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SONGS OF PASSION AND PAIN. 
 
 BY 
 
 ERNEST WILDING 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 NEWMAN AND CO., 
 43, HART STREET, BLOOMSBURY, W.C 
 
|\,5U^^3I 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 WHAT A SOUL DID DREAM I 
 
 LE CHANT D'aMOUR 9 
 
 IN THE DEATH GARDEN 12 
 
 STUDY IN WHITE AND BLOOD 1 5 
 
 PASTORAL SYMPHONY 
 
 REST 
 
 ONE SUMMER DAY 
 
 ' THE GOLDEN STAIR ' 28 
 
 JOHN KEATS 31 
 
 IMPROVISION IN WHITE AND GOLD 34 
 
 AUTUMN 38 
 
 A SILENT SONG 40 
 
 UNTO THIS LAST 42 
 
 NOCTURNE IN WHITE AND SILVER 46 
 
 THE LADY MADGE 
 
 HERO AND LEANDER 
 
 MINOR MELODY 
 
 A REQUIEM SYMPHONY 6 1 
 
 PSALM TO A WAYSIDE CRUCIFIX 64 
 
 19 
 
 25 
 
 49 
 SI 
 59 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 MARGUERITE AND FAUST 66 
 
 TO ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE - 72 
 
 CHANT TO THE DEATH-ANGEL 75 
 
 ONE SUMMER NIGHT 77 
 
 NOCTURNE IN DEATH bo 
 
 HARMONY IN SEA AND SILVER 84 
 
 LIFE 86 
 
 DE PROFUNDIS 87 
 
 THE LAST SONG 88 
 
 NIGHT PSALM 91 
 
 HARMONY IN RED AND WHITE 94 
 
 SUMMER SONATA 96 
 
 MISERERE 99 
 
SONGS OF PASSION AND PAIN. 
 
 WHAT A SOUL DID DREAM. 
 
 Ah, wake I beside you here, love ! God's grace ! 
 Kiss me on either cheek warm from all love ; 
 Take you my hand in yours, that I may know 
 I am full human still. Yet be I dead ? 
 Or mad ? Far better mad than dead to you, 
 Methinks. Such misery as I have known, 
 These hours most silent just agone : a breath 
 But in Time's mouth, yet ages long to me. 
 
 Such dreams I had, the night fled as few know. 
 I dreamt I lay vair dead here in this bed 
 Whereon we lie ; stretched cold and milk-white all. 
 Rigid in every limb, more motionless 
 Than jasmine in the breathless nights of June. 
 Cloudlike my hair down on my bosom hung, 
 
2 SONGS OF PASS/ON AND PAIN. 
 
 No longer heaving with its warm sweet joys 
 And surging blood-tides quivering from love, 
 But snow-like in its hue, and cold as snow. 
 My dark eyes were close shut against the light, 
 And to my lips there came nor smiles nor sighs. 
 
 These slim white fingers, that so oft have twined 
 
 Within the brown crisp meshes of your hair, 
 
 In dalliance of idle love, were stiff 
 
 And nerveless all, nor could yield pressure, nor 
 
 Subtle touches that women love to give. 
 
 You long hung o'er me, wringing wild your hands. 
 
 In sore distress and anguish most beset, 
 
 And kissed me well with kisses hot as rays 
 
 Of yellow sunbeams on midsummer day ; 
 
 You prest me erst pained with great ecstasy. 
 
 To your bare breast. I felt your surging veins 
 
 Tingle my own e'en then with subtle sweets. 
 
 The while sheer helpless in Death's grasp I lay, 
 Wrapped in the great shadow of mystery. 
 E'en while your tears were wet upon my cheek. 
 And your sad accents wailing in my ears 
 Rang with keen sorrow deeper than despair, 
 A presence stood beside me golden-bright ; 
 Robed in seamless white that glittered as stars 
 
WHAT A SOUL DID DREAM. 
 
 Far bedded in purple depths of heaven. 
 For girdle sunrays claspt her tender waist. 
 Her face pale as the early lily leaf; 
 A gleaming aureole shone round her hair 
 Of gold all flecked with strangesome mysteries 
 Of light, and sweet with odours 'bove compare 
 Of heart-red roses born in the night's heat 
 White flow'ring blossoms lay upon her breast 
 In tenderness, and grouped against her heart. 
 
 Her white hands held a crystal clear as day. 
 
 Wherein I saw one half was emptied all : 
 
 The other held some golden grains just fall'n, 
 
 And quick I knew it was my life sands that 
 
 Had downward run their course too swift from joy 
 
 Of knowing the full treasures of your love. 
 
 More sweet than music of the summer seas 
 
 And wonderous with many rare delights, 
 
 Her voice spake low in my closed ear, and bade 
 
 Me follow. Whereat inly torn with grief 
 
 At parting you, I helpless followed her : 
 
 But ever turned aback with yearning gaze 
 
 And all great tenderness within my eyes 
 
 To your sweet self. 
 
 Leaving this land we soared 
 Athwart wide seas of opal hue and green 
 
4 SONGS OF PASSION AND PAIN. 
 
 That stretched wide 'neath the azure floor of heav'n, 
 
 Wherein pure stars full mirrored their pale light. 
 
 Beyond the regions of new worlds far borne 
 
 By throbbing breezes singing to the spheres, 
 
 A silver pathway tracing through all space, 
 
 We fled yet upward through the pulsing air. 
 
 Higher, and more high, till at last we reached 
 
 The gold gates of that city 'bove the skies, 
 
 Blazing through empyreal space with light 
 
 Far round, and all more wondrous than the suns 
 
 Of summer sinking westward in the sea. 
 
 Silent they swung wide ope as we approached. 
 
 Songs sung to citherns, perfect beyond speech, 
 
 Full voices, richer than all harmony. 
 
 And sounds of many sweet-tongued instruments 
 
 Fell with deep dreamlike charm upon my ears. 
 
 Blessed white angels greeted me in joy. 
 
 Their heads were filleted with gold, bound low 
 
 Upon their brows : their garments — fretted through 
 
 With threads of wondrous hue bedecked with flow'rs 
 
 The colour of the sun, and roses white 
 
 In fair first blossom all gladsome to sense — 
 
 Fell to their naked feet in gracious folds. 
 
 Their light lithe tread made music as they moved. 
 
 Each pure face was as a benediction. 
 
 Some carried silver citoles in their hands, 
 
WHAT A SOUL DID DREAM. 
 
 Some rich harps of gold most mellifluous ; 
 Others matchless of form, timing sweet sounds, 
 Waved myrtle blossoms through the golden air : 
 And when they sang, their breaths rose like incense. 
 But more sweet, on the mystic air of heav'n. 
 
 Inward we passed through all the white-robed throng, 
 And knelt before a throne where angels hid 
 Their dswncast faces with wings wide outstretched. 
 And spake low words of prayer mellow toned 
 On bended knees, for the lost world below. 
 As footstool 'fore the throne the red sun poised 
 In wide purple space chaotic but dimmed 
 From the chaste hurtless light the where He sat 
 In supremest majesty eternal. 
 
 But I whose tears had fallen low to earth 
 In silence sad as we ascended high, 
 Warm and slow like rain in early spring-time, 
 Now flung myself full stretched upon the floor, 
 With brow cold prest against the lucid pave ; 
 Trembling, and let my tears flow down full fast, 
 Not daring to lift up my voice and speak. 
 One sob broke from the prison of my breast, 
 And quivered like a wild discordant string 
 Through the sweet melodies of countless choirs. 
 
6 SONGS OF PASS/ON AND PAIN. 
 
 Whereon the heav'nly Host read clear my heart, 
 Faint and yearning 'midst the throngs of heaven 
 For your heart on the distant shore of earth : 
 Apart from peace whilst you below remained. 
 At last He spake, and all the music hushed 
 To breathless silence ; and I, forward led, 
 To the great gates, was cast forth into space. 
 
 Behind they clanged, echoing through the air, 
 Shutting in all light, whilst through the darkness 
 Dense and palpable, I for ever fell. 
 Infinite pain sat heavy on my soul 
 Drawing me earthwards swiftly like a weight. 
 No stars, chaste with white lustre lit the spheres. 
 My breath came quickly from full force of speed. 
 Dark clouds sped by me troubled in their flight. 
 The lusty winds sobbed loud unto the skies 
 Like wailing shrieks of lost souls passing me, 
 Frightsome e'en to the sad night's list'ning ears. 
 Vet hurled through noisome dark profoundest ways, 
 Still on and on I ever downward sped. 
 With pale hands outstretched wide. 
 
 My unloosed hair 
 Swept cross my breast, scourging the soft white flesh. 
 My filmy robes that scarce did screen my form 
 
IVHAT A SOUL DID DREAM. 
 
 Trailed through the night, upheld by breezes strong, 
 Rustling weirdsome like cerements round dead folk 
 
 Onward I fell through blackness eternal. 
 
 Swift shooting past chasms of unmeasured space, 
 
 Till sudden cross the face of night a sword 
 
 Of fierce flame gleamed, rending the ebon clouds, 
 
 While the vast expanse blazed with lurid light 
 
 From pole to pole and lit the surging sea, 
 
 A pathless waste from boundless freedom mad. 
 
 That fierce beneath me dashed its triple crests 
 
 Skywards, and cried as if with hungry roar 
 
 For human prey. 
 
 I shuddered, sick from fear. 
 Again parting the full curtain of night, 
 The light flashed fierce and white. I felt its heat 
 Glow on ray cheek. Then in low tones, thunder 
 Raged, echoed and re-echoed to the clouds. 
 Peal after peal across the lonely sea. 
 Awful and most unutterably grand. 
 
 Beneath me yet our world lay like a scroll 
 
 In the precipice of limitless air • 
 
 But soon I set my foot upon its shore. 
 
 Downward drawn by the magnet of your heart. 
 
 I straight came here, pale, gliding through the door 
 
8 SONGS OF PASS/ON AND PA IN. 
 
 Like spectre sad seeking its silent house 
 After long travels with the black night winds 
 Far o'er the sleeping world, ere rosy dawn 
 Wakens the matchless wonders of the skies. 
 So back to my cold flesh I crept once more : 
 The red blood quickened, and beat faint my heart 
 Against the white left breast. And I was glad 
 That I lived yet to meet your lips with mine. 
 
 ^Vith sighs that had no sorrow in their breath. 
 But came from pain and joy combined, I woke. 
 
LE CHANT D'AMOUR. 
 
 The dear days are done and departed, 
 
 The flowers of our lost love lie dead ; 
 But we are not half-broken hearted 
 
 Because of most sweet words we said : 
 Because of pale passion and love-fires 
 
 That linger no more in our veins, 
 Or that dearest delight of desires 
 
 No longer remains. 
 
 Shall we sit down in sorrow and sigh 
 
 Because of a lost love and bliss ? 
 Shall we cavil or clamour or cry 
 
 For sake of a rapturous kiss ? 
 Shall we close wear weird masks for a face 
 
 Or pin false red hearts on our sleeve, 
 That love lies yet in our cold embrace 
 
 We may make believe ? 
 
SONGS OF PASSION AND PAIN. 
 
 We smiled and kissed close when we parted, 
 And kissed when we smiled and were glad. 
 
 No tears told a tale broken-hearted 
 No sobbing nor sighs that were sad. 
 
 Did it matter how oft had I lain 
 
 My head on your breasts like a dove ? 
 
 Did my kisses give you sweet or pain 
 Or sorrow or love ? 
 
 These dear days were voluptuous — sweet 
 
 As life of an amorous rose, 
 When wild hearts and ripe red lips would mee 
 
 In rapture lost love only knows ; 
 When close-clasped hands would tremble and cling 
 
 And passion press breast unto breast, 
 When love reigned with the rule of a king 
 In kingdom loved best. 
 
 \\'ith hot kisses I covered your mouth 
 And kissed the gold threads of your hair : 
 
 In your eyes that first woke in the south, 
 To light of its amorous air, 
 
 Lay clear crystal, pain passion-shed tears, 
 Like dew in sun's ray on white rose ; 
 
 Your sweet pink cheeks paled paUid with fears 
 Why, only love knows. 
 
LE CHANT D' AMOUR. 
 
 All this lay in the dear days and dead, 
 
 In fair air of earliest spring, 
 Ere sweet scent from red roses had fled 
 
 Ere swallows had taken to wing. 
 Yet 'fore autumn had browned the tall trees, 
 
 And tinted to russet and red 
 The last leaflets, still spared by sad breeze, 
 Our love lay long dead. 
 
 When passion sweeps o'er and around you, 
 And dyes the milk-white to rose-red, 
 
 And lights your dark eyes to the flame's hue, 
 Will you think of sweet words we said ? 
 
 When kisses are showered on your broad brow. 
 And hair steeped in scents of the south, 
 
 Will you dream of those lips that e'en now 
 Taste your most sweet mouth ? 
 
 All dead are the days of our sighing. 
 Of laughter, and kisses, and song. 
 
 They died when pale lilies lay dying, 
 Far sweeter their sweet hours than long : 
 
 lu'course of the sun and the season, 
 In days of the mating of doves. 
 
 Sans trammel, or trouble, or treason, 
 Shall we love new loves. 
 
IN THE DEATH GARDEN. 
 
 Broad and blue skies are overhead. 
 Fresh and green is the growing grass, 
 Cooled by spring showers that downward pass 
 To the calm sleeping dead. 
 
 Sweet is the smell of the brown earth. 
 Pale wild flowers in tangled grace, 
 The blades of tall grass interlace ; 
 Crossing graves where with upturned face 
 The dead are l3'ing underground ; 
 By measured limits closely bound, 
 And bound their hands, likewise their feet. 
 Their bodies in a winding-sheet. 
 Their pale lips are close prest and meet 
 As if they may know no more sound. 
 Across their foreheads cold, are tied 
 Cloths, hiding their eyes open wide : 
 
IN THE DBA TH GARDEN. 1 3 
 
 Eyes, staring tearless without sight, 
 Fixed wonder-wide, knowing no light ; 
 Pale their sunken cheeks, yet not white. 
 But pallid with a shade of grey 
 Or blue, sickly from slow decay. 
 
 The great dampness of the dark clay 
 
 Covers each separate narrow bed 
 
 Like sad black pall from foot to head. 
 
 From inactivity have shrank 
 
 Their bones ; their hair grows stiff and lank ; 
 
 Their ears, filled with dust, hear no more 
 
 Life's waves roll in upon our shore. 
 
 They are not restless, nor give sigh : 
 
 In the same position they lie, 
 
 As they have been placed, for ever 
 
 And for ever : changing never. 
 
 But their thin ribs that have long lain 
 
 In their case of wood know no pain ; 
 
 Nor feel they warmth, nor yet cold, 
 
 Nor aches, nor illness, nor grow old. 
 
 Thrice heavily above each breast, 
 
 Throbless for aye, the earth is prest ; 
 
 But it disturbs not their calm rest, 
 
 Nor wakes them from still silent sleep, 
 
 Which is unutterably deep, 
 
14 SO.VGS OF PASS/ON AND PAIN. 
 
 And tearless too : they never weep 
 In dreams, but wordless vigils keep. 
 Like soldiers who endured strong strife 
 They rest well, being done with life ; 
 Their hearts know not sorrow nor sin, 
 Nor sin sick weariness nor fears. 
 Nor do bleed from passionate pain 
 And great woes, tears of sad red rain. 
 Nor do they con space nor the years ; 
 Nor have they now for longer kin 
 ^Vith the world's toils, nor with men's ways ; 
 Which ways wise, may no man define. 
 As taper flame quenched in a gust 
 For ever have their souls sure fled, 
 And their dull bodies being dead. 
 Are rendered dust to kindred dust. 
 
 Above, where some are laid with loss. 
 Their beds are marked plain, by a cross. 
 This is of suffering a sign, 
 A suffering of death divine ; 
 Close-clinging tendrils round it twine — 
 This indicates new birth. 
 
STUDY IN WHITE AND BLOOD. 
 
 Most faithless of women most fair 
 
 'Neath all the white light of sweet Spring : 
 For saint and for sinner a snare 
 
 Fair-faced, with the scorpion's death-sting. 
 Did God grant no pity to you, 
 
 Nor place a red heart in that breast, 
 Full sweet to men's lips as pale dew 
 
 To lilies, when red suns sink west ? 
 
 In your kiss that clings like a vine 
 When red lips 'gainst red lips close meet, 
 
 Than poisoned pale cup of rare wine 
 Lurks danger more deadly, more sweet. 
 
1 6 SONGS OF PASSION AND PAIN. 
 
 In languor and light of your eyes, 
 
 That rays from the sun's beams first stole, 
 
 Great wealth of dark passion low lies. 
 Swift scorching and scathing man's soul. 
 
 in. 
 
 In your cheek's blown blossom and bloom, 
 
 More rich than rare roses and white, 
 Lie deadly destruction and gloom 
 
 More dense than hell's deep darkest night. 
 Your soft laugh rings sweet as a song. 
 
 As low as the cooing of dove, 
 Sonorous through summer hours long, 
 
 Most tender and rich from all love. 
 
 \Vhat subtlest strange spells are yours, 
 
 What mystical magical grace 
 Fast lulls with glad glamour and lures 
 
 Brave lives by the sweets of your face ? 
 Black blood, the dead lees of men's hearts. 
 
 Your loveliest luscious lips wet ; 
 In your hair, where golden light darts, 
 
 Fangs hidden of serpents are set. 
 
STUDY IN WHITE AND BLOOD. 17 
 
 V. 
 
 Surrounding your soft bed stand shapes 
 
 Of sinewless phantoms wild — white, 
 That glare fierce and gibber like apes 
 
 Through hours of the passion-fraught night 
 All black are the roses you pluck : 
 
 The fair fruit you gather is red, 
 Cold clotted with dark blood you suck 
 
 From hearts of your victims stark dead. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Ghosts' voices curse you through the land ; 
 
 Your pink ears are filled with death-moans. 
 As plains of the wide desert sand. 
 
 Your pathway is paved with bleached bones : 
 Dark devils lurk low in your breast, 
 
 Your sweet face is all angel-white ; 
 Your soul knowing no peace nor rest, 
 
 Is sad sable-coloured as night. 
 
 VII. 
 
 When you shall pass out from this land 
 
 Into silence and unknown space, 
 You shall hold in your red stained hands 
 
 Fruits blackest, most bitter and base. 
 
8 SONGS OF PASSION AND PAIN. 
 
 I kiss your red lips and your eyes, 
 
 Till your veins from wild rapture thrill ; 
 
 I could mock at your death-bed cries, 
 And laugh loud at your last shriek shrill. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 In days when your body shall die. 
 
 When those charms that make men most mad 
 Shall paUid and putrefied lie, 
 
 Will devils feel merry or sad ? 
 When lips that glow now like the rose 
 
 Fix fast in a horrible grin, 
 Shall men think of your wails and woes 
 
 For pleasures of amorous sin ? 
 
 IX. 
 
 I shall love you whilst life remain 
 
 And hate you with deadliest hate ; 
 To passion and pleasure and pain, 
 
 Your lips are the glad golden gate. 
 I shall sorrow deep for your death, 
 
 Yet think it right good and full well 
 When fierce flames of sulphureous breath 
 
 Shall wrap your white body in hell. 
 
PASTORAL SYMPHONY. 
 
 Out from the west, 
 
 My love came straying o'er the lea, 
 By pathways sweet where growing tall 
 The corn surged like a golden sea, 
 Quick changed to light or deeper hue 
 By every idle breeze that blew. 
 The setting sun hung like a ball 
 Of red fire in the purple sky ; 
 The westward clouds flushed rosy red. 
 In hedge-rows hid, birds sang good-night 
 To poppies in the ripening rye. 
 The great glow changed to yellow light ; 
 And so this summer day was dead. 
 Was it so best ? 
 
 2 2 
 
SOJVGS OF PASSION AND PAIN. 
 
 II. 
 
 Down by the gate 
 
 That guards our garden from the road, 
 
 Our garden with its wealth of flowers, 
 
 Of roses rare, ripe, rich and bright. 
 
 And Hlies flowering flagrant white, 
 
 Sweet-breathbd through the night's slow hours. 
 
 My love stood 'gainst the mellow light ; 
 
 All day I hungered for this sight. 
 
 But yet he never spoke him word. 
 
 Just then one young soft-noted bird, 
 
 That all from joy could find no sleep. 
 
 Nor in its heart great gladness keep. 
 
 Sang sweet from out its moss-lined nest. 
 
 It brought pale tears quick to my eyes. 
 
 Straight welling from my throbbing heart ; 
 
 The sun had long sunk in the west. 
 
 The light died slowly from the skies ; 
 
 Should I in silence let him part ? 
 
 If I be won I must be wooed : 
 
 I let him wait. 
 
 But not for long. 
 
 I plucked from off the tree a rose 
 
PASTORAL SYMPHONY. 
 
 In bud, with moss around it twined, 
 AVhite-leafed ; nor fairer could I find 
 In my flower kingdom, my sweet land ; 
 No richer e'er in garden grows, 
 No rarer e'er pale night-dew sips. 
 I placed it close against my lips, 
 And kissed it once, and kissed it twice, 
 Then held it in my trembling hand 
 To him, still standing by the gate. 
 With one bold bound, and one strong stride, 
 My love was standing by my side. 
 He kissed me twice, he kissed me thrice ; 
 His lips were burning hot, and sweet 
 His words in passion-fashion fleet, 
 Fell from his lips : I was his life. 
 He said, his love. I said 'twas late. 
 Night fell whilst all mute by the gate 
 He stood : he frowned ; I looked and smiled. 
 The while my heart beat wild — beat wild. 
 He kissed again and called me wife. 
 And sweet-heart, love, life of his life ; 
 I sang a song. 
 
SOJVGS OF PASSION AND PAIN 
 
 Kiss, kiss, and kiss. 
 
 Stopped full the words I would have sung, 
 
 And my weak voice grew choked with tears. 
 
 Again he called me little wife ; 
 
 And so the happy hopes of years, 
 
 The sweet crown of my glad young life 
 
 Had come. On his strong heaving breast 
 
 I hid my falling tears : great rest 
 
 Filled my quick heart : his arms he flung 
 
 Around me in protecting grace ; 
 
 No more, no more could I feel lone. 
 
 In both his hands he took my face. 
 
 His tender was as woman's e'er, 
 
 And placed it close against his own ; 
 
 A dark face 'gainst a face of fair, 
 
 Brown locks 'gainst locks of golden hair : 
 
 The night was young and knew no care, 
 
 Kiss, kiss, and bliss. 
 
REST. 
 
 Far from the madding crowd, the noisy throng, 
 When I am dead let my tired body lie, 
 Far from the city's never-ceasing cry ; 
 
 I could not here have rest, for which I long. 
 
 I am aweary struggling with life's waves. 
 
 Like some lost sea-bird in the storm's wild blast ; 
 Seeing no hope around, but death at last 
 
 Amid the turbid breakers which it braves. 
 
 After life's fitful fever when my day 
 
 Is done, and all great yearnings are at rest. 
 These stormy passions dead within my breast, 
 
 Let me sleep deep and long wrapped round in clay. 
 
 Where in the solemn silence I could lie, 
 And through the coming ages calmly rest ; 
 With cold hands crossed athwart this aching breast, 
 
 And face upturned towards the changing sky. 
 
24 SONGS OF PASSION AND PAIN. 
 
 But I would fain lie down where I could feel 
 The sunlight and the shadow of the springs, 
 Like sweet slow passing of an angel's wings, 
 
 At morning and at evening o'er me steal ; 
 
 Where I could feel the blossoms growing fair 
 And hear again the sweet songs of the birds, 
 Like human souls that longed for human words, 
 
 To tell their gladsome stories to the air ; 
 
 Where I could hear the weird-voiced autumn breeze 
 At night through all the lonely wild-woods call ; 
 And list the sodden sound of rain-drops fall, 
 
 On dead leaves lying 'neath the bare brown trees ; 
 
 \\niere I could often hear your light foot-fall, 
 And feel the troubled throbbings of your breast. 
 And in the grass above your warm lips prest. 
 
 This more than all, dear friend, far more than all. 
 
ONE SUMMER DAY.* 
 
 In the morning bright and fair 
 We went sailing down the tide ; 
 High above and far and wide, 
 
 Light and love were in the air. 
 
 II. 
 
 Sailing seaward to the sun 
 Underneath the purple skies, 
 Summer love-light in our eyes. 
 
 Cares or sorrows we had none. 
 
 Wild rich music from the shore, 
 
 Where the birds soft love-lays sang. 
 
 O'er the crystal waters rang, 
 We shall hear it evermore. 
 
 * This poem has been set to music under the title of ' Love and 
 Life.' 
 
26 SONGS OF PASS/ON AND PAIN. 
 
 Soft south breezes filled our sail, 
 Silken sail of azure hue, 
 And upon the waters blue, 
 
 Sunbeams streaked a yellow trail. 
 
 V. 
 
 Fragrant roses pure and white 
 
 Fair as Eden gave of old, 
 
 Crowned my love's bright locks of gold, 
 Falling like rich rays of light. 
 
 Lilies lay on her soft breast. 
 
 Virgin lilies white and sweet ; 
 
 'Neath their leaves her young heart beat, 
 My hot lips their tendrils prest. 
 
 Passions rapture in her eyes ; 
 On her cheek the ripe red rose 
 Fairer than in garden grows ; 
 
 In her soul deep yearning sighs. 
 
ONE SUMMER DA Y. 27 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Wild our hearts, all mute our lips, 
 
 Save with lovers' language sweet ; 
 
 Life at such an hour is fleet 
 Down the glass the sand fast slips. 
 
 High above the purple sky. 
 All around the azure sea, 
 Fanned by fragrant breezes free, 
 
 Heart to heart my love and I. 
 
 Life holds nothing sweet as love ; 
 Love that springs to life unsought. 
 Love untutored, love unbought 
 
 Love like life of spheres above. 
 
 In the golden morning fair 
 Sailing we went down the tide. 
 All around and high and wide 
 
 Love and light were in the air. 
 
'THE GOLDEN STAIR.' 
 (Mr. Burne-J ones' Picture.) 
 
 May maidens fair of face and pale 
 With swaying supple forms and slim, 
 Like lily-stems in fragrant gale. 
 Glad are your clinging garments dim," 
 Rosy the flesh of each lithe limb. 
 
 Your pink feet falling on the stair. 
 
 The stair of gold and marble white, 
 
 Make mellow music in the air, 
 
 Glad through the day, glad through the night. 
 
 Sweet is the sound, yet sweet the sight. 
 
 As sun on autumn leaves of red 
 Your hair of russet brown and gold : 
 Like aureoles bright round the head 
 Of thoughtful dream-eyed saint of old. 
 Of martyr pure, pale-faced and cold. 
 
' THE GOLDEN STAIR.' 
 
 Upon your parted lips lie sighs — 
 To sigh and sing in youth 'tis well ; 
 Deep are the mysteries of your eyes, 
 Love-lights in their sweet shadows dwell ; 
 What your hearts hold may no man tell. 
 
 With silver cymbals in your hands, 
 In pale procession sage and slow, 
 Glide you like happy angel-bands. 
 Your cheeks as white as roses grow : 
 As roses rare and vair ne'er blow. 
 
 How sound your silver citherns pure, 
 With lays of many melodies. 
 And tenderness that sure allure, 
 Sounds sweet as woke by blissful breeze 
 Far out on sleeping singing seas ! 
 
 Are your glad voices like the choir 
 Of angels that a saved soul hears 
 'Bove the purple cloud-lands higher ; 
 Strains fraught with love divine and tears. 
 And fullest joys of yearned-for years ? 
 
30 SONGS OF PASSION AND PAIN. 
 
 Is but this pictured golden stair, 
 This marble gleaming gladsome shrine 
 With many maidens rare and fair, 
 Of seraph spheres sweet as a sign, 
 Spheres of some sainted state divine ? 
 
 Or are you but this artist's dream, 
 A dreamful haunting painted prayer, 
 Rare radiant enough to seem 
 Pale angels singing through the air. 
 In great glad beauty transfixed fair ? 
 
JOHN KEATS. 
 
 BoxN 1795 ; Died 1821. 
 'At one time he said, " I feel the daisies growing over me." ' 
 
 W. M. ROSSETTI. 
 
 So soon to leave this land and calmly lie 
 In songless silent sorrow still and cold, 
 With wasted white hands placed in nerveless fold 
 
 On throbless breast, beneath the wondrous sky 
 
 Sleeping so sound in solemn shroud of clay, 
 Whilst fair the earth you loved, with love sweet told. 
 All fruitful in rich blossoms white and gold, 
 
 Smiles gladsome in the sunny face of day. 
 
 Why cease full soon and sudden your sweet song ? 
 
 When we its tones had just begun to hear ; 
 
 And hearing felt some strange and saddening fear 
 We would not list its melodies for long. 
 
32 SONGS OF PASSION AND PAIN. 
 
 You too knew this, for sad to us you said 
 In tearful accents tremulous and low, 
 You felt the daisies had begun to grow 
 
 White, on the brown turf prest above your head . 
 
 Sweet flowers and pale, studding the green fields' floor. 
 In death we placed them in your wasted hand ; 
 Have they gone with you to that fairer land 
 
 To which the grave is but a darksome door ? 
 
 Full soon the angel Death kissed out the light 
 Low lying in your deep and dreamy eyes, 
 Sweet smiling as the bluest summer skies ; 
 
 And all from pity kissed your broad brow white ; 
 
 And kissed your lips with young blood warm and red, 
 Like tender lover, loath from love to part ; 
 And placed cold hands on your quick-beating heart : 
 
 Then singing, your freed spirit upward led. 
 
 Soaring far o'er this valley of dark tears. 
 Sad with the sounds of never-ceasing sighs, 
 Where care lives long and summer swiftly dies. 
 
 To purest fair ethereal far spheres. 
 
JOHN KEATS. 33 
 
 Where with white light, rich robed among the throngs 
 Of countless angels, tier on tier above. 
 In heaven's heights, filled with the bliss of love, 
 
 Melodious you sing divinest songs. 
 
 Time has your name upon the waters writ : 
 Wide waters washed from shore to silver shore. 
 Singing your songs for ever — never more. 
 
 With fame's unfading golden glory lit. 
 
IMPROVISION IN WHITE AND GOLD. 
 
 You are as. fair, as fair 
 
 As wild white lily grows 
 As sweet as summer air, 
 As amorous June rose. 
 All red and pink and gold 
 
 All warm and white. 
 And full of joys untold, 
 And dear delight. 
 
 God made you fair to see 
 
 In all men's sight. 
 Love, rosy glad and free, 
 
 Whilst you in slumber light 
 
IMPROVISTON IN WHITE AND GOLD. 35 
 
 Your lithesome young limbs lay 
 
 At dead of night, 
 Made sweet as summer day, 
 
 Your beauty bright. 
 
 Your sweet sweet-scented hair 
 
 Of purest palest gold, 
 In its bright meshes snare 
 
 In twisted band and fold, 
 Rich rays of summer's sun : 
 
 Men call it bliss 
 When passion's course is run 
 These coils to kiss. 
 
 Lips like a poppy bud, 
 
 Ripe rosy lips and rare ; 
 All warm with flame and blood, 
 
 Breathing amorous air : 
 For kisses from your mouth 
 More sweet than wine 
 From purple vines far south, 
 Men pale and pine. 
 
 3—2 
 
36 SONGS OF PASSION AND PAIN. 
 
 In your sweet smile sighs death, 
 
 In your hot kiss Hes pain : 
 Soul withers at your breath, 
 
 When once your head has lain 
 Its weight of golden sheen 
 
 On panting breast ; 
 That hencemore knows I ween 
 No joys more blest. 
 
 No fairer form than yours 
 
 In supple slenderness, 
 In ripe red charm that lures. 
 
 In clinging tenderness, 
 E'er this lost land made glad : 
 
 With gladness wild. 
 And wildest gladness mad. 
 And all defiled. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Deep in your great green eyes, 
 
 I wot it woke full soon, 
 Vast wealth of passion lies 
 
 That makes the quick blood swoon, 
 
IMPROVISION IN WHITE AND GOLD. 37 
 
 And sick from all desire, 
 
 From very pain, 
 That scathes like living fire, 
 
 Like blood-red rain. 
 
 Why were you made as fair 
 
 As pale pure lily grows, 
 And sweet as summer air 
 
 That down the vine-hill blows ? 
 For love and your sweet sake, 
 
 Men laughing fell. 
 Contented with their stake. 
 Deep down to hell. 
 
AUTUMN. 
 
 ( A painting in words. ) 
 
 O SWEET third season of the year, 
 
 Begot of summer days and dear : 
 
 Crowned richest of your sisters four 
 
 With earth's fair fruits. From shore to shore 
 
 Inward, the wide and happy land 
 Teems with your gifts. In your right hand 
 Rich mellow fruits and luscious rest, 
 Your left deep purple stained with wines. 
 Grasps fragrant tendrils of ripe vines. 
 Red poppies nestle 'gainst your breast, 
 Your locks are mixed with ears of wheat 
 
 That wreathe like wind around your brow, 
 With pensive shadows touched e'en now. 
 The glad gold grain lies at your feet 
 In billows, like an amber sea 
 At sunset. Soft winds sighing free 
 
AUTUMN. 39 
 
 Across the wide brown fields and bare, 
 Play with the tresses of your hair, 
 Swaying your garments, russet-red. 
 The withered leaves of summer dead 
 Fall softly on your downcast head, 
 
 Downcast, but beautiful and meek, 
 Lining the pathway where you tread. 
 Athrough the listening woods sere, bare. 
 Thrilling with melodies that ring 
 Full peaceful in your ears, birds sing 
 Glad grateful notes, to the calm skies 
 When westward eve's first shadow lies. 
 The red sun gUnts upon your cheek. 
 With kisses ere quick falls the night 
 And the round moon that serves you rise 
 Yellow through mists of purple air 
 Wrapping you in fair silver light. 
 
 Sweet restfulness beams from your eyes. 
 
A SILENT SONG, 
 
 Rest your tired heart upon my breast; 
 
 Close claspt my arms around you twine ; 
 Here let your bruised heart have rest, 
 Swift prest to mine. 
 
 Your lone life long in shadow lay, 
 
 In shades that knew nor light nor bUss ; 
 For love is as the sun to day, 
 A love like this. 
 
 Full fleet your amorous bosom throbs, 
 
 O rapturous glad night of ours ; 
 Your low voice thrills with subdued sobs 
 Through silent hours. 
 
 .Sweet is the odour of your breath. 
 
 Sweet are your lips on mouth and cheek ; 
 Nor dearer joys from birth to death 
 E'er would I seek. 
 
A SILENT SONG. 41 
 
 As one that thirsteth long I kiss 
 
 To slake this burning fever pain, 
 That surging fills my blood with bliss, 
 Nor know restrain. 
 
 Sad silent tears are in your eyes ; 
 Is happiness but joy or pain ? 
 Deep in your great glad heart are sighs, 
 For loss or gain ? 
 
 Come closer yet, breast unto breast ; 
 Kiss lip to lip, love's nectar sign ; 
 For ever let your heart find rest 
 Claspt close to mine. 
 
UNTO THIS LAST. 
 
 Dead, dead, dead, dead ! 
 
 What does death mean, great God of all ? 
 
 Was it in answer to Your call 
 
 The spirit fled ? 
 
 Unto God's compassionate ears 
 
 In wildest desolation could I shriek 
 
 Through all the dense darkness of cold crushing fears ; 
 
 But tears, from force, drown deep my voice — salt tears. 
 
 Scathing and hot, that with the heart's blood reek. 
 
 Kisses softly on your white cold lips prest, 
 
 Smiling wanly for the last time ; 
 
 My strong hand claspt to your scarce throbbing breast, 
 
 In tender feeble grasp, and chill to rest 
 
 Tremulous till all, all is o'er. 
 
 Eyes meeting mine that never, never more 
 
 Shall meet my own on earth : fast-closing eyes. 
 
 Cold heavy death-sweat quick gathering lies 
 
UNTO THIS LAST. 43 
 
 In great drops on your hair and most white brow. 
 
 The shadow deepens even now, 
 
 The eerie shadow of mysterious death : 
 
 Ah God, this cruel struggle for mere breath, 
 
 Uncertain sounding and in whispers low — 
 
 As summer morning's faint sweet wind — 
 
 Laboured and hard to catch your voice and slow : 
 
 Now wandering afar your mind 
 
 Back to your childhood's earlier fair days 
 
 With quaint sweet pleasures in their country ways. 
 
 Spring rain and sunshine in the air : 
 
 Old orchard trees crowned white with blossoms fair 
 
 And promises of goodly yields, 
 
 Round cottage roofs close clustered — roofs of red. 
 
 Blue clouds of sweet smoke sailing to the sky 
 
 Opal hued — cloudless — fathomless — serene : 
 
 Glad songs of mated birds in trees : 
 
 White daisies paving wide rich fields of green : 
 
 Among tall grass half hid, the pale primrose : 
 
 Fragrant hawthorn lining the long hedgerows, 
 
 Loading with perfume the fresh breeze : 
 
 The muffled roll of wheels on distant roads, 
 
 Slow turning from full-weighted loads : 
 
 The musical and careless happy cry 
 
 Of merry gold-haired children in the fields, 
 
 Chasing the first blue butterfly. 
 
44 SONGS OF PASSION AND PAIN. 
 
 Ah, terrible, at this dread dying hour 
 
 When life's few sands rush downward fast 
 
 To their last grains with swift power, 
 
 Your last upon this earth — your very last : 
 
 Say, can you heed my words, or hear ? 
 
 Close are my quivering lips to your ear : 
 
 Breathe but my name — speak one, but one word more, 
 
 My darling, heart of my heart's core ! 
 
 Sweet love, vague are your words and wild ; 
 
 Can you not see me here, nor understand? 
 
 Press as a sign my outstretched hand : 
 
 Ah, cruel, cruel hour — oh heart most sore ! 
 
 Thank God, you smile now as a child : 
 
 A sweet smile gleaming with calm grace. 
 
 Is it of some white-winged angel's pure face — 
 
 One of God's invisible race — 
 
 A reflex ? mild is it, and pure as mild. 
 
 How fast your shrinking hand grows cold 
 
 That grasped in my strong hand I clinging hold. 
 
 As if to keep the wan life there ; 
 
 And motionless amost the linen fold 
 
 Above your bosom deadly fair. 
 
 God's mercy ! what is that deep-breathed sigh, 
 
 That cruel, chilling, harsh, convulsive gasp, 
 
 Quick drawn and full of direst agony ? 
 
 As if the soul, with one wild wrench and free, 
 
UNTO THIS LAST. 45 
 
 Had 'scaped the body's cold close-clinging clasp. 
 
 Why this sad shuddering, most pallid thrill, 
 
 This relax so awfully still ? 
 
 Great God, not yet — she must not die ! 
 
 You are full merciful, hear my soul's cry 
 
 Wild sounding from the depths of its despair. 
 
 Will cries have no avail — nor strong prayer 
 
 Pleading from the heart reach Your ears ? 
 
 I cannot bear it — must we part ? 
 
 O world of wilderness, dead heart ! 
 
 O barren life, pale pain-fraught years, 
 
 Waste tempest-torrent of black bitter tears ! 
 
 Dead, dead, dead, dead ! 
 
 ***** 
 
 Master of death and life supreme. 
 
 Your outstretched hand holds dark and light. 
 
 Is this pale shadow of the night. 
 
 Coming as in a noiseless dream. 
 
 Your messenger trusted and true. 
 
 Homeward safe leading us through time to You ? 
 
NOCTURNE IN WHITE AND SILVER. 
 
 Beneath your casement high last night, 
 I stayed, sweet love, where shadows lay : 
 Around your form more fair than day 
 
 The moon-rays fell in broad bright light. 
 
 Like vision shaped from cloud and air 
 You stood against the blue of night, 
 Defined, clad but with silver light, 
 
 In grateful beauty ripe and fair. 
 
 Pale panting stars in purple skies 
 
 On yojur white limbs in gladness gleamed 
 I envied those fair rays that beamed 
 
 Though they were angels' purest eyes. 
 
 The south wind in its swift soft flight 
 In rapture kissed your bosom bare, 
 Than wild-wood snow-drop farer fair ; 
 
 O blest, blest breeze of summer night ! 
 
NOCTURNE IN WHITE AND SILVER. 47 
 
 Your hair fell down as rays of gold 
 
 Crowning the head of some sweet saint, 
 That Raphael had loved to paint, 
 
 In those glad dreamy days of old. 
 
 Fair fragrant buds that blossom bright 
 And round your lattice window creep, 
 In wonderment awoke from sleep 
 
 To gaze on you all pink and white. 
 
 One young rash rose in passion prest 
 From out the purple gloom of night. 
 To kiss your lithe limbs warm and white. 
 
 And lay its head on your rich breast. 
 
 I saw the ripe blood like a tide 
 
 Athrougb your blue veins freely flow 
 At its soft touch ; a wondrous glow 
 
 Your lily cheek dark crimson dyed. 
 
 O gold-crowned queen — O maiden rose ! 
 
 I watched your heart throb fast and free. 
 
 Did it enshrine full thoughts of me ? 
 Your soul its own deep secrets knows. 
 
 But cloudless sapphire plains above 
 The world lay silent as the deep. 
 All but red roses wrapped in sleep ; 
 
 Could you but hear my sighs, dear love ! 
 
48 SONGS OF PASS/ON AND PAIN. 
 
 Could I but clasp you to my heart ; 
 Could I your red ripe lips but kiss, 
 With rapture frantic from wild bliss, 
 
 Would you, fair love, have had us part ? 
 
THE LADY MADGE. 
 
 The Lady Madge sat at her braiden-frame 
 
 Aworking with fair threads : for ever sighs 
 Hang on her lips : alvvay she named a name : 
 The tears did shine in her eyes. 
 
 Her hair was gold fretted a' through with light, 
 
 Her een a' blue were very sweet to see. 
 Her face and fair was winsome in men's sight, 
 Her lips tender as may be. 
 
 Her knight he had gone to the Holy Land 
 
 Three summers by : she feared he did lie dead. 
 'Fore he went he kissed her lily-white hand. 
 And promised her sweet to wed. 
 
 Erst gave her vair a bright ring of good gold, 
 
 Of his full faith to her a token best. 
 She gave him from out her girdle's sweet fold, 
 A rose that lay 'neath her breast. 
 
 4 
 
50 SO/VGS OF PASSION AND PAIN. 
 
 He to his lips did place it like a knight 
 
 And brave, he was I trow of goodly mien ; 
 Then rode he far way from his lady's sight, 
 Her name in his heart I ween. 
 
 She did pray for him at the Virgin's shrine, 
 
 That the sweet Dame would keep him from a' rue ; 
 When she saw pale the stars above her shine. 
 She did say he saw them too. 
 
 Three full summers and good did come and go ; 
 
 Alack, the while many a sigh sighed she ! 
 But 'mong the slain he ne'er did lay him low ; 
 For spared in the fray was he. 
 
 One eve he did come at the vesper hour 
 
 And spake her name, the while his heart did beat ; 
 To him swift did she come from out her bow'r, 
 They kissed them full long and sweet. 
 
KERO AND LEANDER. 
 
 Great silver streaks upon the sleeping sea : 
 White waves and wild that leap in passion free, 
 To kiss the singing soft winds as they stray 
 From distant fragrant groves of orange trees, 
 Far outward to the yearning sapphire seas, 
 Across the beating bosom of the bay. 
 
 Blest hour, when rich the wide earth looks most fair 
 In tranquil brightness of rich amorous air ; 
 Disturbed but by the dear divinest song 
 Of nightingales, that in rich notes and long. 
 Now sinking sweet away, now near and strong. 
 Pour out in rippling melodies their song. 
 Rare as e'er rang above the listening deep 
 Or waked red roses from their rapturous sleep. 
 Fair land, far sea, and tender sky above, 
 Proclaim the time and season of sweet love I 
 
 4-2 
 
52 SONGS OF PASSION AND PAIN. 
 
 On such a night patient pale Hero stands 
 Where broad blue seas roll o'er the golden sands ; 
 With straining eyes and wildly streaming hair 
 Swept dark against her throbbing bosom fair ; 
 And arms outstretched as if in yearning pain 
 'Gainst her white breasts Leander's form to strain. 
 Half filled with rapture, half with nameless dread, 
 Her young face grows in turn from pale to red. 
 Her heart's quick beat proves Time a laggard slow ; 
 On her hot lips swift sighs are breathed low, 
 Quick quenched by fiercest heat of their desire ; 
 As tears that fall in flames of reddest fire. 
 
 But now Leander comes quick through the spray 
 
 Like sea-god rising from the shadows grey, 
 
 Bounding with all a fabled fawn's glad grace. 
 
 In richest rude nude beauty of his race : 
 
 His delicate most shapely body bare, 
 
 His graceful lithe limbs smooth as marble fair ; 
 
 Adonis-like in form — all undefiled 
 
 And pale from purest passion, his heart wild ; 
 
 His dark locks dripping, his glad eyes aflame 
 
 With love's rare rapture thrilling through his frame. 
 
 With lips close meeting lips in love, and long 
 Brest from delight of passion rapture-strong 
 
HERO AND LEANDER. 53 
 
 They greet, and arms amorously entwined : 
 
 Kiss close again and yet new sweetness find, 
 
 Till breathless from full fervour Hero lies 
 
 Trembling on young Leander's breast. Love dies 
 
 Amost, from very ecstasy of bliss, 
 
 Waked to rare rhapsodies by hours like this. 
 
 What words fell from their lips in burning show'rs ! 
 
 What deepest love vowed for all coming years ! 
 
 Filling with music each the other's ears, 
 
 Whilst through the night swift swept the golden hours- 
 
 O Love, what tender, wondrous sweets are yours ; 
 What magic spell that all earth's children lures 
 With joys divine, that sating never fill 
 For long, the hot heart's full desire, nor still 
 The cravings of its ceaseless sweet requests, 
 The restless yearnings of pale panting breasts. 
 
 But fleet the dark hours of the dear night die. 
 And eastward, in the faintly flushing sky. 
 Low bars of light in crimson glory glow, 
 With anger flushed ; whilst rolling dark and low 
 Black with threat'ning tempests, many a cloud 
 Swift crosses o'er the sky ; whilst thunder loud 
 Like cannons roar, and sound of crashing lance, 
 In sullen tones, heralds the storm's advance. 
 
54 SONGS OF PASSION AND PAIN. 
 
 Now louder growing with repeated crash : 
 ^\'ide o'er the main the vivid hghtnings flash 
 Lights with white fire each separate surging wave 
 Across their rising foam-crests wild winds rave, 
 Like dread and darksome tempest spirits mad, 
 By foulest vengeful glee made wildly glad ! 
 
 With one long strong embrace exhausting bliss. 
 
 And one farewell voluptuous wild kiss, 
 
 Leander from his arms resigned his love ; 
 
 And fearless of the signs that high above 
 
 Spake threatening of the raging storm — all brave 
 
 In youth and courage — dashed into the wave, 
 
 That lashed to fury in its wild fierce glee 
 
 And strong, tossed far and fro his body free. 
 
 On high there is no light, no pale night stars 
 
 Seen 'twixt the rent clouds' black wide-stretching bars 
 
 Above his head the waters fiercely dash, 
 
 Wild wave meets wave with sudden cruel crash ; 
 
 The while foam, tempest-tossed ascending high. 
 
 Dashes its swift flakes to the lowering sky ; 
 
 Whilst sea-birds shrieking in the startled air. 
 
 Sing loud and long their song of sad despair : 
 
 Sounding a direful dirge-cry in his ears : 
 
 The salt-sea fills his eyes with drenching tears ; 
 
 Close round his limbs the storm-lashed sea-weed coils 
 
 In oozy grip like strangUng demon toils. 
 
HERO AND LEANDER. 55 
 
 In vain to struggle for his strong bright life 
 Amid the wondrous madness of the strife : 
 Into the yawning gulph of endless night, 
 Pow'rless he sinks. With sudden wild affright 
 Loud thunders clap in terror 'bove his head, 
 Through heaven's vast cathedral echoed long 
 In requiem peals : thrice sad sounding song, 
 Deep-toned above the silent graveless dead. 
 
 O brave Leander, that such sudden fate 
 
 Should on your passionate bright young life wait ! 
 
 Glad life, with pleasure in its morning air. 
 
 More sweet than all earth holds, and farer fair. 
 
 Rich with ripe promises, like purple vine 
 
 Swinging its clustered blossoms to and fro. 
 
 In golden summer sunlight as a sign 
 
 Of happy autumn and red wine's rare flow 
 
 Most sweet white body of a hero dead. 
 
 Now that life's light has once for ever fled, 
 
 Who shall unto fair Hero's arms restore 
 
 Your form in all its matchless noble grace ? 
 
 What kisses may renew to your young face, 
 
 Now pallid with grey shadows of death's night. 
 
 Its amorous rapture and its rare love-light ? 
 
 What close embrace bring back the lips rare red. 
 
 Lips laughing late, that of life's sweetest vine 
 
 Drank deep and long and strong — love's heart-red wine ; 
 
56 SONGS OF PASS/ON AND PAIN. 
 
 Or scare away the glassy stare and dead, 
 
 Filling with weirdsome glare your deep dark eyes 
 
 In wild wide wonder open to the skies ; 
 
 What words make your still heart beat as of yore 
 
 Against the heart 'twill press now nevermore ? 
 
 Alas ! that unto love such end should be, 
 
 Great God 'twas swift and matchless misery. 
 
 I'air Hero yet knew nought of this sad scene, 
 
 Vet feared the more that night's most darksome screen 
 
 Descending to the earth from lowering skies, 
 
 To this swift storm's wild wrath obscured her eyes. 
 
 Her pulse throbbed fiercely and her heart beat slow 
 
 From sickly terror : whilst hot hectic glow 
 
 Crept through her blood like flames of liquid fires 
 
 That wrap sad martyrs pale, from kindled pyres : 
 
 Fearing fierce madness in her fevered brain ; 
 
 Fearing dull reason should slow life remain 
 
 Survivor of Leander's days and love. 
 
 Calling in fervid tones on gods above, 
 
 For help in this her cruel hour of pain ; 
 
 But weird wild winds alone gave back refrain 
 
 In solemn sighs and sad above the wave. 
 
 Like fun'ral voices that remorseful rave 
 
 In anguish o'er dread blackness of the grave. 
 
HERO AND LEANDER. 57 
 
 A faint break in the skies, cast pale and bright, 
 From 'twixt the torn edges of black clouds rent, 
 A sickly hue of pale radiance lent 
 A lustre to the raging tempest's might. 
 Afar, afar, pale Hero strained her sight 
 To see at length all motionless and white. 
 Tossed sportive on the waters black as night. 
 From wave to wave in fiendish delight 
 Leander dead. No wild wail rent the air, 
 But on her soul fell passionless despair ; 
 From agony, that knowing no refrain. 
 Is mute from wildness of its mad'ning pain; 
 Soul-sick from sorrow, from all sorrow slain. 
 
 Leander lost ! then all long life would seem 
 
 A cold sad shadow, like vain mocking dream ; 
 
 Its days all colourless and waste; its nights 
 
 Full empty now and voidless of dehghts. 
 
 Of passion-kisses breathless from sweet force. 
 
 Fierce, and warm with blood from the hot heart's source, 
 
 And luscious on their lips as those long sighed 
 
 And hoped for yearningly by new-made bride ; 
 
 And close embrace that made the blue veins thrill. 
 
 All, all was o'er. Was this the wrathful will 
 
 Of direful Fury or malicious Fate 
 
 That cast on such deep love rank malign hate. 
 
S8 SOJVGS OF PASSION AND PAIN. 
 
 If so let Fate and Fury reckless sate 
 Before the morrow's rise of crimson sun. 
 Their fiercest vengeance as they had begun 
 
 With shriek that might have roused the sleeping dead, 
 And arms in wildness tossed above her head, 
 Her long hair on the shrill winds floating free. 
 Pale smiles on her sad lips, her face weird white, 
 Defiant, raised against the dark of night 
 She swiftly dashed into the seething sea. 
 
 Still fierce and fast the elements wild waged 
 Their war ; and wild, black tossing waters raged 
 Furious : roaring as men in madness rave. 
 In this most terrible sad self-sought grave 
 Hero found death. Rocked by the roaring deep 
 As cradled infant to pale dreamless sleep. 
 
MINOR MELODY. 
 
 The night was amorous from heat ; 
 
 We two lay 'neath the apple trees : 
 Heavy the air from fragrance sweet, 
 
 No rustle in the boughs, no breeze. 
 
 Upon the clouds no pale moon-streak, 
 No stars and bright in all the skies ; 
 
 My love lay by me, on my cheek 
 I felt her warm and wistful sighs. 
 
 My head lay on her yielding breast. 
 
 The night was young the night was sweet ; 
 
 But ah, her hot heart knew no rest, 
 It beat so wild it beat so fleet. 
 
 Pale parched and yearning for her kiss 
 With fever wild from this dear drought, 
 
 And faint from fierce desire of bliss, 
 I raised my lips to her red mouth. 
 
6o SONGS OF PASS/ON AND PAIN. 
 
 I knew not how the night grew old ; 
 
 From where in rapture lost I lay, 
 Through fretted branches grey and cold 
 
 I saw the first faint flush of day. 
 
A REQUIEM SYMPHONY. 
 
 Do I but dream, as in a troubled sleep, 
 
 I see you lifeless lying on your bed? 
 
 Some voices near nie say that you are dead ; 
 It cannot be, you do but slumber deep. 
 
 Dead, with the sunshine on your set white face, 
 Tinging to golden hues your brown bright hair, 
 Touching with light those eyes whose sightless stare 
 
 Shall meet mine never with their old frank grace. 
 
 Dead, while the glad light dances in the sky, 
 
 And fragrant roses sweeten all the air ; 
 
 While far and wide the world is bright and fair, 
 And sweet the wild birds in loud rapture cry. 
 
 Dead, dead ! while all the land lies rich in bloom, 
 While blossoms rare and ripe the wide fields crown, 
 And soft winds from the hills come wand'ring down, 
 
 Is but the brown and narrow grave your doom ? 
 
62 SONGS OF PASS/ON AND PAIN. 
 
 Dead in the dawn of all your gladdest days; 
 
 What sin was yours to cause so dark a fate ? 
 
 What sin is mine that thus all desolate 
 My heart must wear its sombre crown of bays ? 
 
 You were so frank and true, so brave and bright, 
 
 So human in your failings manifold ; 
 
 Your noblest traits were all unknown, untold, 
 Beneath the bushel's shade you hide your light. 
 
 All women loved you for your gentle ways. 
 Your winsome manner and your sunny smile ; 
 In your young heart I know there was no guile. 
 
 Would it be so if you had length of days ? 
 
 A brief week since you laughed in boyish glee 
 
 At some quaint wit : your arm linked close in mine, 
 As we two sauntered where sweet hedge-rows line 
 
 Green meadows, kissed by idle breezes free. 
 
 Will you lie wrapped in shadows through the night 
 In dark drear solemn silence here, the while 
 Upon your parted lips a farewell smile. 
 
 Your young face through the darkness peering white ? 
 
 No, no, you are not dead ; give me some sign 
 You are not yet a voiceless thing of clay, 
 You rest but from the heat of summer day ; 
 
 Rise up and take this outstretched hand of mine. 
 
A REQUIEM SYMPHONY. 63 
 
 A thousand times your voice rings in my ear ; 
 I catch the words of some familiar phrase, 
 I hear the tones of some old college lays : 
 
 You are not dead, I feel that you are here. 
 
 Great God ! is this but all a wild dark dream ? 
 
 Our lives are one — we cannot, cannot part. 
 
 Is there some pity for me in Your heart ? 
 Let me but wake ; things are not as they seem. 
 
 If this be true — if this be true, O God, 
 
 That he is dead, how dark the coming night 
 Of my young life ! my days shall know no light ; 
 
 I cannot bow and kiss the chastening rod. 
 
PSALM TO A WAYSIDE CRUCIFIX. 
 
 O CROSS ! sad tragic symbol in men's sight, 
 Standing defined against the westward sky ; 
 Above this dusty roadway raised on high, 
 Deep-brown against the sinking crimson hght. 
 At your rough base sweet simple blossoms blow 
 Fresh free and fragrant in the summer sun, 
 Dew-gemmed at eve, when all the day is done, 
 With tears that ghsten in their white heart's low. 
 
 Around your broad dark shafts in masses fly 
 White flocks of sea-birds from the grey rocks bare, 
 Like great clouds poising in the yellow air, 
 Filling the sunlight with their wild sweet cry. 
 At night the passing west winds from the lea 
 Sigh round your shelt'ring arms as if in pain ; 
 Wailing like sad drowned sinners' last refrain. 
 From out the darkness of the sobbing sea. 
 
PSALM TO A WAYSIDE CRUCIFIX. 65 
 
 O Christ ! close fastened to this rugged tree, 
 
 Thy head in shameful misery bowed low, 
 
 Thy lifeless white limbs stretched in direst woe, 
 
 On Thy calm face the gloom of agony : 
 
 Upon this arid highway through the day, 
 
 The humble toilers of the field and sea 
 
 With many a prayer and sigh to Thee, 
 
 And rev'rent muttered church-chant, pass the way. 
 
 Thy sad death speaks of mystic love untold 
 
 Love like which on this earth no heart may know ; 
 
 Like sunlight on the purest and most low 
 
 Thy mercies fall alike and manifold. 
 
 Dead Master hanging on this cruel cross, 
 
 My days are fraught with labour and sore loss ; 
 
 Full sad with all the sorrows of waste years, 
 
 All weary with my falsest life and bad, 
 
 Deep weighted with red sins, with sighing sad, 
 
 And bitter with the brine of unshed tears. 
 
 Men say for sinners Thou hast wept and bled, 
 
 To give the sin-sick weary-hearted rest ; 
 
 Lord Christ, hear my most earnest sole request, 
 
 Do Thou remember me when I lie dead. 
 
MARGUERITE AND FAUST. 
 
 O FLOWER-FACE Marguerite, 
 
 White-browed : most rare and sweet 
 The sad glad glamour of your dear dark ej'es ; 
 
 Pale pure and modest maid 
 
 As ever good God bade 
 Grow blossom-like beneath high heaven's skies. 
 
 So ripe your lips and red, 
 
 As if by roses fed ; 
 And sweet as summer sun your happy smile. 
 
 Ah, Faust, it were great bliss. 
 
 Great bliss, false Faust, to kiss 
 Her mouth : she never knew nor sin nor wile. 
 
MARGUERITE AND FAUST. 67 
 
 Bowed head at sainted shrine, 
 
 You seemed amost divine, 
 Your just thoughts rose in fragrance to the skies. 
 
 Incense-like on the air 
 
 When you knelt calm in prayer ; 
 And fair you looked to false Faust's lovelorn eyes. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Meetly your mien cast down : 
 
 Your hair like richest crown 
 Of deepest gold that glints to russet red. 
 
 Like corn 'neath autumn skies 
 
 When sunlight rippling lies 
 On its glad grain : sweet the turn of your head. 
 
 Ah, pure and fairest saint. 
 Good your wise ways and quaint. 
 
 And gentle as the movements of a dove : 
 Deep down in your red heart, 
 Rest thoughts that ne'er depart. 
 
 Dream-thoughts of days that come alone with love. 
 
 s— 2 
 
SONGS OF PASSION AND PAIN. 
 
 Glad your pale throbbing breast 
 Fair for Faust's head to rest ; 
 
 More restful pillow man's head never knew 
 And your round throat is white, 
 Shapely as flower-stem light, 
 
 More supple than in garden never grew. 
 
 Did you in dear delight, 
 
 Faust, through the night's swift flight. 
 That rushed to tell its secret bliss to day. 
 
 Feel prest against your own 
 
 Her mouth like bud just blown? 
 Ah bliss, ah kiss, how sweet what song shall sa) ? 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Faust, in your arms and strong 
 
 In rapt embrace and long 
 Her gentle body close from love has lain. 
 
 Love that was cruel and kind, 
 
 Love that was bliss and blind, 
 ^\'he^ glad and mad your passion pain was slain. 
 
MARGUERITE AND FAUST. 69 
 
 IX. 
 
 Lost hours of rapture rare, 
 Wild tossed her red-gold hair, 
 
 In tawny clouds around her shoulders bare, 
 Loosed from its plaited bands : 
 Sweet were her clinging hands. 
 
 And sweet upon her lips her sighs as prayer. 
 
 Ah, false Faust, now in hell, 
 
 Once it was wise and well 
 To know such love close kin from joy to pain : 
 
 Now on your sulphurous bed. 
 
 Serpents twined round your head. 
 Does not its secret sweets to you remain ? 
 
 XI. 
 
 Blue fire and devil's doom, 
 Fierce flame and scorching fume, 
 
 Reptiles full foul and weird blood-freezing moan, 
 Heart-feeding green snakes sleek. 
 Red chains and sad-soul shriek, 
 
 Are weighted light with love that you have known. 
 
70 SONGS OF PASSION AND PAIN. 
 
 Ah, flower-faced Marguerite, 
 
 Now with gold-sandled feet 
 You walk full fair among the blissful blest ; 
 
 Silver-voiced harp in hand, 
 
 Singing throughout the land. 
 Does your sweet soul know now pale peace, rich rest ? 
 
 Or do you yearning sigh, 
 
 In lands 'bove sea and sky. 
 For love, though brief, you found so full of sweet ? 
 
 Say, do your thoughts e'er dwell 
 
 On Faust loved, lost in hell, 
 Whose lips so good your lips may never meet ? 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Poor Faust, mad and bad — 
 
 False Faust, sad and glad, 
 Looks up into the depths of night's blue skies ; 
 
 Thinking of your limbs fair. 
 
 Wondering whilst writhing there 
 In hell, if some pale stars are your calm eyes. 
 
MARGUERITE AND FAUST. 71 
 
 Sad was your vengeful fate, 
 Swift-winged, and armed with hate, 
 
 And gleaming sword deep dipped in deadly gore : 
 Did you but meet to part, 
 Heart wrenched from wretched heart, 
 
 Quivering pale from pain — core rent from core ? 
 
TO ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE. 
 
 A SONG OF LIBERTY. 
 
 Sing us, singer sonorous and strong, 
 
 With melodious thrill in your voice : 
 Let the triumphant chords of your song 
 Ringing rich with rare rhapsodies choice, 
 
 Sound on high, as the songs of the spheres. 
 Whilst we listen we know not false fears, 
 Nor the sighs nor the sorrows of years 
 With sad weight of pale passionate tears. 
 
 Loud to the angel of Liberty 
 
 Sing our vows whilst we kneel at her shrine. 
 At her strong feet, unsheathed and free 
 
 Is her sword : from its broad blade outshine 
 Freedom's fairest unquenchable light, 
 Through dense darkness and mists of the night, 
 Through fierce tempests and terrors where might 
 Grasps the sceptre and crown of wronged right. 
 
TO ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE. 73 
 
 On her brow gleams the white star of hope, 
 There is no ray more bright in the skies : 
 And the strands of her hair, like a rope 
 Of dead-gold hue, her fair forehead ties. 
 
 There is strength in the grasp of her hands 
 That have held fast men's lives a,nd wide lands, 
 That have waved her bright banner to bands 
 Bleeding red on war-fields and far sands. 
 
 Tell her true in sweet song that we wait 
 
 Till our nations shall know a new birth ; 
 That we look high to heaven's great gate. 
 Resting long till it ope, and the earth 
 
 Shall be white with the sweep of her wings, 
 And the air with her trumpet-voice rings. 
 As the herald of holier things. 
 As the bearer of new laws she brings. 
 
 Say in silence we wait by the shore, 
 
 Through the troubled and tremulous years. 
 As the sonowful Jews did of yore, 
 
 But with hope in our eyes, not sad tears. 
 Say our spirits are living, not dead. 
 That our blood still is quick and rose-red, 
 That our true words are given and said. 
 That our lives unto freedom are wed. 
 
74 SOJVGS OF PASS/ON AND PAIN. 
 
 Say we wait but the glad golden rise, 
 
 When the night of dense darkness is done ; 
 With uplifted and far-seeing eyes 
 
 We watch eastward the rise of the sun. 
 
 Say our hearts are still true and the same, 
 Say our strong lives, are hers but to claim, 
 And in Liberty's cause and white name 
 Shall we march to red death and bright fame. 
 
 Sing this loud 'bove the din of our times. 
 
 Your skilled hands strike the passionate kt;ys 
 Of men's lives ; that respond to your rhymes, 
 Beating quick to your free melodies 
 
 With swift pleasure close mated to pain. 
 In your voice are sad sighs that have lain 
 In your soul. In its wistful refrain 
 Sounds the fall of the hot heart's red rain. 
 
CHANT TO THE DEATH-ANGEL. 
 
 At midnight when earth knows no light, 
 
 And wild wet winds sing solemn mystic staves, 
 Through the hushed silence of deep darksome night, 
 
 Above the peaceful grass-grown graves, 
 Come with your angel glory bright, 
 
 Dear Death : lull me in your cold arms and strong ; 
 Wrap me in shadows of your wide wings white, 
 
 My panting lips kiss close and long 
 As ever lovers kiss, and sweet : 
 
 Let me on either cheek your icy breath 
 Feel full : let your pale eyes of flame mine greet 
 
 With welcome longing light, dear Death. 
 
 Death-angel, give refreshing rest : 
 
 Let me but see the glory of your face, 
 Then hide my own upon your calm cold breast ; 
 
 And let, in sweets of that embrace 
 
76 SONGS OF PASS/ ON AND PA IN. 
 
 This weight of brine and bitter tears, 
 
 That deep within my heart for long have lain 
 
 Fall fast : sad source of passionate past years 
 Fraught through with drearest dire dead pain. 
 
 Still the great cravings of this heart, 
 
 Wild, vain vague yearnings that outlive despair : 
 Sad songs of sorrows that no more depart 
 
 From the soul's silence, sighing there. 
 
 Your smile is sweet with angel grace : 
 
 Like music, trembling with subdued delight, 
 Your soft robes rustle through the spheres' far space, 
 
 Soaring across wide purple seas. 
 Cleaving the dark wild winds of night. 
 
 Your long hair streaming on the star-lit breeze ; 
 Clasped to your breasts the glass of golden sands, 
 
 Hope's light, white-streaming from your hands. 
 
 Sweet angel, merciful and calm, 
 
 I stretch my yearning weary arms to you. 
 Your wide wings drip with soul-refreshing balm 
 
 And love. In sure swift flight and true 
 This feeble flame of life's low light, 
 
 Flickering yet within this burdened breast. 
 Quench quick. In your sweet mercy and strong might 
 
 Let me know utter endless rest. 
 
ONE SUMMER NIGHT, 
 
 \Vhat memories rise from my soul, 
 Amost forgot yet hidden there, 
 
 Deep, where the past is pictured whole 
 With hghts and shadows dark and fair. 
 
 Sweetheart, we watched the young night close 
 Across the summer sky and seas : 
 
 From coral caves beneath uprose 
 Fair fresh winds singing melodies. 
 
 III. 
 
 White throbbing stars came out on high, 
 Their pale light on the blue waves fell ; 
 
 Till white the silver of the sky 
 
 Seemed in the ocean's depths to dwell. 
 
78 SONGS OF PASSION AND PAIN. 
 
 IV, 
 
 Beyond the mists of purple air, 
 On this glad night of happy June ; 
 
 Beyond the sea-line stretching fair, 
 In golden glory rose the moon. 
 
 Streaking with yellow light the tide 
 Where azure shades to deeper hue ; 
 
 Across the gleaming waters wide 
 An amber path upon the blue. 
 
 VI. 
 
 From where sea-line and sky-line meet 
 In tender combined mystery, 
 
 A solemn silence, sad and sweet. 
 Came full upon the land and sea. 
 
 Sweet were the sounds upon the sands 
 
 Of foam-crests blown by winds from south ; 
 
 Sweeter the clinging of your hands. 
 Sweeter the kisses of your mouth. 
 
ONE SUMMER NIGHT. 79 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Our hearts were full — no words were ours : 
 Deep in your eyes lay tender tears ; 
 
 But once life brings such mellow hours 
 In all the burdens of the years. 
 
NOCTURNE IN DEATH. 
 
 I HAD no thought that you should die, 
 
 Pale plaything of a summer's hour 
 
 So full of winning ways and grace ; 
 
 I had not thought to see you lie 
 
 In death clay-cold with white drawn face, 
 
 Face once like simple fair spring flower. 
 
 No dream of this, poor child, poor child, 
 Fell shadow-dark upon our love. 
 Your love for me not wise but wild : 
 I wonder, will the God above 
 Hold you in bondage for our sin ? 
 Sin from all sweet to madness kin. 
 Mine be the blame if blame there be. 
 So you 'scaped free from misery, 
 Poor pouting pleasure -loving child. 
 
NOCTURNE IN DEATH. 
 
 III. 
 
 You lie so heart-cold here and still 
 With pinched and pallid smileless face, 
 Your eyes in fixfed stare and chill, 
 Of your young beauty scarce a trace. 
 Your hair of gracious gladsome gold 
 In rippling light and wavering flow. 
 Around you falling as of old, 
 The old days dead a month ago. 
 Poor child, you thought my idle kiss 
 Was more than heaven held of bliss, 
 A careless-given summer kiss. 
 
 I saw in your fair face the light 
 Of tender love and welcome kind. 
 Dying your cheeks from white to bright, 
 And watched the azure of your eyes 
 Grow sunny as the morning skies 
 When eastward low lies latent gold, 
 At merest sound of my footfall, 
 A kind-spoke word or careless call. 
 Your love for me was kind and blind ; 
 I gave you but spare words and cold 
 And empty kisses on your brow, 
 
 6 
 
SONGS OF PASSION AND PAIN. 
 
 And kissed the gold threads of your head. 
 How strange it seems that even now 
 You lie in solemn silence, dead ! 
 
 Poor throbless heart that fluttered fast, 
 Close prest in love against my own, 
 From rapture of your rare love wild : 
 Sweet bosoms now so white and cold 
 That once flushed full like roses red . 
 Pale little hands in humble fold 
 I.aid close across your sunken breast : 
 Your parted lips have kissed their last, 
 White lips once red and sweet, poor child : 
 Laid low your golden head must rest. 
 Wrapped close in careful linen fold, 
 Beneath cold clay and growing grass, 
 In nameless grave where those who pass 
 May banter idle words and loud 
 Gay echoes of the careless crowd. 
 Is this but wise ; is this but best? 
 
 vr. 
 
 Good-bye, quick-faded summer flower 
 Pale plaything of an idle hour. 
 
NOCTURNE IN DEATH. 83 
 
 I think full often in the night 
 Your pallid, solemn set face white 
 ^Vill come between me and the wall, 
 As through the sleepless hours I lie ; 
 Will fix itself upon my sight 
 With this last look of agony, 
 Like sad unbreathbd quiv'ring sigh, 
 Within the shadow of your eyes : 
 Eyes wonder-open wide and wild 
 As if your soul beheld some sight, 
 Strange visions of the far-oif spheres, 
 Of sage and wondrous mysteries 
 That 'bove our baffled knowledge lies. 
 Perchance you have found mercy there. 
 And tender care in your new birth ; 
 More mercy than was yours on earth. 
 
 vir. 
 
 Forgive me if I were not kind. 
 Forgive me for those tears that fall 
 Upon your lily-like sweet face ; 
 I did not think to shed such tears. 
 Forgive me by this pure cold kiss, 
 The last our lips shall ever know 
 Whilst wild winds o'er wide waters flow ; 
 Farewell, a last farewell, poor child. 
 
HARMONY IN SEA AND SILVER. 
 
 Ah well the night, and fair the night, 
 And fair and well and dear to me. 
 When we went sailing on the sea, 
 
 The sea in silver sleeping bright. 
 
 Ah well the night, the sky was light 
 With lustre of the risen moon, 
 And sweet the silver winds of June 
 
 Swept o'er the surging foam-crests white. 
 
 And low the murmur of the waves, 
 Sweet splashing on the distant sands. 
 Fell on our ears like rich-voiced bands 
 
 Of sirens singing in their caves. 
 
 We floated, as wild-flowr's on streams. 
 Upon the fragrant waters wide ; 
 Nor heeded mast nor sail nor tide. 
 
 But in love's leisure dreamt our dreams. 
 
HARMONY IN SEA AND SILVER: 85 
 
 1 would the night stayed years and long, 
 I would we ne'er had seen the day ; 
 With lips close prest to mine you lay 
 
 Wrapped in my folded arms and strong. 
 
 Ah happy night, dear from delight ; 
 Ah passion-pleasure wild and sweet, 
 And pleasure-passion full and fleet ; 
 
 Ah wondrous white and holy night ! 
 
LIFE. 
 
 Life, said a youth, is full of gladness, 
 
 And sweet with music as wild woods in spring ; 
 The lights of love's delicious madness 
 
 Glad golden halo's o'er existence fling ; 
 Life's hopes are fair, their op'ning flowers 
 
 Are rich with fragrant promises of bloom ; 
 The rose-red hue of earliest hours 
 
 Know nought of evening shadows or night's gloom. 
 
 Life, said a sage, is full of sadness ; 
 
 Its paths and plains lie through full fields of pain ; 
 Love, but a bright brief dream of madness. 
 
 Of passion and fair spring-time visions vain : 
 Flow'rs fresh to-day lie dead to-morrow, 
 
 Like pleasures which wedreamedand deemed would last 
 Our eyes fill full with tears of sorrow. 
 
 Sore sorrow for the sweet, the bitter past 
 
DE PKOFUNDIS. 
 
 Out from these blinding shadows drear, 
 
 From this darkness dense as night, 
 Nor hght, nor love, nor hope is near ; 
 
 Lead me, God great, in Thy might, 
 Into Thy pale paths and white. 
 
 Faint full soon of this slow strong strife 
 Ere the fray has yet begun, 
 
 Tired in the rose-red dawn of life 
 
 Ere slow set of evening sun, 
 
 Ere swift sands have downward run. 
 
 Hear this cry of divine despair 
 
 From my sad soul soaring free. 
 In pleading tones for Thy kind care. 
 
 Childlike, my Father, to Thee ; 
 
 Thou ray merest actions see. 
 
THE LAST SONG. 
 
 SixG me once more with silver voice your song, 
 
 Dear love, whilst in the gloaming here I lie, 
 In murmured melodies full sweet and long : 
 Let no tears fall, nor deep in your heart sigh, 
 To mar this sweetest sound 
 Filling the air profound. 
 
 Beyond green hills the gold and crimson light 
 Lies low, seen 'twixt a screen of purple air ; 
 Pale great grey shadows of the coming night 
 Steal softly o'er the azure sky and fair. 
 In fretted light and shade 
 The day is quick to fade. 
 
THE LAST SONG. 
 
 in. 
 
 So sing me sweetly ere the eve has fled, 
 
 Ere shapeless spectres stand between us here, 
 With chilling presence of the silent dead, 
 
 Filling my soul with numb and nameless fear. 
 Let strange strong hopes of rest 
 Fill full my craving breast. 
 
 Sing o'er and o'er of those dear days and dead, 
 
 With light of youth and young love laughing bright ; 
 Ere roses died and summer's sweet hours fled 
 Into close chill confines of endless night^ 
 Of bhnd bliss that we two 
 Drank deadly deep and true. 
 
 While you sing love, the burdens of past years 
 Fall from my life, and my wild weary heart 
 Throbs brimful with woe's weight of silent tears : 
 From my sad soul sore sorrows swift depart ; 
 I fain would lay my head 
 Among the dreamless dead. 
 
90 SONGS OF PASSfON AND PAIN. 
 
 Like softest music, tremulous and low 
 
 From rich delight, heard from far distant shore 
 Above the opal waters' murmured flow. 
 
 Sing sweet and long — I may not hear you more. 
 I think upon my sight 
 Has crept eternal night. 
 
 Sing on whilst far the fair earth from me fades ; 
 Let this sweet song sound tender in my ears. 
 Hushed dim and muffled by fast-faUing shades ; 
 I fain would hear it through the endless years, 
 Of this quick-coming sleep, 
 Unutterably deep. 
 
NIGHT PSALM. 
 
 Right restful let me low down lie, 
 Sleeping in clay through endless night, 
 Far from the world's wile-ways and sight : 
 
 Dire days are mine, fain would I die. 
 
 Sweet Mother Earth, let me but lay 
 
 My throbbing head on your cold breast ; 
 Let dark damp earth be downward prest 
 
 Between me and the sunlights ray. 
 
 In this wise let me lonely lie : 
 
 Place sere sedge-leaves upon my head, 
 Signs sad of suns and summers dead. 
 
 And roses withered without sigh : 
 
 For their lost lives wild wet winds cry. 
 Lay lilies in my clay-cold hand, 
 The fairest flower of sea or land ; 
 
 I could not say them here good-bye. 
 
93 SONGS OF PASSION AND PAIN. 
 
 Most lord-like love knows sorrow's sigh, 
 
 The kindest kiss pale pallid pain ; 
 
 Blue brightest eyes see sad salt rain ; 
 Hearts break, and lovers' false lips lie. 
 Sweet snowdrops, rich in rareness fair. 
 
 Lie trembling when harsh hard winds blow 
 
 Red roses but to wither grow ; 
 No blossoms bloom in winter air. 
 
 Let me have for best bosom friends 
 Sad spectre brothers weird and white, 
 To dwell with through the long lone night 
 
 That sadness into silence lends. 
 
 Their swift sure feet full noiseless tread 
 And trackless, o'er the sleep-steeped land ; 
 They know not space by sea nor strand. 
 
 Mad gales have never swifter sped. 
 
 Their wordless voices sound like wind 
 That wildly beats against the pane ; 
 Their cold tears like sad sobbing rain. 
 
 Pale tears that never comfort find. 
 
 Fain would I feel their fleshless kiss 
 Of weirdsome greeting and of grace. 
 Meet sweet their chilling pale embrace 
 
 Of smileless welcome without bliss. 
 
NIGHT PSALM. 93 
 
 In faith a vigil would I keep, 
 
 That o'er the earth no sweet sunrise 
 
 Would see, nor glory of the skies 
 From lids close closed in dreamless sleep. 
 
HARMONY IN RED AND WHITE. 
 
 O SWEET, sweet rose, that on my love's bare bosom lay, 
 Her bare fair bosom, whiter far than winter snows. 
 And purer than pale lily that in wild wood blows. 
 
 By sunbeams kissed to life at dawn of summer day. 
 
 O happy rose of June, I saw you blush ripe red 
 
 And quiver as with passion-pangs in your heart deep 
 Lying in fragrant rapture, as if wrapped in sleep, 
 
 Upon the yielding surface of that blissful bed. 
 
 O happy, happy rose, what golden gladsome air 
 
 First woke your soul to light, what sultry soft south breeze 
 Made you all rich and worthy of such hours as these. 
 
 When you from love in languor lay on breasts so fair ? 
 
 O envied summer rose, but whisper soft to me 
 
 In accents balmy, these deep treasured secrets sweet 
 Her young heart told that 'neath your waxen petals beat. 
 
 And through the blue veins sent her red blood surging free. 
 
HARMONY IN RED AND WHITE- 95 
 
 O ripe rare rose, in all your summer bright bloom dead, 
 I saw my love's sweet lips in one long languid kiss 
 Press your red heart : from very passion of this bliss 
 
 Your fragrant spirit sighed from rapture once, and fled. 
 
SUMMER SONATA. 
 
 In sun-lit summer garden where 
 White roses drooped in fragrance fair, 
 
 I well remember, love, we met. 
 Like sweet wild lily waxen white. 
 Against the flow'ring background bright, 
 
 You stood with blossoms round you set. 
 
 Soft summer music in the air. 
 Great gleams of colour everywhere. 
 
 Like floating isles on magic sea. 
 But far the sweetest blossom there 
 Was your young face pink fresh and fair, 
 
 The dearest of delights to me. 
 
 Across the ruddy latticed wall. 
 Gold moss and lichen covered all, 
 
 I lying saw you blush bright when 
 
SUMMER SONATA. 97 
 
 You turned with gladsome arch surprise, 
 Deep pleasure on your sunny eyes : 
 Ah, we were youthful lovers then ! 
 
 Hid mid red rose-boughs, glad birds sang 
 Rich tender notes as ever rang 
 
 Through all the summer's golden days : 
 And sweet the scented southern breeze. 
 Whispering low among the trees, 
 
 Told love-tales like a poet's lays. 
 
 In this fair flow'ring garden where 
 Full fragrance filled the purple air. 
 
 Sealing our love our lips first met : 
 Sweeter far your kiss to me 
 Than white roses on the tree. 
 
 Rare roses all ungathered yet. 
 
 I have known since those long years 
 Lights and shadows, smiles and tears : 
 
 My sweet spring days have come and fled . 
 And no more bright blossoms fair 
 Fill the autumn amber air ; 
 
 Loved liUes white lie cold and dead. 
 
SONGS OF PASSION AND PAIN. 
 
 How long may lovers' sweet love last ? 
 Why must most golden sands fall fast, 
 
 Quick shaken by Time's withered hand ? 
 Red roses in December die, 
 In winter swallows homeward fly, 
 
 And silence reigns throughout the land. 
 
MISERERE. 
 
 Ah God, can my cry reach Your ears 
 
 From the wilderness wild of my need, 
 Low toned with pale passionate tears. 
 Will You not heed? 
 
 I cannot glance up at Your face, 
 
 I know not the accents of prayer ; 
 Clouds loom 'twixt my soul and Your grace. 
 Cold clouds of care. 
 
 All love and my soul are apart — 
 
 Apart as drear darkness and light ; 
 Sore sorrows fill full my heart 
 Black in Your sight. 
 
 Is death but the sole chance of rest ? 
 
 Do dead men know sorrow or care ? 
 Are their lives o'erburthened, oppressed, 
 Lives hard to bear ? 
 
 7 — 2 
 
SONGS OF PASSION AND PAIN. 
 
 In the mystic shadow-wrapped land, 
 
 Is there rest and pardon from pain — 
 Land wide beyond sea-line and strand ? 
 Hear my refrain. 
 
 Let me feel clay cold on my brow 
 
 The white angel's death-giving kiss ; 
 Let my heart be stilled even now, 
 Heart without bliss ! 
 
 THE END. 
 
 HILLING AND SONS, PRINTERS AND ELELTROTVPERS, GUILDFOKD. 
 
frnd ,fhfL^ 'jfofTh/l ^ ph/i Sjl^ 
 
Cornell University Library 
 PR 5029.M61S6 
 
 Songs of passion and pain, 
 
 3 1924 013 525 633 
 

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