea-blue eyes,And earth goes laughing with your glee?
Persephone, Persephone, this hour sends out your heart to me.Child of the Dark, with soul sun-bright,Ah, give me largesse, give me May,So shall I charm the saddest day,And life—one amber dawn’s delight—Shall bear your song eternally.
The four wide winds of evening have their stars,Fashioned in fire, in purity of snow,Tossed to their height by endless avatars—These all the righteous know.What of the stars of Hades? On the gloomThe outcast see them shine like angels’ eyes,And in the living night that is their tombThey dream of Paradise.They know the stars of Hades. They are deeds,Wickedly born, which came to good at last—Fair blossoms spring from villany of weeds,Rest—and redeem the past.
The four wide winds of evening have their stars,Fashioned in fire, in purity of snow,Tossed to their height by endless avatars—These all the righteous know.
What of the stars of Hades? On the gloomThe outcast see them shine like angels’ eyes,And in the living night that is their tombThey dream of Paradise.
They know the stars of Hades. They are deeds,Wickedly born, which came to good at last—Fair blossoms spring from villany of weeds,Rest—and redeem the past.
Enough of singing; since your heart is tired,We’ll leave the lute, so long, so long desired,And in the silence speak one quiet word,Simple as earth, forgetting song and bird.No more of singing; mating-time has sped,In the broad fields the poppy-lips are red.Crush them, Beloved, drink the lethe deep;Song being dead, what else is left but sleep?
Enough of singing; since your heart is tired,We’ll leave the lute, so long, so long desired,And in the silence speak one quiet word,Simple as earth, forgetting song and bird.
No more of singing; mating-time has sped,In the broad fields the poppy-lips are red.Crush them, Beloved, drink the lethe deep;Song being dead, what else is left but sleep?
Up from the soul, as a blade of grass from the sod,Springs the intent of the prayer as a cry to God.Blossoms may veil it or visions with ways uncouth,He sees the ultimate grass-blade, the heart of Truth.
Up from the soul, as a blade of grass from the sod,Springs the intent of the prayer as a cry to God.Blossoms may veil it or visions with ways uncouth,He sees the ultimate grass-blade, the heart of Truth.
The grim immensities are mine,The sunlight on the brook is theirs;I drink the lees of bitter wine,Fate grants a gift to all their prayers.I stammer, all afire to tellThe thoughts that urge for life like pain;For them words brim the shallow wellLike easy drops of summer rain.And which, ah, Heaven, which is best—The little lute for every mood,Or, shrinking coldly from life’s test,The heights and depths of solitude?
The grim immensities are mine,The sunlight on the brook is theirs;I drink the lees of bitter wine,Fate grants a gift to all their prayers.
I stammer, all afire to tellThe thoughts that urge for life like pain;For them words brim the shallow wellLike easy drops of summer rain.
And which, ah, Heaven, which is best—The little lute for every mood,Or, shrinking coldly from life’s test,The heights and depths of solitude?
Prayers that were birds winging wide,Daring the flame of the sun,How have you faltered and died,Now the day’s done!Prayers must be brave for the dark,Strong for the chill of the star,Fearing no fate to embarkOver the bar.Prayers of the sun and the moon,Prayers for the sky and the nest,All must reach haven so soon—Which shall reach rest?
Prayers that were birds winging wide,Daring the flame of the sun,How have you faltered and died,Now the day’s done!
Prayers must be brave for the dark,Strong for the chill of the star,Fearing no fate to embarkOver the bar.
Prayers of the sun and the moon,Prayers for the sky and the nest,All must reach haven so soon—Which shall reach rest?
When the red coral of your lip is paleAs the bleached sea-sand, ah, wearily, wearily,Will you behold your face, your fingers frail,Gnarled like a wind-blown tree; your star-bright eyesBlind as a cloudy midnight without moon.No more fair necklaces nor scarlet dyesCan make you cruel to men, for soon, so soon,Your heart will bear the years—ah, wearily, wearily.Then I, your scorn, shall still be man and chief;Turning to free your hands so carelessly, carelessly,You will be dead to love past all belief.Still round the slender columns of the palmThe moon shall lie in shivering, silver pools,Still shall the trades lash through the summer calmWhile twilight with her smile the island coolsAnd Time forgets your presence, carelessly, carelessly.
When the red coral of your lip is paleAs the bleached sea-sand, ah, wearily, wearily,Will you behold your face, your fingers frail,Gnarled like a wind-blown tree; your star-bright eyesBlind as a cloudy midnight without moon.No more fair necklaces nor scarlet dyesCan make you cruel to men, for soon, so soon,Your heart will bear the years—ah, wearily, wearily.
Then I, your scorn, shall still be man and chief;Turning to free your hands so carelessly, carelessly,You will be dead to love past all belief.Still round the slender columns of the palmThe moon shall lie in shivering, silver pools,Still shall the trades lash through the summer calmWhile twilight with her smile the island coolsAnd Time forgets your presence, carelessly, carelessly.
Blithe Nature leaned to kiss her favorite child,Her sunshine hair about her bosom swirled;Gay Baby Spring held out his hands, he smiled,And Apple-Blossoms dimpled on the world.
Blithe Nature leaned to kiss her favorite child,Her sunshine hair about her bosom swirled;Gay Baby Spring held out his hands, he smiled,And Apple-Blossoms dimpled on the world.
Bid me for your sake,Not for self or right—You alone can wakePower to gain the fight.In your name I’d dareAught in earth’s great bounds;Forth my sins should fare,Leashed like cringing hounds.When you touch my hand,Through your holy eyesI can see the landWhere is Paradise.Yet I may not go,Leaving cold and night,Till your soul of snowSees that mine is white.Let my heart not breakTill I kill my sin;Bid me for your sakeFight the world—and win!
Bid me for your sake,Not for self or right—You alone can wakePower to gain the fight.
In your name I’d dareAught in earth’s great bounds;Forth my sins should fare,Leashed like cringing hounds.
When you touch my hand,Through your holy eyesI can see the landWhere is Paradise.
Yet I may not go,Leaving cold and night,Till your soul of snowSees that mine is white.
Let my heart not breakTill I kill my sin;Bid me for your sakeFight the world—and win!
The world deserves its wisdom. You and I,Serene within the shadow, crowned with hours,Cinctured with solitude, the bended skyFolds us in hues of tulip twilight flowers.Knowledge is chill; your hair is warm with gold,A lock lies heavily across your cheek.I somewhere heard of darkness, pain, and cold—Keep your own, world. Ah, Love, stir not nor speak.
The world deserves its wisdom. You and I,Serene within the shadow, crowned with hours,Cinctured with solitude, the bended skyFolds us in hues of tulip twilight flowers.
Knowledge is chill; your hair is warm with gold,A lock lies heavily across your cheek.I somewhere heard of darkness, pain, and cold—Keep your own, world. Ah, Love, stir not nor speak.
Be still, be still, vex not the night with sound,The moon has laid her finger on the lake,And in the shadows of the wood profoundThere lies a peace we would profane to break.Upon the lonely avenue of trees,As pearls upon an airy silver string,Are caught the threaded echoes of the breezeThat sets the ruffled leaves a-murmuring.Be still, dear heart, as though ’twere death to speak.Love waits you, lily-like, with leaves unfurled,While on the breast of day night lays her cheek,The silence speaks the secret of the world.
Be still, be still, vex not the night with sound,The moon has laid her finger on the lake,And in the shadows of the wood profoundThere lies a peace we would profane to break.
Upon the lonely avenue of trees,As pearls upon an airy silver string,Are caught the threaded echoes of the breezeThat sets the ruffled leaves a-murmuring.
Be still, dear heart, as though ’twere death to speak.Love waits you, lily-like, with leaves unfurled,While on the breast of day night lays her cheek,The silence speaks the secret of the world.
Butterfly words from the sun in my brain,Flitting and darting and flitting again,Gleaming of golden and violet and rose,What is the rainbow you spring from, and where?Butterflies daintily poise and disclose,Whence is this secret of color you bear?Sun that is ruddy and fragrant with flowers,Garnered and hid from these desolate hours,Misty with beauty, the silver of spring—Ah, for the ways that are lost to my feet!Only the dip of the butterfly wing,Poised for a moment, revives me the sweet.
Butterfly words from the sun in my brain,Flitting and darting and flitting again,Gleaming of golden and violet and rose,What is the rainbow you spring from, and where?Butterflies daintily poise and disclose,Whence is this secret of color you bear?
Sun that is ruddy and fragrant with flowers,Garnered and hid from these desolate hours,Misty with beauty, the silver of spring—Ah, for the ways that are lost to my feet!Only the dip of the butterfly wing,Poised for a moment, revives me the sweet.
Music has opened her hands,Through fingers her jewels are falling,Fingers so delicate slender,Pale as the ghost of a flower.Jewels of crimson, the lifeEbbing from hearts that are broken,Roses and wine and red sunsets,Flames of undying desire.Jewels of azure, the seaDreaming of stars, and the morningDancing with life, then the silenceBlue of mysterious caves.Jewels of green, and the grassLifts up its hands to the summer,Hiding insidious serpents,Fair as the sweets that are sin.Jewels more bright than the sunMusic lets fall from her fingers.We who have stood in the shadow—How may we die for her sake?
Music has opened her hands,Through fingers her jewels are falling,Fingers so delicate slender,Pale as the ghost of a flower.
Jewels of crimson, the lifeEbbing from hearts that are broken,Roses and wine and red sunsets,Flames of undying desire.
Jewels of azure, the seaDreaming of stars, and the morningDancing with life, then the silenceBlue of mysterious caves.
Jewels of green, and the grassLifts up its hands to the summer,Hiding insidious serpents,Fair as the sweets that are sin.
Jewels more bright than the sunMusic lets fall from her fingers.We who have stood in the shadow—How may we die for her sake?