Its cynical, accustomed smile,
Protests and, hand on heart, avers
The patience of his listeners.
"A masterpiece? Ah, surely not."
A grey-eyed maid of honour slips
A long stemmed rose across her lips
And drops it; does he guess her thought?
Monseigneur plays his new gavotte.
UNBELIEF
Your chosen grasp the torch of faith—the key
Of very certainty is theirs to hold.
They read Your word in messages of gold.
Lord, what of us who have no light to see
And in the darkness doubt, whose hands may be
Broken upon the door, who find but cold
Ashes of words where others see enscrolled,
The glorious promise of Life's victory.
Oh, well for those to whom You gave the light
(The light we may not see by) whose award
Is that sure key—that message luminous,
Yet we, your people stumbling in the night,
Doubting and dumb and disbelieving—Lord,
Is there no word for us—no word for us?
THE SILENT ONE
The moon to-night is like the sun
Through blossomed branches seen;
Come out with me, dear silent one,
And trip it on the green.
"Nay, Lad, go you within its light,
Nor stay to urge me so—
'Twas on another moonlit night
My heart broke long ago."
Oh loud and high the pipers play
To speed the dancers on;
Come out and be as glad as they,
Oh, little Silent one.
"Nay, Lad, where all your mates are met
Go you the selfsame way,
Another dance I would forget
Wherein I too was gay."
But here you sit long day by day
With those whose joys are done;
What mates these townfolk old and grey
For you dear Silent one.
"Nay, Lad, they're done with joys and fears.
Rare comrades should we prove,
For they are very old with years
And I am old with love."
THE ROSE
I took the love you gave, Ah, carelessly,
Counting it only as a rose to wear
A little moment on my heart no more,
So many roses had I worn before,
So lightly that I scarce believed them there.
But, Lo! this rose between the dusk and dawn
Hath turned to very flame upon my breast,
A flame that burns the day-long and the night,
A flame of very anguish and delight
That not for any moment yields me rest.
And I am troubled with a strange, new fear,
How would it be if even to your door
I came to cry your pitying one day,
And you should lightly laugh and lightly say,
"That was a rose I gave you—nothing more."
THE SONG OF THE YOUNG PAGE
All that I know of love I see
In eyes that never look at me;
All that I know of love I guess
But from another's happiness.
A beggar at the window I,
Who, famished, looks on revelry;
A slave who lifts his torch to guide
The happy bridegroom to his bride.
My granddam told me once of one
Whom all her village spat upon,
Seeing the church from out its breast
Had cast him cursed and unconfessed.
An outcast he who dared not take
The wafer that God's vicars break,
But dull-eyed watched his neighbours pass
With shining faces from the Mass.
Oh thou, my brother, take my hand,
More than one God hath blessed and banned
And hidden from man's anguished glance
The glory of his countenance.
All that I know of love I see
In eyes that never look at me;
All that I know of love I guess
But from another's happiness.
THE NEW SPRING
The long grief left her old—and then
Came love and made her young again
As though some newer, gentler Spring
Should start dead roses blossoming;
Old roses that have lain full long
In some forgotten book of song,
Brought from their darkness to be one
With lilting winds and rain and sun;
And as they too might bring away
From that dim volume where they lay
Some lyric hint, some song's perfume
To add its beauty to their bloom,
So love awakes her heart that lies
Shrouded in fragrant memories,
And bids it bloom again and wake
Sweeter for that old sorrow's sake.
THE BURDEN
The burden that I bear would be no less
Should I cry out against it; though I fill
The weary day with sound of my distress,
It were my burden still.
The burden that I bear may be no more
For all I bear it silently and stay
Sometimes to laugh and listen at a door
Where joy keeps holiday.
I ask no more save only this may be—
On life's long road, where many comrades fare,
One shall not guess, though he keep step with me,
The burden that I bear.
THE BRIDE
I
Though other eyes were turned to him,
He turned to look in mine;
Though others filled the cup abrim,
He might not taste the wine.
I am so glad my eyes were first
In which his own might sink;
I am so glad he went athirst
Until I bade him drink.
II
The Well-Belovèd took my hand
And led me to his fair abode,
The home that Love and he had planned.
(Strange that so well I knew the road.)
And through the open door we went,
And at our feet the hearth-light fell,
And I—I laughed in all content,
Seeing I knew the place so well.
Ah, to no stranger Love displayed
Its every nook, its every grace,
This was the House of Dreams I made
Long, long before I saw his face.
III
I jested over-much in days of old,
I looked on sorrow once and did not care,
Now Love hath crowned my head with very gold,
I will be worthy of the joy I wear.
There is not one a-hungered or a-cold
Shall seek my door but that he too shall share
Something of this vast happiness I hold;
I will be worthy of the joy I wear.
For I was hungered and Love spread the feast,
Cold—and He touched my heart and warmed it there,
Yea, crowned me Queen—I neediest of His least,
I will be worthy of the joy I wear.
THE SEER OF HEARTS
For mocking on men's faces
He only sees instead
The hidden, hundred traces
Of tears their eyes have shed.
Above their lips denying,
Through all their boasting dares,
He hears the anguished crying
Of old unanswered prayers.
And through the will's reliance
He only sees aright
A frightened child's defiance
Left lonely in the night.
THE UNSEEN MIRACLE
The Angel of the night when night was gone
High upon Heaven's ramparts, cried, "The Dawn!"
And wheeling worlds grew radiant with the one
And undiminished glory of the sun.
And Angel, Seraph, Saint and Cherubim
Raised to the morning their exultant hymn.
All Heaven thrilled anew to look upon
The great recurring miracle of dawn.
And in the little worlds beneath them—men
Rose, yawned and ate and turned to toil again.
THE APRIL BOUGHS
It was not then her heart broke—
That moment when she knew
That all her faith held holiest
Was utterly untrue.
It was not then her heart broke—
That night of prayer and tears
When first she dared the thought of life
Through all the empty years.
But when beneath the April boughs
She felt the blossoms stir,
The careless mirth of yesterday
Came near and smiled at her.
Old singing lingered in the wind,
Old joy came close again,
Oh, underneath the April boughs,
I think her heart broke then.
TRANSIENTS
They are ashamed who leave so soon
The Inn of Grief—who thought to stay
Through many a faithful sun and moon,
Yet tarry but a day.
Shame-faced I watch them pay the score,
Then straight with eager footsteps press
Where waits beyond its rose-wreathed door
The Inn of Happiness.
I wish I did not know that here,
Here too—where they have dreamed to stay
So many and many a golden year
They lodge but for a day.
THE MOTHER
So quietly I seem to sit apart;
I think she does not know or guess at all,
How dear this certain hour to my old heart,
When in our quiet street the shadows fall.
She leans and listens at the little gate.
I sit so still, not any eye might see
How watchfully before her there I wait
For that one step that brings my world to me.
She does not know that long before they meet
(So eagerly must go a love athirst),