The Project Gutenberg eBook of Poems 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 at www.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: Poems Author: Marie Van Vorst Illustrator: Albert Herter Release date: March 4, 2025 [eBook #75527] Language: English Original publication: New York: Dodd, Mead & Company, 1903 Credits: The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive) *** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS *** POEMS [Illustration: ALBERT WERTER THE SONG OF THE WHEAT] [Illustration: POEMS BY MARIE VAN VORST DODD MEAD & COMPANY] _Copyright, 1903_, BY DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY _First Edition published March, 1903_ UNIVERSITY PRESS · JOHN WILSON AND SON · CAMBRIDGE, U. S. A. I INSCRIBE MY FIRST BOOK OF VERSE TO THE MEMORY OF MY BROTHER JOHN VAN VORST Thanks are tendered to Scribner’s Magazine and to the Pall Mall Magazine for the courteous permission to reprint verses already published in these periodicals. CONTENTS PAGE THE SONG OF THE WHEAT 3 IN THE JOINT OF HIS ARMOUR 13 LAURENS VILLA 21 THE HOST 26 THE PAGAN 31 LYRICS SING AGAIN 39 FOREST LOVERS 41 LIKE TO A SONGLESS BIRD 43 THREE YEARS 45 THE WIND UPON A SUMMER DAY 46 ON THE NORMAN CLIFFS 47 MID-WINTER 48 MARE PLACIDO 49 IN THE GREENWOOD 50 EVENING TIME 51 IN THE WINDOW 53 THE GLASS 55 THREE DAYS MORE 56 LOVE’S PARADOX 58 VITA, VITA! 59 THE SLEEP 60 THE REWARD 61 LES REVENANTS 63 THE BOON 65 THE SIGN 66 SONGS THE FIRESIDE 69 LOVE--WHERE YOU GO! 70 COSTANZA SINGS 72 MAY IN FEBRUARY 73 BRIER ROSE 74 THE SLEEPING HEART 75 ABSENCE 76 TO-MORROW 77 OLD TIME MELODY 78 THOUGH ALL BETRAY 79 BREAK THY SLEEP 80 RED ROSES 81 SONG 82 SLUMBER SONG 83 FANTASY 85 ROUNDELS THE INSPIRATION 89 LUCE ADORABILE 90 TEACH MY SONG 91 THE APOSTROPHE 92 CARRIER DOVES 93 THE NEW FRIEND 94 L’OISEAU DES BOIS 95 GOD’S IS THE NIGHT 96 CHRISTMAS 97 LOVE’S UNIVERSE 98 SUMMER 99 WINTER 100 AMOR IN EXCELSIS 101 THE ROSE 102 WHERE ARE YOU, DEAR? 103 LA MORT EST TOUJOURS FIDÈLE! 104 THE WATCH 105 THE YEAR’S END 106 OUTRE MORT 107 DEAD LOVE 108 SONNETS VIVA! ANIMA CARISSIMA 111 EXCOMMUNICATE 115 THE CONFESSION 116 THE KINGDOM 117 AMOR VICTRIX 118 SAINT OUEN 119 RENUNCIATION 120 ENVOI 121 THE SONG OF THE WHEAT THE SONG OF THE WHEAT I I sprang from the heart of the earth, From the brown, still heart That gives, though it pulseth not, All things being and birth. This vegetable mould, Black, resisting, and cold, Is pregnant in every part With essence of life. Infused with The Spark, my shell-- Pained with the mighty swell Of being and life that woke-- Travailed: fibres broke. Green shoots slender, Powerful, though most tender, Pushed upward--a crust gave way-- Earth opened ... and I saw day! II Myriad forms Pure and new as a thought of God, Rose from the sod, Sprang into life with me, A bending sea Of distant, infinite blue, From East to West, from South to North, Bent over us. We, called forth Up from the heart of the earth, Shook in the east wind’s mirth, Thrilled to the south wind’s kiss. Rain and dew, Storm and sun, Blessed us, made us _this_, And we grew. III Oh days In early summer, when all things breathe With delight in being! Golden haze Covers valleys and distant heath. The wind, these times, Faints with its burden from Southern Climes Of odours, subtler than balm or myrrh. Then we stir And surge like fair seas to and fro. When through our green blades the light winds sweep, Between our thin stalks straight and tall, You may see, a-tremble, like flames that blow, The Scarlet Flowers of Sleep. Low down they grow,-- Fine as a film, Red and soft as Love’s lips glow, Red as jewels the gods let fall. IV Oh days, When the sun, red through the haze, Burns bronze to gold! No breeze wakes, Sleek cows stand in orchard shade; And the little sound that ebb tide makes At the foot of the cliffs is low and sweet As sighs half-breathed, as lips that meet. In this ripening time We wait so still, that we scarce are stirred By the flight of a startled bird From its nest, in the furrows made. Summer’s power Changes our hue from royal green To golden, hour by hour. V Oh days Full of sweet noises! Songs of birds, And gentle sound of lowing herds. When all around-- From farther fields and orchard trees-- Comes the drowsy hum of bees. VI Bend the ear To our sibilant whispering! This is the full of the year. The Golden Mene, when the rich earth bears In plenty and fulness and mankind shares In the good of her, Oh hear, the wind wakes; and we sing! VII See the forms, Big and sturdy and strong and brown! The sinewy arms, The naked chest, where the shirt falls down, The blue veins swollen, the sweat of toil, The sweat of brow and the earth-cast look, The coarse shoes, red with the furrow’s toil, The knotted hands.... The Field is the book These fingers turn, and these eyes pursue. The sudden hail, the deadly dew, The blight of the boll and the dry, parched days Are the lines that mark their tragedies! These are the Workers--! Their hands have made The great earth fertile from sea to sea. Silently They bend to their labour, knowing not What they shall reap that their hands have sown! “Man may not live by bread alone;” They ask but this, “and receive a stone!” VIII From the faint, gray dawn to the late night’s shade The open air is their dwelling-place. The sweetest and best that their lives have known Is the mild, soft air in the summer-time, When they learn the noon by the village chime And pause to rest for an hour’s space. IX Misery, Is in the hut for the worker there; What for his eyes to see?-- Children, that dumbly ask for things He knows not of, nor they know who plead! More than a garment for nakedness, Or warmth from woe that the winter brings, Or bread--that, God! is a want indeed! X “Life for life,” the Prophet says, The fulness of days shall come and the reapers reap. The white blade seethes like a wind, and we Tremble at death in the blade’s cold kiss. Distant, infinite blue From East to West, from South to North, Bends over us. We, called forth Up from the heart of the earth, Mother that gave us birth, Lie on her heart again. Sun and dew, Wind and rain, Pass over us. XI On the bare, brown land, In level, close-bound sheaves, we stand; And this is the end, Till the fine, dry film from the blade’s unfurled And we go forth, From East to West, from South to North Bread--for the world. IN THE JOINT OF HIS ARMOUR I Then said the king:--“Stand here, Sir Guldemar, Beside me, where the arras falleth close. Now, down this marble stair the princess goes. And thou shalt mark her, hidden here with me:-- And thou shalt tell me, on thine honour’s oath, If any woman is as fair as she. (Giving thy guerdon, no fear hanging loath!”) II “For, when thou sayest,--‘_She’s_ more fair Than the queen’s sister!’--straight that woman shall, Guldemar, to thy have and hold befall. The hour thou didst so knightly lift thy lance To shield our life, we gave our royal word-- For Guldemar! the fairest in all France!” ... (Guldemar stood beside his king and heard.) III He held his head-gear downward in his hands; The white plume kissed along the gleaming steel Of his gray armour, close from head to heel. High around his throat’s column, lay the fine, Steel, tinkling little links, that rose and fell To mark his breath. (Nor did the king divine The hot heart beating in the mailèd shell!) IV “To women he is as the heart of ice,” The women laughed: and held it for a wage That none could Baron Guldemar engage In sport of love, or earnest: his straight gaze Was like the falcon’s on the hand held high, Above the hunter and the under-maze, Toward a goal cloud hidden in the sky. V “The king” (he said) “is as God’s bread,--above The hope of any save the lips absolved: Yet my lips touch his garment! If involved My heart, Sire, can I find another fair But her I love? Even though the king’s sister Were born of Venus? My liege lord must spare My finding any beauty like to _Her_.” VI And the king smiled as one in kindly wise Surprising a dear secret. “Friend,” (he said,) “Fear not to say thy ladye’s lips are red And her eyes heaven! We demand the truth From a brave knight, who knows not how to lie! He shall wed but perfection, by God’s Ruth, Whose voice cried,--‘I, and not the king, shall die!’” VII (And Guldemar) “My liege,” (here his head bowed,) “Or the king’s sister, or the fairer she, That woman, my dear lord will give to me?” ... “By the cross!” swore the monarch; “though she prove Ice! Though her hate thy passion’s warmth excels.” Said Guldemar: “_And if I have her love?_” The king: “Ourself shall ring the marriage bells.” VIII The knight had thrown his gauntlets to the ground. His silken sleeves clung down unto his wrists. The foremost in the wars and in the lists His breast blazed with the stars of victory. He wore a signet such as nobles wear; He wore, beneath his mail, where none could see, A bright chain woven of his ladye’s hair! IX “Hark!” said the king, “the princess comes! And hark, Those are her pages singing!” Guldemar, His soul high lifted, trembling like a star, Flashed his quick speech like light upon the king. “Sire, what if my life were wholly given To love a woman with a marriage ring? Her hell and mine, another’s rightful heaven!” X “The holy cross,” the king said, “and our word Are linkèd promise! This same night shall stir A great host for the holy sepulchre. The man who keeps thy souls and loves apart,-- As a cursed spirit, banished from a shrine, Must bind the crusade cross upon his heart, And wind a pilgrim way from thee and thine.” XI Guldemar heard. There went a tinkling Like little heavenly bells, and soft singing, A pleasant smell like violet-woods in spring Was wafted from the princess’ silks astir. First came the mincing pages, finely dressed, Then walking all alone the king’s sister, And in her beauty one forgot the rest. XII And every knight and every troubadour Had given to Isobel great beauty’s palm. Only the queen her sister, pale and calm, Could claim a beauty near to Isobel’s. She came entrancing down the marble stair, Her glad wide eyes as blue as asphodels, And the imprisoned sunlight in her hair. XIII The king and knight the arras held apart. “Now by God’s rood,” the king cried, “if there is A fairer woman in my court than _this_, To-night thine arms clasp her,--or Isobel!” Guldemar bent his bright bold look serene, Upon his liege--and held his body well-- “Sire,” he said, “one is more fair--the queen.” XIV The monarch dropped the arras and stood close, His eyes on Guldemar’s, and pride, and hate,-- Sudden for love and gifts,--rode hot, elate. Guldemar’s sword and gloves lay on the floor. The king snapped his own sword in two, then pale Cursed Guldemar, ... who felt the chain he wore Prick him to fire beneath his coat of mail. XV Without, the stony courts rang with the feet Of steel-shod men, and horses’ clanging shoe. And yellow torches flashed their brilliance through Dim corridor, and winding way remote. High in the belfry rang a faint peal sweet, As silver bells spelt out a marriage note. The red cross blazed on breast and banner white. Shouted the warder at the castle moat-- “To arms! The king rides to the wars to-night!” LAURENS VILLA “There is no happiness!” I cried. “Hush, hush!” she laughed, lying by my side. “I think I am too blest! The gods Will smite me with their jealous rods Upon thy breast!”... “Sweetheart,” (she said,) “Art not content?” I hid my head In silence: whilst she laughed; all slow Saying,--“Oh, Love, since thou _must_ know! When Laurens died, thy sword that let His life out, with his red blood wet Let in the light to me!”... I turned And kissed her, till the fires burned In flame to Eros. And she slept Until the hushed white morning crept And with unprisoned sunlight came To wake with matin sword of flame. Half sleeping, I essayed to find Her lips: and with warm hands to bind Her fast with her bright hair; then watch The mellowing of the eaves and thatch Under the morning.... She was cold. I clasped within my trembling hold Beauty’s bright lamp extinguishèd! Her lily limbs and flower head Were as the unsunned dawn is cold, And white as was the pleated heavy fold Of her close-clinging linen gown. Her eyelids safely folded down Over the azure shining thro’ That mocked the heavenly sky, with blue! The fine red lip-line parted, showing Her small white teeth; and golden, glowing The splendid masses of her hair Wantoned their glory everywhere! Smiling she lay, her arms thrown wide As she would clasp on every side Happiness...! This when morning came To wake us with its sword of flame! God knoweth how I listened, close To her lips’ lovely parting rose, Lest one fine breath should stir ... and bid The uplifting of a heavy lid, Or wake again that silent heart Whence fell the linen folds apart ... Under the pulseless hills of snow Where strayed the blue veins to and fro No breath should ever stir again! And then my grief broke forth like rain. Rang through the tomb-like house and shook The white doves in their rose-vine nook. None else to pain or grieve was there In the still villa anywhere. I lay until the dying day Pale as my cheeks, and cold and grey, Stole mourning o’er the horizon. And then, I feared to stay alone With Germaine, who lay there and smiled So still and gladly as a child In first sleep, whilst my tears had made Rivers upon her breast and head And she cared nothing! So I took My cloak and garment, from the hook Where hung her clothes. I wept, again Touching and kissing them. “Germaine!” I cried, and summoned thus the dead. I took the linen off the bed And laid one line of winding shroud Over my love: and weeping loud I looked where she lay smiling, glad, From head to feet, twilight yclad, Then I crept out--a grey old man. * * * * * They hold me under curse and ban, I “killed this woman as she lay In my embrace!” This thing they say! But Germaine, could she speak, would still Their lisping lies...! “If love can kill” (Germaine would tell them) “why then he Killed me, forsooth, with loving me....” Little it matters! I shall sleep In sleep like hers; but not so deep, _For love was earth’s last gift to her_! The little cotton dress she wore With ribbons, hangs against the door ... In the white villa, ... still it is!... Only the doves were witnesses. THE HOST I had my enemy within my house. My enemy--my arch, arch enemy. I bound my handkerchief about his brows, For he was wan and cried--“A Boon!” to me. Standing upon the threshold--wan, distraught, His eyes filmed with the mist of sickness dim; “He does not know it is my house!” (I thought) “_Salve!_” I cried, and ran to welcome him. He could not see nor hear; I spread my bed, Thereon I made him lie all weakly down. Blood ran into his eyes, from his rent head Cut deep between the eyebrow and the crown. Quickly I ministered what grace I could: Washed out the wound and bound it up with care; Smoothing his kerchief as his mother would; Laying my fingers gently through his hair. From out my store I fetched a brimming cup Of fragrant wine, and held it to his lip, Lifting all tenderly his hurt head up. Lest he should know me,--let the curtain slip Between our faces. Long he drank, and deep, And muttered thanks to God, and stretched out wide His great form on my bed, thus fell asleep Safe as the child his mother guards beside. And there, within my walls, he lay at last, My enemy--my arch, arch enemy! I let my crimson passion loose, and cast Curses for all the wrongs he’d done to me. Crouching low at the bedfoot, still, oh, still As Fate relentless, long I watched him lie Curtained within the shadows red, until He seemed to lie there murdered bloodily. Like deadly grave-robed figures, one by one, A cold procession passed before my gaze, The high bold-handed evils he had done To me, to mine, the ruin of our days. I felt my hand close on my unsheathed sword-- “The prayers of all your yesterdays” (I cried) “Must gain you pardon of the gracious Lord!” And he, unshriven, by my hot hate had died-- Had I not heard wild cries without my door, The acclamations of the multitude. My enemy stirred not in his stupor I drew the bedshades close, and waiting stood. Then they were all about me in the place, Strange, furious faces, peering everywhere Seeking the hated stranger, whose foul trace Had left their village desolate as here. “Show us Pasquale, show the devil hound,” And twenty eyes flashed sharper than the blade. They shrieked his name until I thought no swound Was proof against the riot that they made. I saw the naked unsheathed swords, I saw (My enemy--my arch, arch enemy!) Minions of justice, armed with hate and Law And my guest was asleep.... “Myself am he” (I said before the swords their home could find). “Draw me without,” I prayed, “I would not fall Here where my children sleep.” And they were kind And dragged me far without my own portal. Ere they could send my soul to hell unshriven Pasquale’s men came riding bright as day More time new sins to make, to cry to heaven, They bought Pasquale ... I write as I lay. They say I shall not see another dawn But I have had the sacred Eucharist And write this for true knights to dream upon. _That day of his sore need, with broken brows And sightless eyes blinded with bloody mist Helpless, whilst his pursuers hounded on I had my enemy within my house._ THE PAGAN I Oh the dream, Warm, wild, beautiful,--born of midsummer. No, it was April gave it; no, it was May! It was the whole round year, Days, months, filled with it, Hours Eden inspired. Moments astral born, Life Fused, swathed, held in its mystery, Perfect content in the present, Ecstasy at the thought of a future. Oh the dream.... Hush, I will sing of it.... II I was a child, knee-deep in the rugged daisies; Small head level with bright bold heads tossed free. Brown eyes following farm and meadow mazes: Little heart one with nature, flower, and tree; Friend with the birds.... Then childhood passed, on a sudden as pure dawn’s haze is Kissed to glorious morning, and all eyes see, Standing young as the June, little heart’s pulse set free Throbbed to the song that the soul of the whole world’s lays is:-- A child in the home-land meadows, Belovèd, I dreamed of thee. III Once I walked in the heather, Cliffs sheer downward touched the breast of the sea. Meadows ’round me stretched and kissed together, Met in oceans of gold grain feather Mad with poppies, red as blood may be. Summer’s glory to glory ran;--nor sense knew whether It were godliest born, the blue of the sea Or the whispering ocean of fields, as shoreless! Then the tether Of time slipped loose, and Future showed to me, Cliff-high,--sea-girt,--there in the Norman weather All of my youth Belovèd, I dreamed of thee. IV It was in the heart of winter cold, When the moon is old, And snow on the lea. I leaned from my window And heard the sea Ring like brass, when deep is tolled The _bourdon_ of Christ’s nativity. The Christmas world its page unrolled For my pagan eyes to see. Sheep held close in their sparkling fold, And the ice-mailed tree Glistened, ... as tho’ God leaned, and set Crystal tapers, with diamond fret; A holy festal tree made it, Whose candles the moon lit! I smelled frankincense, from censers gold Shadow-swung to a litany Glorious!... Then wild, and bold, A Christmas storm swept over me. I leaned out from my parapet, Cliff-high tower, that keeps the sea:-- Arms and breast on the sill icy, Warm arms aching to clasp and fold One who close on my breast should be! Pagan, thus in the Night Holy, Breaking form of the ancient mould, I saw God’s one star poise, and swim Over the birth of Love, in Him, But Belovèd ... I dreamed of thee. [Illustration: LYRICS] LYRICS SING AGAIN You sang me a song, ’Twas the close of the year, Sing again! I do not remember the name Or the words, ’Tis the same You listen to hear When the window is open in spring And the air’s full of birds; One calls from the branch some rare thing And one sings on the wing The refrain. You sang me a song, My heart thrilled to hear. The refrain Has run like a fillet of gold Through the woof Of the cold, Dark days of this year. To-night there’s a year at its start, The birds are aloof: But your eyes hold the sun for my part And the Spring’s in your heart, Sing again! FOREST LOVERS Of poplar, birch, and balsam boughs, Red cedar-walled, I’ll build my house; Its pillars silver-boled shall be, With rafters of the hemlock tree; Upon the ground the dried ferns spread, And slippery pine shall make our bed; And all night long the lapping sound Of waves shall fill our faerie swound; Nor native creatures, small and shy, Shall fright us, as they hurry by, Nor phantom rustle of the trees Disturb our loving mysteries. With the first flying birds to nest We’ll stretch our happy limbs to rest, And lip to lip, and palm to palm, Drift dreamward in the deep wood’s calm, Whilst thro’ the windy rafter bars Pale out the lanterns of the stars. Thus love shall hold us (as Love said), And holy be the forest bed, The fresh, wild odours everywhere Rise on the censers of the air, And in the soft dark Love shall find New vows, our lips and souls to bind. When the white-vestured dawn shall move, We’ll wake, as we have slept--with love, And sinless as the forest-born Arise with them to greet the morn. From every mist-grey tree-top tall The singing, singing dews that fall Shall mingle thro’ veiled vistas dim With whisper of our marriage hymn. LIKE TO A SONGLESS BIRD Like to a songless bird that swings On a high branch, and thrills to hear How the deep-hearted forest rings With melody enchanting clear, And vainly swells his throat to wake A song as pure as these that fill The wood, and every echo shake, Whilst he alone is dumb and still. So, thrilling to the music dear Since the first song woke, low and sweet; To purest sound I bend my ear, And with my heart the rhythms beat; Until the palpitating Past With melody becometh rife; With parted lips and hands locked fast I hear the songs of Love and Life. And then I lift my voice to wake A song as pure as these that thrill Through Time. The vaults with music shake And I alone am dumb and still. THREE YEARS! I heard the wind in the trees The stir of the leaves in the white birch tops Then sat alone with my past till dawn Crept over the edge of the leas And a dull red line was drawn In the East. There memory stops. We do not follow our lives As the almanacs run. I lived that night Three years in the past and three to be.... As foam that the sea-wind drives My thoughts sped on--three years and three, Marked by this lock of white. THE WIND UPON A SUMMER DAY The wind upon a summer day How sweet it is! The shaking trees, The shifting shadows as they lie Across the grass, the bending rye, The blue flowers in the grain,--and you To love the livelong summer through-- There are no sweeter things than these. The dawning of a winter day How sad it is! The leafless trees, The frozen meadow lands that lie Leaden beneath a snowy sky; The old year’s bitterness,--and you To lack the livelong winter through-- There are no sadder things than these. ON THE NORMAN CLIFFS The summer fields sweep to the farther blue Crimson with poppies, yellow gold with grain. They roll their warm wealth seaward--thus to you I bring my boundless love. Dearest, in vain Would I bestow its treasure otherwhere; It floods to find your heart--enfold it there! The land’s caress the far seas never knew; Not on the wave falls the sweet rain of gold. Far lie the changeful waters, pure and cold, Sundered by the high cliffs: thus I from you By Fate am kept a universe apart. And yet my constant thought inspires me To seek to lay my love upon your heart. MID-WINTER On this midwinter afternoon, When all the sky is cold and grey, What power can change the white world’s rune To a midsummer holiday? The branches of the leafless trees, Bent in the pathway of the storm, Give up their buds to orchard bees, The atmosphere is soft and warm. And from a thousand rose-hearts, too, The air delicious fragrance yields; The birds fly up against the blue, The Summer ripens on the fields. Thou art with me! This happy thought, That all the birds of love unchains To the white world, has Summer brought Through warmth of Summer in my veins. MARE PLACIDO Across the tossing tumult of my sea The peaceful current of your Spirit flows. The ships attain their harbours, enter free Beyond the pale horizon’s line of rose. Tempests are banished from these miles serene: Held cloud-free, wind-free, by your love’s control, My sea shall yield its deep-bed treasure soon! Mirror the evening star,--the cloud,--the moon: Tranquil, as tho’ no storm had ever been-- My sea shall be the mirror of your soul. IN THE GREENWOOD I fly like a bird to my home that lies Far in the west, by a fair green hollow. The straight, fine, meadow-line runs with the skies: A clear horizon for sight to follow, To leave, then rest where the zenith’s blue, Blue of the bluest, like my love’s eyes! I leave the noise of the busy mart; The small stream’s mouth with its shining shallows; I go with its going; till here, apart, Hid by rushes and low white mallows, Hushed in its singing it lieth deep-- Deep of the deepest, like my love’s heart! I will sleep and dream while the shadows move And the slant of the sunlight falleth yellow. I will wake to the note of the greenwood dove As it calleth low to its distant fellow:-- Where life of the fields and the woods is pure, Pure of the purest, like my love’s love! EVENING TIME To-night I watch the sun go down, Blood-red it sinks behind the hills. The deep low-lying valleys brown, The wheat fields, and the daisied down, The bright, mist-shrouded radiance fills. Across the surface of the pond The small trees throw their dark shadows: Whilst in the outlying wood beyond The deeper darkness broods and grows. The day is no awakener To greater beauty, than day’s wane. The little leaves that move and stir Make noise as of the sound of rain. The very air is gone to rest, And long and black the shadows lie, As over all the crimson west The darkness follows up the sky. * * * * * Good-night!--until the sun shall send Along the east a shining mark! In answer to my greeting, Friend, You seem to call across the dark. IN THE WINDOW Oh ... my love comes to me to-night, After the weary days. And I must trim the candle bright And light a cheerful blaze. Then close within the window stand, As down the silent streets My heart shall hear his coming, and How it knows, and beats! His footstep falls from stair to stair, (Oh my love is my own!) I wear a ribbon in my hair That only he has known. His kiss upon my palms he left; I hold its message, still. Long days have made his soul bereft, To-night ... he takes his fill! In winter-time, in summer too, In sunshine, and in rain. Love waits for love, the wide world thro’. (Alas ... for watches vain!) As in my window, hid I stand; (Would all so blest might be!) His step is on the threshold, and My love has come to me. THE GLASS When I am old! Oh Love, who well can say Whether within a year, a month, a day Or six times ten years that dead time shall come When Hope is pale and wan Desire stands dumb, And Love though living, clasps with fingers cold, When we are old. I think, perhaps, that Boundary’s dim outline Will not be crossed by these swift steps of mine, But while Desire is warm, and Hope still thrills I shall go hence and look from unseen hills On mighty scrolls of centuries unrolled, I still not old. To Be: unpierced by Vision. Break the Glass! But if fourscore and ten my years should pass, Witness, dear eyes! Mine, looking back, shall see Towers of strength, and Peaceful Seas, and Thee, And Love, a fragrant cerement, my heart shall fold When I am old. THREE DAYS MORE.... Not love’s command Could dry one league of sea; Or even God’s hand Fold up one mile of land, To bring you sooner unto me! There are but three more days to climb-- To-day, to-morrow, and its mate, Till that day!... Did love know to wait Would it be love? Not in my time Or in my blood! My thought, elate, Swells like a rising sea to flood Covering barren days between And brings you (as love should) Till you stand there--my lord, my light, my good!... Ere the frail screen Of fancy falls to my embrace Sudden, the spell snaps short to Fate! Till that day--when I see your face-- There are still three dark days to climb, To-day, to-morrow, and its mate. LOVE’S PARADOX I love you more with every rising day With every waning sun I love you more. Love walketh with me on the outward way, It stands to meet me at the open door. It singeth low when other sounds clash loud; It keeps me lonely ’mid a changing crowd. I love you most when I am far away; I love you most when on your heart I rest; I love you most when rapture has its sway, I love you in your still caresses best. In restfulness, or when your pulses beat-- All times, forever, most I love you, Sweet! VITA, VITA! The flight of the years pursues me. And nothing is done! Nor gained, nor made, nor accomplished-- Only Youth--lost. Slave to the pleasure that fetters, (nor would be free,) Tired of the light before the disk of the sun Is more than half of a circle! Stunned at the cost Of full free living, and nothing wherewith to pay The long close score that blights with its fearful truth-- _But my Youth_. THE SLEEP Love in a life and after life--_the Sleep_! And we hang on a word, a look, and keep The pulses throbbing,--make the Spark burn low,-- And close the Book, to laugh perhaps, to weep Most surely! if, oh gods! we may but know Love in life! Our burning hands we raise For dear palms’ clasp, and kisses on the lips, And close embrace. We give our nights and days, In the one draught delectable our spirits steep, Forgetting--(whilst the lights of Love eclipse--) _The Sleep_. THE REWARD I heard the little cricket cry Last night in the dull rain--as I Put on my dark, my sombre dress. (I had no ear for happiness!) And as I braided up my hair I saw the white threads, silvered there, And on my cheeks the mark of tears, My only kisses thro’ the years. Sudden--that little voice I heard-- Finer than call of cheerful bird. A human--tender--crying sound In the low grasses near the ground. Just as I said:--“_I will take Cheer Instead of Joy!_”--Your footsteps, Dear, Fell on the garden walk ... and when I put my candle out,--.... Again Late in the night I heard it plain The cricket, singing in the rain. LES REVENANTS My only light is candle-light From candles fitly set In sconces, dazzling. Long threads, half melting, cling To snowy candle-masts, and fret The straight, slim forms, and I shall sit Alone, until the Spirit stirs These lily lights (for they are conjurers). From the high corners, shadows flit Across the floor: and One shall bring Back all my soul has loved and missed. And the dim others fade when we have kissed. But one remains, and I am one with it. My only light is candle-light From candles burning down Till each flame flickers into night. Is it the perfume slight From shadow hair and shadow gown Unseals my long-locked senses? Or, Light touching hands and lips that fill For me the waste of time, caress until I live as I have lived before? My only light shall be the candle’s light, To summon shades and mysteries Until my solitary spirit sees Your shadow steal across the shining floor. THE BOON At break of day when shadows fly And still the earth is white with dew, When light soft mists on hillside lie And, stirring purple meadows thro’, The morning wind moves like a sigh, Oh I awake then quietly! Earth’s sullied things draw never nigh When thus the day from God is new And from a dim far place on high On the chaste line of day and night Where holy thoughts the souls imbue Who wake, praise God, keep pure, walk right A boon comes ... is’t not blest that I Walk thus thro’ fields of God with you At break of day when shadows fly? THE SIGN Last night I felt your kisses on my face, Softer than April fall of wind-flowers; Sweeter than summer rain upon the grass; Sweeter than the light wind, that in the South Wakes, and in groves of myrrh and cassia stirs. I bent with parted lips to kiss your mouth-- Straightway there fell a fine thin veil between. There stood the trees in level rows, The sunlight filled the trembling green Of the leaf-sea, in the fair close. By these straight boles, under these slender boughs, Throughout the days of midsummer, I stand Until God part the veil with shining hand And show me where you sit within His house Holding the seven-sparred star, whose name is Love. The time, though long, I know comes fast apace Because of the sweet sign you told’st me of,-- _Last night I felt your kisses on my face_. [Illustration: SONGS] SONGS THE FIRESIDE Bitter cold the winter street, Cold and grey the sky: Bitter cold the veil of sleet The winds drive by. Warm and bright the fireside, Red the flames with cheer; What can winter’s woe betide Us, Dear? On my hand I feel your palm As a bird lie warm: Oh the fireside is calm! It hears no storm. Bleak the winter street and cold; Red the flames with cheer; Love and firelight enfold Us, Dear. LOVE--WHERE YOU GO! Love, where you go December’s air grows warm, Birds bend the barren branches to their song And flowers spring, your coming steps to charm. Bursting the band of ice, and frosty thong. Over the highways prisoned in by snow They fling a garden in old winter’s scorn! Saying, “The lovely spring is here ... we know!” The sombre heart of midnight pales to morn Love-- where you go.-- Love, where you go, grows my heart glad enow, My being’s pulse is tune with ecstasy. I find a ballad on each bending bough. I take my lute from off the greenwood tree To wake the dearest melody I know. I’ll fling my songs broadcast, to heaven’s blue Where the stars think your eyes are stars below.... My soul finds its one paradise with you-- Love-- where you go. COSTANZA SINGS.... My Love is a rider! (and life’s at its pace!) He rides to the battle--he rides to the chase. His armour is burnished, his nodding plume’s curled. (And would I could follow him over the world!) Nor distance, nor danger can keep us apart. He comes with the shadows and lies on my heart. He’s gone when the midnight its pinions has furled. (And would I could follow him over the world!) I’d gladly arise--don bonnet and sword, And follow the steps of my Love and my Lord. I’d stand by his side when the lances are hurled. (And would I could follow him over the world!) MAY IN FEBRUARY When I go a Maying--Maying-- There his wanton wishes go! Spring, like flowers, to meet me straying.... I must pluck them--will, or no! I must break each pale stalk slender: I must lift each flower fair; For I know they are the tender Thoughts of love that greet me there.... * * * * * I will wear them on my bosom.... In the night, when he comes home He shall see his thoughts in blossom, Oh Beloved Spring-time, Come! BRIER ROSE In among the tall weeds There lives a brier rose. Bright among the rugged reeds She bends and blooms and blows. The ragged bloom around her grows, And rough and rude her bed: But kisses of the wind she knows, And blushes warm and red. The sunny moor before her lies The stream runs bright and clear. She does not reck o’ sombre skies, Nor knows the changing year. She has no ken o’ winter drear, Nor dreads the frost and storm: For summer winds have called her _Dear_, She blushes red and warm. THE SLEEPING HEART My heart is in the hawthorn tree. I left it in the lovely house, Hidden among the blooming boughs. And every little crimson rose, That blushes, reddens, pales or glows, Shall give its secret up to thee! My heart is in the hawthorn tree. My heart is in the hawthorn tree! It wears a fragile, rose-red dress: A robe of spring-time loveliness. It has forgot its songs to sing, And sleepeth like a tired thing,-- To dream new songs, to sing to thee.-- My heart is in the hawthorn-tree. ABSENCE O darling-- “My darling!” And this is all you say? And what are words of love and cheer When one is far away? O darling-- “My darling!” A word is more than none And if you say what I would hear You’ll fill the world with sun O darling-- “My darling!” TO-MORROW Where is all the sunlight gone Dearest heart and dearest? Will it come again with dawn Dearest heart and dearest? Will it, stealing after night, Fold the waking hours, till bright To-morrow breaks the clearest, Best, of every day we’ve had Fresh and gay and good and glad? _Dearest heart--and dearest!_ OLD TIME MELODY I’m pining away for the way I’d go, I’m pining away for the things I’ve seen, For the joy of the fall of the first white snow, And the sweep of the forest green. But it’s not for the home-land, broad and fair; The house on the hill, or the old ways spread;-- For why should I wander here or there, Since you went down to the dead? I’m pining away for the love you gave, For the world that you made, when your life lay here. And the path to the country beyond the grave Is the way that I pine for, dear! THOUGH ALL BETRAY Dearest, give your love to me,-- I will keep it well, Cradle it, as does the sea Hold the shell-- Deep, unseen, and secretly. Dearest, give your kiss to me,-- I will keep tho’ all assail: As the temple prayerfully Holds the Grail. Altars then my lips shall be! Dearest, give to me your trust,-- I will not betray.... Hold it, as the beacon must Hold the ray, Till the lighthouse stones are dust. BREAK THY SLEEP When to-night, the shining snow Fell on forest brown and lea, Hanging diamonds on the tree;-- When the dazzling world below Lifted up, all brilliantly, Stars again, to stars to throw;-- Then I thought of thee...! White the winter forests sweep Down to meet the midnight sea,-- Dearest, break thy charmèd sleep, Dream a winter dream of me. RED ROSES The rose that comes on winter’s day It is the rarest rose--(they say) To venture forth so bright and bold, With velvet leaves and heart of gold, To wear so brave array:-- Daring the icy atmosphere, Your winter roses, greet me--Dear And love, all warm amid the snows, Comes with the rose. SONG As the days Go their ways; And the months, and the years, Bring their laughter and their tears,-- And their range Of turn and change-- All the old, Away we fold,-- With the moth, And the dust; Nothing loth Since we must Have the new! As the days Go their ways One thing stays-- My love for you. SLUMBER SONG (The White Elf Mother sings.) When the low flying wind, awake, Brushes the lilies, and the low Blue flowers hidden in the brake,-- When the sighing Alders bend and shake,-- When the owl’s whirring,--Hush thee, dear! For all the elfin lights aglow Will guide the slumber fairies here, Naught is stirring For my child to fear. When the strange sighing tree-tops sing, Dance all the fairies to and fro And white dreams from their mantles fling, While the flying Winds thy cradle swing. When the low crooning insects cry Creep the white elves soft, and slow, Hush thee, Sweet! and hear the merry Pipes a-tuning For thy lullaby! FANTASY I hear the fluttering wind, I see The shadows on the grass. I wish that you would come to me! I would not let you pass! But springing up from where I lie, I take you in my arms, would I! I’d tell you where white heather grows, I’d kiss you, and I’d hold you close, I would not let you pass! Here, by my side, you’d watch with me Cloud shadows on the grass. If chance that you should come may be, I will not let you pass! Where the lost faerie kingdoms lie, I’ll tell in wonder-tales--will I! And as the brilliant fancy grows, I’ll kiss you, and I’ll hold you close, I will not let you pass! [Illustration: ROUNDELS ALBERT HERTER] ROUNDELS THE INSPIRATION These songs I sing to you, who song inspire. Would I a message new might find and bring! Or touch with a live spark of heavenly fire These songs I sing! Take them, for they are doves with fluttering wing,-- They try to reach your window: lift them higher-- Up to your heart--there warm and nestling They shall find home, and life! If love aspire Shall it not speak? To voice a holy thing, To voice the heart’s deep need--the soul’s desire These songs I sing. LUCE ADORABILE You came to me when I had turned and said:-- “This, in my darkened life can never be, My ways are in the stumbler’s paths instead!” You came to me High and unprejudiced and spirit free. Wearing God’s seal upon your pure forehead, Dearest, you bent from your bright way to see My flickering torch: your own, live-flashing, red Rekindled the faint flame. Thus holily, A radiance, a light when light had fled, You came to me. TEACH MY SONG Kind and Dear you are, and Brave and Strong. Life has taught you worth of smile and tear; Still your spirit’s tenor flows along Kind and Dear. Turn to me, on whom for many a year Fate has wrought its work of bitter wrong; (Scarce my veilèd vision sees you clear!) On your brow is Peace, to you belong Life’s best gifts, oh lend me Faith and Cheer! Show me Truth and Beauty, teach my song, Kind and Dear! THE APOSTROPHE Go, unsaid thought, wordless and songless both! With fluttering pinions, still unseen, unsought, Circle the spirit’s white flame like a moth-- Go--unsaid thought! Go to the one by whom my soul is taught; Go--wing your joyous journey, nothing loth Like sunbeams in the hearts of lilies caught, Like perfume that eludes, yet lingereth;-- Until your subtle mission’s fully wrought-- To charm, as a dear dream’s pale image doth,-- Go--unsaid thought! CARRIER DOVES Friend, unto thee I bend my constant thought; Its current running as a stream to sea, From hidden sources of my being brought, Friend, unto thee. If the wise wonders of the world could be Found by a spell, sure my quick love had sought Each potent and elusive mystery. Into an amulet together wrought To charm thee! With this full confession free-- I loose my doves to-day, their ways are taught, Friend, unto thee! THE NEW FRIEND Friend--my restless spirit never knew What good gifts the heavens kept late to send Till the dear day dawned that brought me--_you_, Friend! Lacking love like this, too many wend Graveward. Highest heaven holds few Joys like this, with cruel pain to blend. I who know not Peace may feel its dew; I who have no prayers may kneel and bend In this gentle presence;--dear and new Friend! L’OISEAU DES BOIS Last night I heard in the wood green and still, The sweetest music sung by any bird. I never knew the soul of song, until Last night I heard. Pure as life’s morning, warm as love first stirred, Fresh it outpoured our close attent to fill. Dearest, you were beside me, and your word Did through the heavenly harmonies distil The spirit’s joy: and grosser sense was blurred. I never knew the soul of Love, until-- Last night I heard! GOD’S IS THE NIGHT Good night,--Love rules the world,--Sleep you!-- There is no evil in Love’s sight. See how heaven’s lamps swing in the blue,-- Good night! Oh what avails the futile flight Of thought to bless the long dark through? _Deep is the darkness_, and, despite Of Love, our care is frail to do For those we love: but all is right, _God’s is the darkness_; friend, to you-- Good night! CHRISTMAS Dearest ... for thee I make my Christmas song! A song of holly and of fragrant tree, Of festivals, that sweep their happy throng, Dearest, for thee! Look ... how the folding snow is on the lea; See the fine hoar frost lie the hedge along And the white holy stars shine mistily. A Christmas gift held high, though winds are strong, A warm and glowing gift, though ice may be, Comes star-blest, Christ-blest, over pain and wrong, Dearest, for thee! LOVE’S UNIVERSE I find in thee fields, valleys, plains, and hills. Deep tender depths, a forest and a sea. All that the warm wide Earth with beauty fills I find in thee. Each a small part of God’s fair world are we, Each one to a quick pulse of nature thrills Or mirrors in his soul a mystery. All sweetness that the summer wind distils, And all of winter beauty that may be, All that wakes ecstasy, or calms, or stills, I find in thee! SUMMER Sea and sand and here our small home’s place is Where the low suns flush the warm wide land Golden flooding, till the whole world’s face is Sea and Sand. Far beyond our horizons, expand Happy bays--they say: but the wave’s race is _Toward_ our love-bound island, tempest-banned. Here for you and me the season’s grace is, Here the heart’s response, the touch of hand Make love’s universe, and Heaven’s embrace is Sea and Sand. WINTER Sand and sea, and white gull’s fluttering feather Down upon the beach, the salt pool’s fee. Birds have left to storm and the wind’s tether Sand and Sea. Warm and bright those southern ports may be, Here, the ribald winter rules the weather Crying in the bending, tossing tree: We are two--sweetheart--and care not whether Summer reign, or Winter--so that we Live and love, as close as kiss together Sand and Sea. AMOR IN EXCELSIS I love you so that I would rather have Your happiness than any joy below. I would give up my soul your soul to save, I love you so! If round your island like sea should flow The dearest gifts men ever sought or gave-- My heart’s desire should on the first crest glow! My love counts pain and death small things to brave; My love shall find the joy the immortals know; And triumph o’er the future--and the grave,-- I love you so! THE ROSE Never again, Dearest, oh never more! Not in the spring-time’s swift enchanted reign, Shall hope to hope, shall love to love implore, Never again! Not in the summer--nor when autumn’s wane Blows the dry leaves along earth’s windy floor, Nor in the winter: that strange joy and pain No seasons’ circle ever can restore. The roses of to-day no tears shall stain,-- They’re thornless! You shall see the rose you wore Never again! WHERE ARE YOU, DEAR? Where are you, Dear, now that the winter white Has nearly run its course? Spring will be here And birds shall sing as home they wing their flight, “Where are you, Dear?” Thus I have sung and waited thro’ the year, Saying at morning: “You will come with night?” And in the night: “With the dawn kind and clear, “You will pass by!” My little dwelling bright Has its soft curtains drawn; I wait the cheer Your presence brings by day and candle-light; “Where are you, Dear?” LA MORT EST TOUJOURS FIDÈLE! Gone!... And steal the shadows grey Where our window shone Late with lights; too soon are they Gone. All that Heaven won When it took you, love, away My heaven’s built upon:-- “Joy of life--Come back a day!” But the path leads on Through the night.... Grief wakes to say “Gone!” THE WATCH By candle-light when every fine flame played About your bed so long and cold and white,-- I sat and kept my watch, and wept and prayed By candle-light. Till memories a holy, holy flight Came back from our far childhood’s years, and stayed Touching us with their wings. And to thy bright High presence, “I will be all days” (I said) “A torch to hold thy spirit’s flame aright.” This was the tender promise that I made By candle-light. THE YEAR’S END What are my ways now that my Love is dead? As candles round a bier stand future days. Must I then read in annals of years fled What are my ways? On, the Time-reaping shining sickle sways; I watch in fog and rain with bended head; And for no flower swathe the cold blade stays. If memory were a solace, hearts that bled Were healed long since!... Now the quick tear betrays I may not with my past be comforted: What are my ways? OUTRE MORT You came to me in visions of the night, Your pale brow bound by a bright ring of flame; High, unapproachable, and dazzling white, You came. I rose and called you by your dearest name;-- “Tell me,” I said, “how go the hours’ flight In that far land? Do men strive there for Fame And Love?” Then I lost sense and sight: You bent to me,--your kisses were the same As when, long since, to be my life’s delight You came. DEAD LOVE Dark the day when love is gone-- When the vital spark Dies, and leaves the soul of one Dark. April for the birds shall hark. March’s wildness sown, June with crimson bloom shall mark. What has hope to build upon Cold and stiff and stark? All the future stretches on Dark. [Illustration: SONNETS ALBERT HERTER] SONNETS VIVA! ANIMA CARISSIMA I Hail, Dearest! could verse make you live again I’d rise with pallid-circled dawn to write Until the veiled, the jealous hand of night (Like Death that snatched you from the world of men) Cloud up my thought and tracery of my pen. Then would I burn the gentle candle-light Till, fading spectre, sank each tall mast white And cold stars lent their brilliant lanterns.... Then Should slumber only hold me till a dream Brought new enraptured rhythm--new song to give Through vision of your soul’s transcendent flame. Youth, life, and love, should harness to the theme Draw to Olympus--pleading Jove for Fame. Oh Dearest, if my verse could make you live! II Hail, hail!... Where the horizon fades and glows, Last night I seemed to see you standing, Sweet. Light mantled you from starry head to feet; Aureoles bound your brows, pale flame on Snows. Belovèd,--in your hand you held a Rose, No flower immortal, red as hearts that beat For earthly love, nor know the winding-sheet. Who loves, who has been loved, the Symbol knows! As you came toward me, with the Rose, royal, Faint heart took cheer;--cheeks wan with sullen grief Grew bright with thought of Bliss beyond the Veil. _Nirvana_ holds no lover’s heart in thrall. I wear the Rose, a kiss, each crimson leaf Warm with your lips.... Hail my Beloved!... Hail! III If Fate had said, when first I saw thee stand Straight, tall, and beautiful, and all my own-- “This is for you, the kingdom and the throne “The rule and the dominion of the land; “Eyes, lips, and benison of dearest hand, “Caress of voice, and laugh, and lowest tone; “Choose! Will you surfeit, then go forth alone, “Because so favoured the more cursed and banned?” I’d choose to lack thee! Ignorant, and blest Though love and thee were to have heaven possessed. Oh who would face the desolation’s sting Or choose to live bereft, with memory? I still may find after my Winter--Spring If Fate would wipe the tablets clear of thee. IV When they together saw the Calendar Slip by in months that wore Spring all days long, He made his lover’s verse and roundel song, The burthen of the rhyme his love of her!... What though the storm swept by with rainy stir, And winds, like ghosts, would ’round the windows throng, They sat heart-linked, hand-linked; and bright and strong Riot ran through their veins like Midsummer. For palm to palm is exquisite as May; And lip on lip is mad July at best! Where is the fire for this pale winter’s day? For one who sits alone at Death’s behest? Ghosts of the storm peer in with charnel mirth At ghosts of ashes on the gusty hearth. EXCOMMUNICATE I do not find an altar, or a priest, Nor any sacred still confessional; Masses and vespers, I must shun them all, Tho’ every belfry bid me to the feast! I may not wear the cross upon my breast; Nor make its sign;--or in repentance fall Before the nichèd saint. In canticle I must not chaunt one frail blurred note, or least. For my religion is my joy and shame; My priest, my altar, canticle, and mass Art thou! and lest thou hear my creed, and know; Shouldst hear me sing my love, or pray thy name-- Unshriven with my burden I must go; Proud, excommunicate, I pagan pass! THE CONFESSION Oh, when I saw you yesterday I stood Trembling and silent; thus you could not know The vibrant, singing beauty, stealing slow, A sacred fire through my veins and blood. In the poor, songless, unawakened wood Of lute forgotten, who can guess the flow Of hidden harmonies to overthrow The heart and sense if one set free the flood? As the deaf master never hears the tone His genius wakes; so you, who make me sing, And all the pulses of my life control, Know but my silence, whilst for you alone Music and thought and song their concourse ring. Turn, then, and hear the love-song of my soul. THE KINGDOM Behold I bring a Kingdom in my hand, Oh bend your eyes upon it!... Ways of peace Lead by its rivers. Fields of rest are these Above the endless skies of God expand. Oceans of dear delight kiss on the sand, And azure islands lift their waving trees Where virgin forests’ twined interstices Shadow the pools of sleep, deep inland seas! This is my lovely Kingdom.... Tho’ you reign Over an empire, proud, imperial, Annex this land of beauty to your part; Else, like a mirage, seen, then lost again It fade forever! Kingdoms vanish all-- Immortal is the land of love, Sweetheart! AMOR VICTRIX Strong Death, proud power invisible, even now Slowly thou drawest near me in the dark,-- And though within me the clear glowing spark Of life is warm and beats in heart and brow, My body shall grow colder, till I bow, White as the ash, thine unresisting mark. But for the word from the veiled years I hark,-- As calm and as invincible as Thou. And when at last I feel thy kisses,--Death,-- My fading lips shall smiling tell thee this-- “Master thou art not! On my Spirit’s shrine Deathless, although the altar crumbleth. Ascend twin flames in one,--to find God’s bliss, As God immortal,--my Love’s love and mine!” SAINT OUEN Oh shrive my soul, Belovèd! Yesterday I placed two candles, straight and slim and fair Before a virgin’s altar, kneeling there For our united lives and love to pray. Around me the cathedral’s stillness lay; The mystery of God was everywhere; Lifting the misty aisles through incensed air Uprose the threading pillars, dim and grey. God heard my prayer: and He forgave my need, If after that day’s grace and majesty I fall and pay my sin with bitter cost;-- You who have taught me prayer again, and creed, Bend down in dear forgiveness unto me! Shrive me, Belovèd! or my soul is lost. RENUNCIATION I have not ever reached for Paradise; Nor sought beyond my fellows to be blessed. Nor hoped where all men fail;--but quick confessed The Limit, and the taunting Mark that flies. But since I’ve seen thy soul without disguise; And dreamed thy love’s great passion once expressed; I’ve known my portion’s good in one sole best:-- Thy love and thee,--strong Spirit pure and wise! To read thro’ tortuous lines, at length to see What is the single goal, the heart’s desire, And then without possession learn to live,-- Is Life...! Toward this, my chastened mind I give, And thro’ Renunciation dare aspire To reach God’s light, thro’ love and loss of thee. ENVOI A song of France in the autumn time, When rooks fly low, then go calling, calling That summer’s a thing of long ago, For the golden warmth you would never know, But the bronze-brown forests tell you so, And the leaves are falling, falling. The broad, bright river shines and flows In sweeps of blue; then goes singing, singing, Where borders of fern in crimson line Are aglow like flame in the late sunshine. In little slim poplars straight and fine, Mistletoe’s clinging, clinging. What matter after the sun goes down If chill creeps out from the forest’s hollow, Promising winter that earth affrays? Is not the course of the year always Toward spring,--and glory of golden days To follow, follow, follow? The light of the late year’s in my heart! It will not linger on death or dying. Like leaves of the forest, sere and gone, Are hopes of a future it once looked on; But Life and Love to goals to be won, Go flying, flying, flying. *** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS *** Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will be renamed. Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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