Poem

“The sane man is nowhere at all when he enters into rivalry with the madman.”

Goddess, the rocks are crumbling into sand;The moonlight trembles hesitant, as thoughWinter with all his winds and hoary snowWere gathering. Goddess, thy hand,Which has created shore and rock and oceanWithin my heart, seems cold;I fear lest thou art growing oldWith me—the shattered wreck of my devotion.Goddess, there is no love in heaven or earthWithout thee, and the stars grow dim with ageWhen thine eyes are averted, and the rageOf winter winds turns luxury to dearth.What will it profit if we love no more(For I know thou hast loved in thine own way)?What will it profit, if for yesterdayWe substitute to-morrow, with its storeOf sorrow?What is a dream for goddess?—not to beImmortal once is to be dead forever!And shall our eyes go blind and our lips neverMeet? What is eternity,If not that moment of a wild embrace,When two souls recognizeTheir first bewildered contact, and two eyesDrink the white radiance of a lover’s face?Oh, ere the evening lights go gathering like fireAcross the western portals—ere the sunProclaims that life and life’s short tasks are done—Be thou the mistress of my pure desire,Be thou the goddess of my heart!A man cannot forget a woman’s eyes,If he has kissed them (as I have thine ownIn dreams). Love is an artWhich men do not forget, when they have knownThe way a woman takes toward paradise.What weary fools we are! Dust is the same,Whether alive, or whether dead and rotten;And love is love, remembered or forgotten;And life is life, although it be a name.Let sorrow come, with many tears; or shameAlight upon my brow; or age denyWhat fiery youth would fain assert or die;Let even death wash all my dreams awayLike sand—still I am I,To-morrow and to-day, and yesterday.Therefore I am immortal; and thy faceWhich I have called mine own, must live, must beImmortal with the very heart of me.On whatsoever shore, or in what place,Whether among the gods, or on the earth,Wherever man finds truth, or woman grace,Or Sorrow tears, or Laughter tears of mirth;Wherever love is, goddess, I shall be;Wherever I am, thou—the heart of me!Ah, we are weary fools—We men who talk of love and sorrow,And build philosophy upon old schools,And yearn for paradise to-morrow.We are insane! Creation dimly flowsAbout us, yet like children do we playWith our uncomprehended toys;And no one knowsWherefore in love these weary fools rejoice,And grasp at stars in their uncertain way.Yet I would rather be a fool, and love,Than drink of wisdom, and forget the stars;I’d rather tear life from Time’s calendarsThan lose thy face, which I am dreaming of.Thus have I given all to be thy slave,And now I ask that thou remember this:’Tis better to be mortal in a kiss,Than to be called immortal in a grave.RUSSELL W. DAVENPORT.

Goddess, the rocks are crumbling into sand;

The moonlight trembles hesitant, as though

Winter with all his winds and hoary snow

Were gathering. Goddess, thy hand,

Which has created shore and rock and ocean

Within my heart, seems cold;

I fear lest thou art growing old

With me—the shattered wreck of my devotion.

Goddess, there is no love in heaven or earthWithout thee, and the stars grow dim with ageWhen thine eyes are averted, and the rageOf winter winds turns luxury to dearth.What will it profit if we love no more(For I know thou hast loved in thine own way)?What will it profit, if for yesterdayWe substitute to-morrow, with its storeOf sorrow?

Goddess, there is no love in heaven or earth

Without thee, and the stars grow dim with age

When thine eyes are averted, and the rage

Of winter winds turns luxury to dearth.

What will it profit if we love no more

(For I know thou hast loved in thine own way)?

What will it profit, if for yesterday

We substitute to-morrow, with its store

Of sorrow?

What is a dream for goddess?—not to beImmortal once is to be dead forever!And shall our eyes go blind and our lips neverMeet? What is eternity,If not that moment of a wild embrace,When two souls recognizeTheir first bewildered contact, and two eyesDrink the white radiance of a lover’s face?

What is a dream for goddess?—not to be

Immortal once is to be dead forever!

And shall our eyes go blind and our lips never

Meet? What is eternity,

If not that moment of a wild embrace,

When two souls recognize

Their first bewildered contact, and two eyes

Drink the white radiance of a lover’s face?

Oh, ere the evening lights go gathering like fireAcross the western portals—ere the sunProclaims that life and life’s short tasks are done—Be thou the mistress of my pure desire,Be thou the goddess of my heart!A man cannot forget a woman’s eyes,If he has kissed them (as I have thine ownIn dreams). Love is an artWhich men do not forget, when they have knownThe way a woman takes toward paradise.

Oh, ere the evening lights go gathering like fire

Across the western portals—ere the sun

Proclaims that life and life’s short tasks are done—

Be thou the mistress of my pure desire,

Be thou the goddess of my heart!

A man cannot forget a woman’s eyes,

If he has kissed them (as I have thine own

In dreams). Love is an art

Which men do not forget, when they have known

The way a woman takes toward paradise.

What weary fools we are! Dust is the same,Whether alive, or whether dead and rotten;And love is love, remembered or forgotten;And life is life, although it be a name.Let sorrow come, with many tears; or shameAlight upon my brow; or age denyWhat fiery youth would fain assert or die;Let even death wash all my dreams awayLike sand—still I am I,To-morrow and to-day, and yesterday.

What weary fools we are! Dust is the same,

Whether alive, or whether dead and rotten;

And love is love, remembered or forgotten;

And life is life, although it be a name.

Let sorrow come, with many tears; or shame

Alight upon my brow; or age deny

What fiery youth would fain assert or die;

Let even death wash all my dreams away

Like sand—still I am I,

To-morrow and to-day, and yesterday.

Therefore I am immortal; and thy faceWhich I have called mine own, must live, must beImmortal with the very heart of me.On whatsoever shore, or in what place,Whether among the gods, or on the earth,Wherever man finds truth, or woman grace,Or Sorrow tears, or Laughter tears of mirth;Wherever love is, goddess, I shall be;Wherever I am, thou—the heart of me!

Therefore I am immortal; and thy face

Which I have called mine own, must live, must be

Immortal with the very heart of me.

On whatsoever shore, or in what place,

Whether among the gods, or on the earth,

Wherever man finds truth, or woman grace,

Or Sorrow tears, or Laughter tears of mirth;

Wherever love is, goddess, I shall be;

Wherever I am, thou—the heart of me!

Ah, we are weary fools—We men who talk of love and sorrow,And build philosophy upon old schools,And yearn for paradise to-morrow.We are insane! Creation dimly flowsAbout us, yet like children do we playWith our uncomprehended toys;And no one knowsWherefore in love these weary fools rejoice,And grasp at stars in their uncertain way.

Ah, we are weary fools—

We men who talk of love and sorrow,

And build philosophy upon old schools,

And yearn for paradise to-morrow.

We are insane! Creation dimly flows

About us, yet like children do we play

With our uncomprehended toys;

And no one knows

Wherefore in love these weary fools rejoice,

And grasp at stars in their uncertain way.

Yet I would rather be a fool, and love,Than drink of wisdom, and forget the stars;I’d rather tear life from Time’s calendarsThan lose thy face, which I am dreaming of.Thus have I given all to be thy slave,And now I ask that thou remember this:’Tis better to be mortal in a kiss,Than to be called immortal in a grave.

Yet I would rather be a fool, and love,

Than drink of wisdom, and forget the stars;

I’d rather tear life from Time’s calendars

Than lose thy face, which I am dreaming of.

Thus have I given all to be thy slave,

And now I ask that thou remember this:

’Tis better to be mortal in a kiss,

Than to be called immortal in a grave.

RUSSELL W. DAVENPORT.

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