Song -Bloom PR . . Hoy3 , -Ail'p;^'?/ Cornell University Library PR 4063.B2SS6 Song-bloom. 3 1924 013 210 913 Cornell University Library The original of tiiis book is in the Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013210913 SONG-BL OOM. OPINIONS OF THE PRESS UPON " I.OVE-SONGS ". [For "Opinions of the Press" upon Mr. Barlow's other Works, see end of Volume.'] " Mr. Barlow has somehow managed to get his head above the crowd of candidates for poetical fame. He has done it by his persistence and industry ; successive volumes of verse have challenged the attention of critics and readers, and by means less lawful, — rebellion against ac- cepted beliefs in religion and morals. Of course, neither persistence nor rebellion would have helped him, without some measure of poetical gifts. . . . His creed, if we may judge from a poem entitled ' Christ and Woman,' seems to be settling down into something like Comtism. But woman, with Mr. Barlow and poets of his school, is necessarily young and beautiful woman. , ' Woman we elect Tender snow-white queen,' he says ; but the woman of the proletariat is not tender and snow-white. For all Mr. Barlow's eloquence, we think that Christ will do, as he has done, more for humanity and woman, as half of humanity, than all these singers of sensuous verse. " — Spectator. " In this, his latest volume of poems, Mr. Barlow does more than maintain the high position he has already won as a poet. He is always melodious and never common-place— in short, his verse is poetry in the true sense of the word." — Whitehall Review. ' ' In this volume of ' Love-Songs ', as in several others before it, Mr. George Barlow ptoclaims the worship of the beautiful as the true reli- OPINIONS OF THE PRESS UPON "LOVE-SONGS", v gion— sometimes, as in 'Christ and Woman', and 'To Christ', with a defiant irreverence of other beliefs that is repulsive, but almost always with a force, a luxuriance of epithet, and a mastery of form which compel the admiration even of those who most heartily detest his. ' cult '. . . Mr. Barlow is at present as genuine a pagan as ever was Ovid or Horace. The public as well as himself would profit by his conversion. " — Scotsman. ' ' Mr. Barlow is rather intellectual than emotional, and, though he does throw feeling into his verse, it is not always suggestive of love and tenderness. He often glances at or dwells upon ideas associated with our religious conceptions and beliefs ; but he is very far indeed away from orthodoxy. His boldness is sometimes audacity, and the very vigour of his speech will appal the timid reader ; so is it in his odes to Shelley and to Christ, and occasionally in other pieces." — Queen. " Genius, like nature, never repeats itself. Another characteristic of" genius is that it always appeals to the immortal. Its highest works, whether of painting or sculpture, or of music or poetry, always bring home to us a feeling of the reality of a higher life The volume before us, the variety in which is an attractive feature, contains to our thinking much true' poetry, and some passages equal to anything previously written by the same author. Two of the poems — 'A Death Song ' and ' To Keats '■ — are exquisitely beautiful ; and both are full of that acknowledgment of a higher life to which we have referred. In the stanzas addressed to Keats, there are many lines beautiful in their simplicity, and the last verse in the poem entitled 'A Farewell to Poetry ' (which, again, is full of a realization of spiritual truths) seems to us perfect. This volume is almost free from that extreme sensuousness of expression and metaphor which has been adversely criticised in some of the author's former works, but which we do not think deserves such severe comments as have been passed upon it." — Spiritual Notes. "A collection of love songs, more serious than amorous. The author shows considerable depth of feeling. He is a lover of Nature in most of her moods. He has no small skill in word-painting, and in his versification is facile and varied." — Sunday Times. POETICAL WORKS OF GEORGE BARLOW. POEMS AND SONNETS. In Three Parts. 1871. A LIFE'S LOVE. 1873. UNDER THE DAWN. 1875. THE TWO MARRIAGES: A DRAMA, in Three Acts. 1878. THROUGH DEATH TO LIFE. 1878. THE MARRIAGE BEFORE DEATH, AND OTHER POEMS. 1878. TIME'S WHISPERINGS: SONNETS AND SONGS. 1880. LOVE-SONGS. 1880. SONG-BLOOM. GEORGE BARLOW, AUTHOR OF "LOVE-SONGS," "TIME'S WHISPERINGS, DEATH TO LIFE," ETC., ETC. LONDON: REMINGTON AND CO. 134 NEW BOND STREET. I 88 I. [Ali Rights Reserved.'] CONTENTS. PAGE Dedication, i To A Lady with Deep Black Hair, ... 3 Lines on the Death of a Child, ... 8 The Child, 12 The Italian Organ-Woman, 16 England and Palestine, 20 At a Theatre-Door in Summer, . . . -29 A Hymn, 37 A Hymn, 43 To "Somebody," 46 To THE Queen of My Young Life, . . -57 To My Lady. A Ballad 69 A Hymn of Woman, 81 Remember Me ! 89 X CONTENTS. Hymn, 92 Love-Song, ...... . . 95 Song — The Future, 99 Desdemona Re- Awakened, 102 To THE Rev. Stopforp A. Beooke, on His Leav- ing THE Church of England, . . . 105 The Immortal and the Mortal, . . .109 To the Greater Woman, 114 Never More, 117 Desolation, . 120 Alone, . . ... . . .122 Sweeter, . 124 Death, 127 Modern Faith, . 130 Ten Years Ago, 133 English Flowers and Seas, . . , . .136 An Adjuration, 141 Voices, 1^7 O Death ! 163 The Land of Sleep, 166 And art Thou Tender? 169 An Elegy 172 CONTENTS. XI Christ and Venus, 178 The Only Rest, 183 No More, 186 Another Autumn, 188 Hold Thou My Hand ! 190 Thee First, Thee Last, 195 Sleep, .......... 200 This Very Day, . . . . . . . 205 To the Author of "The Prince's Quest, and OTHER Poems" 211 Far Behind, 216 "Though the Day be Dreary," . . . 224 To Venus. (An Experiment in Rhyme.) . . 226 Many Loves, and Venus 229 Christ and Beauty, 233 Once : Then No More, 240 Memory, . . . 242 .There Comes an End of All, .... 245 Junes and Decembers 252 Thou Art Not There ! 259 Ten Years, 266 Not One? 273 xii CONTENTS. My Blossom of Gold 276 L'Envoi. Thou Art Alive ! . . . • 282 DEDICATION. T sang ten years ago : I sing to-day : And through the intervening years my song Has surged round chiming shores with wavelets strong And ripples soft of many a passionate lay. Lady, whose sweet kiss through the weary way Hath helped me, lifted me when morns were long. Nights dreary, — take these fancies as they throng, Flowerbuds that chide my hair's unlyric grey. Thou art ever with me , we can see the sun Now rising on the further side death's stream. And, perhaps, our larger half of toil is done. Our larger sorrows suffered, — and our dream Of perfect love waits burning to be won Hard by the deep dim waves that closelier gleam. August 31, 1880. TO A. LADY WITH DEEP BLACK HAIR. Wonderful hair Deep-flowing and rare, Full of the dreams of the loves of the past, Than flowers more fair. Around me thy magical spells are cast. O sweet sweet tresses, What far caresses Wait you in bowers and dells of the land As on time presses ? What tenderest touching of love's soft hand ? -TO A LADY WITH DEEP BLACK HAIR. Black, deep black, With never a track In their deep sweet midst for the moon to follow ; Ever they lack The bright sun-beams that in gold deep hollow Of gold hair hide : No sun-beam bride Thou art, O lady ; thy black black hair Is sweeter than tide Of gold that lures from his deep hill-lair Apollo the king With gold fleet wing. And forces his lips to bend and to kiss. And kissing, sing. Purer are thy black locks than this. TO A LADY WITH DEEP BLACK HAIR. And the scent of the rose The deep hair throws From its midst, the subtle unspeakable charm That in deep hair glows, Or in sweet white shoulder or rose-sweet arm. Oh, if the hair So tenderly fair Shines, what must the kiss of the soft lips be. Moulded to snare, With laughter or soft speech,— wondrous to me ! O black black locks, As the time-wave rocks O'er sands and shoals, take this brief song Which the time-surge mocks With music of ripples alive and strong. TO A LADY WITH DEEP BLACK HAIR, O wonderful hair So black, so rare, So deep, so dark, so splendid a coil For a woman to wear, T JO spiendid a crown for death to soil, Immortally sweet, A singer I greet Your beautiful tangled and twisted mass That down to the feet Once tenderly loosened methinks might pass. Unkissed they abide, — Not crowned as a bride rhou art, O lady ; thou art as a queen Of chaste high pride Who on throne superb and sedate is seen, TO A LADY WITH DEEP BLACK HAIR. Ruling the land With soft white hand, — And wonderful unkissed black dear hair Twined band upon band, The sweetest of all things God made fair. July 27, 1880. LINES ON THE DEATH OF A CHILD. I. Fresh flowers of spring, New birds on wing, The young year's breezes, soft-plumed and divine ; New faces fair In glad new air. The young green tender buds upon the pine ; New white tides' jocund race — But not the little footstep, not the little face ! II. The gold hair sleeps Amid the deeps Of God, amid the arms of angels fair ; No more to me LINES ON THE DEA TH OF A CHILD. Its purity Gleams gold across the dazzled morning air ; Soft footsteps green meads grace, But not the little footstep, not the little face ! III. Red roses blow Now, row on row. And white dear buds, the likeness of a child ; And pimpernels Peep forth in dells, And o'er the seas the April winds float mild ; Such gladden every place. But not the little footstep, not the little face ! IV. No more, no more. By hill or shore The grey eyes laugh, the child-look upward -smiles : Many are fair . LINES ON THE DEA TH OF A CHILD. In life's new air, Some with the sweetest love that woe beguiles. Lips that can sorrow chase^- But not the little footstep, .not the little face ! V. The lanes are sweet With young girls' feet ; The roads of late life bloom beneath the tread Of women-flowers Who star life's bowers, Dark-haired, divine, with locks whence sweetness shed With flowers doth interlace — Where is the little footstep, where the little face ? VI. Dark hair is sweet. And passion's heat ; But ah ! the bright glow of the early day When simple things LINES ON THE DEATH OF A CHILD. i On snow-white wings Gave joys that now fore'er must pass away — Leaving no trace, no trace, Where trod the little footstep, laughed the little face ! THE CHILD. Blue skies, bright, clear, Another year. But ah ! the dear dead child : Another bloom Has sought the tomb With pure step undefiled ; ' Another flower In death's dim bower Has smiled. The days advance With flower-bright lance Of chestnut blossoms piled Upon the stems THE CHILD. Like diadems ; The green woods kiss the mild Soft-kissing breeze ; The leaping seas Are wild. All things aglow Forget the snow, The chill of winter's hand ; With yellow crown, Weighty, bowed down, Laburnum clusters stand ; The new young spring With flowers doth ring The land. One step we hear Not, — one, this year ; 13 J 4 THE CHILD. Ah me, the child ! the child ! One face we miss, One soft child-kiss. One mouth that, last year, smiled ; Roses are red This year instead Of red lips of a child. Lilies are fair In summer air. And deep lush grasses green ; But ah ! the child Whose gold hair wild Bright as the sun was seen Last year, last year, — A spirit here, A queen. THE CHILD. 15 Blue are the seas And pure the breeze, The old earth unaltered stands ; It stretches forth East, south, and north. And west, unaltered hands ; But ah, the child ! the child ! Flowerless for us are all the altered lands — Ah child ! ah dead Lost dear gold head — The child! the .child! ' i6 THE ITALIAN ORGAN-WOMAN. O Italian organ-woman With the dark dark eyes, What quick dreams rise Within me as I watch thee ! What thoughts of southern skies ! In a moment, in a gasping Of the sudden glowing soul. The blue waves roll Of the Adriatic, clasping My feet ; I touch the goal THE ITALIAN ORGAN-WOMAN. 17 Of a thousand glowing fancies ; The soft Italian air Breathes, and the pure dark hair, Sweet beyond all romances, Before mine eyes is fair. Oh, wonderful old seasons Of the wondrous middle age, Your passionate billows rage About me — wars and treasons — A strange unfathomed page. And all because the ringing Of one swift organ smote My spirit, — and afloat It went, and heard sweet singing In many a gilded boat 2 i8 THE ITALIAN ORGAN-WOMAN. In Italy, diviner Than is the cold sad land Wherein our chilled feet stand, Our harps swept by a minor Love-breeze, a loveless hand. O Italy, thy tender And infinite caress Is worth all stormy stress That follows, and thy splendour Makes bitterest death seem less Than one swift dream-emotion : Oh, not in England now I linger, but thought's prow Cuts through the blue clear ocean Whose waves thy rowers plough. THE ITALIAN ORGAN-WOMAN. 19 And all because thy music, And thine Italian eyes, Sent me to bluer skies O dark-eyed organ-woman Than these that o'er us rise; ENGLAND AND PALESTINE. Not in Jerusalem Where many a tall straight stem Of august palm-tree by the way-side stands ; Not in the olden town Where Christ's dear timeless crown Was woven, plaited by the Father's hands, And by the lips of those Far sweeter than the rose Kissed, — ere about his brow, majestic, it expands : Not in that city fair Of sultry Eastern'air Shall for our brows be crowns and garlands spun O valiant Western men. ENGLAND AND PALESTINE. 2 Valiant, but not as then, When, daily, deeds miraculous were done The ancient legends say ; Blind eyes made whole with clay. And cures unheard of wrought beneath the Eastern sun. Oh, sweeter is the rose Here, where the North wind blows Its flawless petals, bends its pliant stem. Than Eastern lilies bright Which maidens cull by night And weave into a spotless diadem ; Fairer the rich green grass Through which our swift feet pass Than the few stalks which banks of desert-streamlets hem. O South wind in the pine Of England be thou mine. Yea, mine the forests dark of Western shores, 22 ENGLAND AND PALESTINE. And mine the strenuous crew Of strong arms labouring through The white resurgent seas with bent quick oars ; And mine the balmy lane Where honey-suckles strain Their eager tendrils, — mine the creeper round our doors. A blood-red wondrous crown Of endless high renown Was Christ's ; but plait we in our love-lit vales Soft garlands sweeter far Than any wreaths that are Woven beneath the moon that Sinai pales, Or in Gethsemane, Or grown in Galilee, Where many a fisher-prow the quiet lake assails. O shores and lakes and dells Of England! asphodels ENGLAND AND PALESTINE. 23 And lilies of the East are not so fair As tender blossoms born Beneath the breath of morn Within your folds and nursed by Western air : Nor are the Eastern maids Crowned with the dim black braids As sweet as flowing crowns of sun-kissed golden hair. O England ! cliffs and downs And bustling fervent towns And long grey shores and myriad-manfed sea, And gardens, close, red-walled, And mountains weird and bald And white-plumed torrents tossing o'er the lea And green sequestered nooks And pebbly trout-loved brooks — Give all your glory of soul, ye wild domains, to me ! 24 ENGLAND AND PALESTINE. Crown me not with a hand Burnt red with sultry sand, But with the clear palm of an English maid ; Stars that above us shine, O'er mountain-ash and pine, And fluctuant birch and tangled oak-tree's shade And silvery mute stream, Mix ye with my fond dream, — And flowers that flush in spring the English mossy glade. And English women fair. Sweet for the Northern air, Breathed as the English rose and white as high Lilies that round us stand. Stretch forth from all the land Hands lily-white and fragrant ere I die. And crown the English song That sweeps in tide-flood strong Across my eager heart and through my soul doth sigh. ENGLAND AND PALESTINE. 25 Oh, never yet avail Our songs that seek the pale And sun-burnt maidens "of the Eastern land ; That leave the land of pines For weak low-growing vines : Never avail the feet that feebly stand Upon our sounding shores : Never avail the oars That shun the utter deep, that strike against the sand. Grant me the perfect kiss Of England, — ^give me this, O time, O life, O death with down-bowed wings ! I ask this ; nothing more : One swift scent of the shore That the blue endless English ocean rings With ring of sweet white foam ; One rosebud from my home. One flower whereto my hand in the death-grapple clings. 26 ENGLAND AND PALESTINE. One rustling heather-bell, One tuft of furze to smell; One woman's mouth, dearer than rose, to kiss ; One vision, nothing more, Of limitless wide shore ; One awful rush of inusic ; only this : One breath of the utter sky Of England ; — then I die Content, clasped in a wild unfathomable bliss. One wondrous London day. To watch the torrent play, The .flood of life, along the murmuring shore Of endless seething streets ; One with the heart that beats In giant pulses through them evermore : Then let the veil be rent And let me pass content The ever-rippling, waiting, yearning, death-stream o'er. ENGLAND AND PALESTINE. 27 Crowned with my own sweet land, Her hand within my hand, Her eyes upon my eyes, her tender gaze Deeply intent on me. And all her wind-sweet sea Laughing as children laugh in primrose-ways ; Thus would I pass, — nor fear Lest in a new land drear I pass beyond the reach of love and flowers and bays. Where God is, children are. And sweet love, and the star Of labour and of hope, — and woman's tread ; Woman whose tender breath Fills all the vales of death Like the far miles of countless rose-scent shed In the Caucasian vales : Such death no spirit pales, For where there lasts a rose, no death-pale soul is dead. 28 ENGLAND AND PALESTINE. Where love is, death is not ; Yea, not o'er any spot Where sweet love treads hath bitter death the power Not over England's seas. Nor the immortal breeze, Nor one white pure imperishable flower Of English womanhood, Nor one true bard who stood True to his love and land through life's fast-flitting hour. 29 AT A THEATRE-DOOR IN SUMMER. Children with heather in hand, Passing along through the Strand, Where have you been through the day ? In what far meads at play ? Your hands are filled with fern. And your faces tingle and burn. Was not the country sweet And fresh to tired yoUng feel ? 30 AT A THEATRE-DOOR IN SUMMER. Were not the grasses green And the wonderful skies serene ? The wonderful miles of sky That made you on fire to fly ; That made you long to be birds Or gambol, Uke fleet-foot herds Now you are tired ; your feet Are weary ; your young hearts beat Again from the flowery land You return to the gas-lit Strand. And standing at Theatre-door In July, I watch you pour ATA THEATRE-DOOR IN SUMMER. 31 Tired, glad, through the street, With innocent looks and sweet. And after you come the girls With wanton and golden curls AVho live on the lusts of the Strand, Not a few with ringed white hand. : Perhaps some short years ago, That girl with the tresses aflow Went for a country day, A school-treat, laughing and gay, Like you, little girl, — who perhaps May be caught in the town's lewd traps In a few more years, and follow That woman whose laugh rings hollow. AT A THEATRE-DOOR IN SUMMER. O child with the gold gold hair Will you be caught in the snare ? May God your steps preserve That they stumble not thus, nor swerve From the heather-bell path to-day You follow with footstep gay ! O gold-haired wonderful child, With glances laughing and wild. May you never along the Strand With other than white child-hand Filled full of beautiful flowers Pass, in the passionate hours AT A THEA TRE-DOOR IN SUMMER. Of later life ; may the bloom Of to-day's joy last till your tomb, Keeping, you tender and good, O child-face under the hood ! Keeping you gentle and fair, O angel in soft night-air Of London passing along, Not with a sigh but a song ! And are those the tears I see In the hard set eyes of thee Strand-girl, watching the strut Of the children whose one day out 3 34 AT A THEA TRE-DOOR IN SUMMER. Has made them richer than queens ; Eight hours in grassy scenes. O girl with the face still fair, Kissed by the soft night-air, Were you too fragrant as flowers, In spirit, in long-lost hours ? Did you carry ferns and heather Through London in July weather ? Oh, carry them once again ; Forget the sin and the pain. The night-air waits to redeem Thy spirit : the stars yet beam, And the heather in front for thee Shines, — and the moon on the sea. AT A THEA TRE-DOOR IN SUMMER. 35 And flowers as white as thou Yet shalt be, troubled of brow. The winds on the hills are sweet ; The ferps and the golden wheat And the country glories yet May be thine ; for thine eyes are wet So dreamed I ; watching the throng Of children, with shout and song After their country day. As they crowded the crowded way, Pressing their soft young curls In the gowns of wanton girls. 36 AT A THEATRE-DOOR IN SUMMER. And pushing amid the crowd Of the night-Strand, boisterous, loud. I watched them all pass by, Kissed by the clear night-sky ; Watched theni all till the last Small baby, slumbering fast, Wrapped in a tight red shawl, Was carried by : God bless all. 37 A HYMN. I. Great God of the wide seas, king too of the space Severing star from gold star, with thy dwellirig-place Far amid the cloud-lands, fold in thine embrace Hearts whose intense emotion Like world-wide tides of ocean Yearneth for thy blessing, panteth for thy grace. II. Pure as are the roses, white as is the foam, Great God of the mountains, through the starry dome Passing like the night-wind, lift us, waft us, home ; ( A HYMN. For we cry with daring, Suffering souls upbearing, — Souls that through' life's desert, stricken, struggling, roam III. Art thou in the heavens ? dost thou, high God, care Nothing for the torment which with winged swift spear Blood-dyed at the sharp point, doth assail us here ? Are we alone for ever ? Wilt thou redeem us never ? Nor sweep the thunderous dark-hued threatening fierce skies clear ? IV. Grant us thy redemption : make us one with thee In thy rapture-dawn in morning o'er the sea. In thy passion-calm in sunset's purity ; Let the strange white cloud-billows For our souls too as pillows Gleam forth ; let man victorious o'er outspread nature be. A HYMN. 39 V. God, thou art immortal ; burn us with thy flame, With the awful utter longing that for utter shame Purifies each eifort, cleanses every aim, — That we may find the death-land But one divine rose-breath land. Treading it triumphant, trusting in thy Name. VI. Oh, thy flowers are endless ; why should human feet Vanish, when thou fillest woods with meadow-sweet Every fresh year gently, for the woods to greet ? Canst thou not save the nations Who bring thee heart-oblations As thou yearly savest, God, the golden wheat ? VII. Raise us from our sins, God, — lift us from the tomb ; Make each woman's soul pure as a rose in bloom ; In each strong man's spirit every sin consume ; 40 A HYMN. With sacred selfless love fulfil us ; With thy sweet spirit's yearning thrill us ; A sun of hope, divide thou all the wavering gloom. VIII. Strengthen us to march on, stedfast day by day, Brace us, purge us, guide us, guard us, God we pray ; Through the burning noontide, through the twilight grey, Be with us, great God, to deliver ; Fill thou with shafts our spirit's quiver ; Be thou our brazen buckler in the blind affray. IX. , Be to us in love-land timely shield and shade ; As a giant oak-tree watching o'er a glade : Let thy perfect calm bright passion-land pervade ; Bend thou above the tender sleep Of lovers with thy wings that weep Dewdrops divine above them, ready e'er to aid. A HYMAT. 41 X. Thou art the spirit of love, God : thou thy love instil ; With thy power of passion all our soul's veins fill ; We would love in one line with thy loving will ; Let all things else save love be dead, But love lift high her timeless head, — Love with the force to fashion, make alive or kill. XL Let our souls be music : thou art music. Lord — Music's utter awful rapture-wingfed sword ; Thy great heart respondeth, answereth, chord by chord. The music of the ages That now desponds, now rages, Triumphs again, tremendous, through vast channels poured. XII. God, through pain, through anguish, make us one with thee: One with hill and sky-line : one with surging sea : 42 A HYMN. One with thine own splendid death-surmounting free Great soul that fills all things With music of sweet wings Floating above the tides of years that flee. 43 A HYMN. Than woman's grace more infinitely tender, Crowned with the wide sky's uttermost deep splendour, God-like and woman-like, friend to each offender, Sweet Mother, hear us ! Strong as the strong seas, gentle as the falling Snowflakes of winter, hearken to our calling : Rend thou our foes' ranks, our advance inwalling ; Great Father, cheer us ! 44 A HYMN. Ruler of the four winds, Maker of the roses, Sweetness of thine each petal-cup discloses ; Thine all the wealth sweet utmost summer shows is ; Sweet Mother, hear us ! Strong in the blast of the North wind's anger, Chider of nations, eager-footed ranger Threading the stars' ways victor over danger, Great Father, cheer us ! Softer than woman-heart, Healer of the weary. Sending calm sleep down, winged, upon the dreary Children of men when sorrow waileth, eerie ; Sweet Mother, hear us ! God of the war-ranks, flushed with the charges. When the red bolts reel, blunted on the targes. A HYMN. 45 When the red foot-prints brighten river-marges, Great Father, cheer us ! Send us a flower, God, — send us we pray thee, Breath of thine heaven-land, seeking to-day thee ! Lo ! with our clasped hands, God; we delay thee ! Sweet Mother, hear us ! Lift us through high seas of our tribulation Ever from high towards holier higher station ; Heal every sad soul, renovate each nation : Great Father, hear us ! 46 TO ''SOMEBODY''. I. Not in joy thou earnest Filling with delight Where love's shafts thou aimest All the pathway bright, Crowned with a buoyant wreath of blossoms from the height II. Not like common flowers Gorgeous in array Were the buds thy bowers Cloistered from the way : Blossoms were thine of sorrow, not of gaudy day. TO "SOMEBODY". 47 III. White thy buds and tender In soft beauty were, Not of fierce red splendour Flushing all the air With the august rich bloom their fiery tendrils bear. IV. Red with fierce pain only, Streaked with love's own blood. Telling of the lonely Tides of sorrow's flood, Is thy spirit's clear bloom, every gentle bud V. Every path thou makest. Spirit dear, divine : Lo ! as dawn thou breakest On this spirit of mine Made by thine own grief-pang, ever and ever thine. 48 TO "SOMEBODY". VI, Thou art in the sunset, Thou art in the sky, In the white clear onset Of the" waves that try To climb the sheer shore, surging ever yet more high. VII. In the honeysuckle, Lady, is thy breast : Dimpled dear white knuckle, Is a Uly dressed Sweetlier e'er than thou art, in a snowier vest ? VIII. Thou art in the roses. Yea, each perfect bloom Thine own heart discloses, Thine hearf-deep perfume : Victor, O flower triumphant, thou art o'er the tomb ! TO "SOMEBODY". 49 IX. Thou art in all Nature, Lady, unto me : In her every feature ; In the wide wide sea, In the soft leaf-laughter of a wind-kissed tree. X In the pure tide-laughter On the silver sands ; In the ripples, after, Hunting with moist hands For the receding tide-wave, ebbing o'er the strands. XI. In the ripple-surging Of, all mountain-lakes ; In the swift winds urging Bushes in bent brakes ; In all that world-wide gladness, world-wide movement, makes. 4 ^o TO "SOMEBODY". XII. In the orange lily, In the white as well : In the blue land hilly : In the soft furze-smell : In all divine delights of Nature thou dost dwell. XIII. At thy golden coming, Doth not sorrow flee ? Summer and the humming Of the banded bee And laughter of all Nature do environ thee. XIV. When thy dark eyes meet me, How can trouble stay ? When thy touch doth greet me, All is bright as day : The sun^shines forth, and splendid is his golden ray. TO "SOMEBODY". 51 XV. Whether it be London Or the country side, Straightway grief is undone, For I know my bride. Alert, white-hearted, splendid, beautiful, swift-eyed. XVI. Swift dark eyes of wonder How doth passion fill Your sweet depths, and sunder By its regal will All that the separate hours between did work of ill ! XVII. Common fields are glorious When thy step is near : Seasons slow, laborious, Shine forth swift and dear ; Thou bringest every blessing by thy coming here. 52 TO ''SOMEBODY". XVIII. Lo ! for thee the ocean Soundeth on the shore, Its profound emotion Pouring evermore Forth at thy feet which love it ; thee doth it adore. XIX. Sweet, thy spirit is gifted Farlbeyond the crowd : Gentle, not uplifted Be thou : calm, not proud : Tender of voice and queenly, — lonely, God-endowed. XX. Surely on some morrow We shall rise and; flee This dim earth, and borrow Pinions of the free. And cleave the quiet blue superb airs joyfully. 719 " SOMEBODY "^ 53 XXI. Surely: all our longing And our suffering known To the high God, thronging, Winged, around his throne, Some day shall bring his ble;ssing on us, for ovx own. XXII. Have we not, sweet, waited, Through the sighing years ? Gazed through barriers grated ?- Wetted with our tears: The lonely sands of life-time : what relief appears ? XXIII. Lo ! the great sweet vision. Death brings and his hand — One day for our prison Blue sky shall expand And sweet love's perfect summer roseflush all the land. 54 TO "SOMEBODY". XXIV. Then the tender rose-flush On thy cheek shall be : As it burns and glows, flush Likewise leagues of sea : And sunrise beams resplendent, flames in every tree. XXV. Then we will not tarry ; Dead will be all wrong ; . God our souls shall marry. Married in my song Long ere we fled the earth, vast-pinioned angels strong. XXVI. For in song possessing All thy sweet sweet soul. Music fond, caressing. Doth around thee roll Great waves of passion now, long ere we touch the goal. TO "SOMEBODY". 55 XXVII. But one day at sweeping Rush of God's swift hand All the love that, sleeping, Charmed the sleeping land Shall awake : awake, shall waft to heaven's strand. XXVIII. One hour doth the sorrow. But one hour, endure : Then the burning morrow And the awful pure Unutterable joy that God's heart maketh sure. XXIX. The awful spirit-sunrise Over land and sea : Sweeter than love's moonrise Which on you and me Even in life shines soft, — yea, kinglier that shall be. 56 TO "SOMEBODY". XXX. Sunrise that shall follow Agony that slays, Blue hill and green hollow And the deep flower-ways Filling with urgent life, and our hushed hearts with praise. 57 TO THE QUEEN OF MY YOUNG LIFE. I. Was there one summer air Wherein thou wast not fair, O sacred queen above my young life bending ? Was there one blade of grass Where thy foot did not pass, Verdure and beauty, of quiet blossom lending ? II. In the dear splendid seas Thou wast, and in the trees, A spirit of pure delight, of high dominion ; 58 TO THE QUEEN OF MY YOUNG LIFE. And in the sunset air, A seraph winged and fair, Glorious with glory of white unearthly pinion. III. Sweet from the utter wave Thou earnest, and didst lave Thy white feet, Venus-like, in less white foam ; The awful wood-glades green Thou ruledst, their swift queen ; Through flowers, a splendour of white, thy foot did roam. IV. Now, looking back, I know What meant that early glow. That voice of passion in the vast calm air ; That wonder of the corn When thou, first love, wast born, Making all wonder of youth more wondrous fair. TO THE QUEEN OF MY YOUNG LIFE. 59 V. Now glancing back I see The long-lost shape of thee Tender and pure amid the early flowers : Thine eyes of swift grey-green, And thy soft laugh serene I hear, low-ringing amid the haunted bowers. VI. O valley, soft green glade. Wherein my love was laid When, for this earth's brief space, it fell a-sleeping. Hearken, — and birds that fly Athwart that Northern sky, Or sing, for pleasure indeed, where I go weeping ! VII. Hearken, — as I look back O'er the long sunburnt track. Sunburnt, blood-stained, and trodden deep by sorrow, «o TO THE QUEEN OF MY YOUNG LIFE. Wondering what calm may lie Before me, when I die From earth and labour of earth, in heaven's to-morrow ! VIII. Where art thou blowing to-day O rose that o'er life's way Shonest in the early soft sun-dawn so sweetly ? Art thou as splendid still, A woman born to thrill The hearts and spirits of men, divine completely ? IX. Art thou as splendid yet As on the day we met ? Though hours of twelve long years have fled away On urgent time-tossed wings, The memory round me clings Of beauty of thine, intense with sunrise-ray. TO THE QUEEN OF MY YOUNG LIFE. 6i X. A woman art thou now, Thought-crowned and calm of brow,^ A budding rose of morning wast thou then ; Girl-soft and sweet of mien, At beautiful fifteen, — A spirit of perfect bloom to gladden men. XI. Just as the girl and child Met in thy love-glance wild, The look' perchance doth meet of woman and girl Upon thy flower-face now. And in thine elder brow, Now soberer billows of life about thee swirl. XII. But passion stronger still Than passion of the rill Of youth, — yea passion of the deep-toned sea, — 62 TO THE QUEEN OF MY YOUNG LIFE. Is in thy nature, queen, Now the long years have seen The rosebud brighten and fill with flowers the tree. XIII. On thee death lays no hand, Thou queen of sea and land, Queen of the forest, darling of the vale ; Crowned with all song's sweet flowers, Yea, plunged amid the bowers Of endless singing as 'mid rose-clusters pale. XIV. Thou hast grown from bud to flower. Ripened in every power ; StillYor thy footstep yearns the enringing foam That hems that Northern shore And sings to it, evermore, — As ever around thy form my song-tides roam. TO THE QUEEN OF MY YOUNG LIFE. 63 XV. Still yearns the utter deep Of heaven with eyes that weep To see thee treading along the airy strand Where, twelve long years ago, We wandered to and fro. Loving as children love, hand locked in hand. XVI. Yet not as children love, For over and above Ourchild-mirth rang the intense enthralling sound Of sorrow yet to be Enthroned o'er you and me ; Sometimes the autumnal leaves swept o'er the ground. XVII. The summer passed : to-day The flowers have fled away. But all the autumnal dying tints as well ; 64 TO THE QUEEN OF MY YOUNG LIFE. Summers in front, sublime, Chant, bird-voiced, through my rhyme, With message of ardent glowing life to tell. XVIII. Passion is fierce and strong Though the cold years be long And tedious o'er us hangs the love-god's hand : Flaccid of face is he. Yet still the old sweet sea Curls ripples of silvery foam upon the sand. XIX. Still in the dells the flowers Worship the sun for hours, And blossoms burn where our soft steps should be ; The wayward fern-fronds grace The old familiar place, And the old unchanged soft moonbeam lights the sea. TO THE QUEEN OF MY YOUNG LIFE. 65 XX. And the unforgotten fece Of thee, sweet, fills the place As with a flame of tender-scented flowers ; Wilt thou not wait for me. Soft-footed, by the sea, Glad-footed, a flower within the twelve years' bowers ? XXI. O moon of splendid calm, O stinging soft white palm, glory of womanhood, mature indeed, Is now thy bosom ripe. Proud-womanly in type, And shall it seek, for love's great flower, a weed ? XXII. By all the young sweet days And the eager burnished blaze Of utter sunlight on the laughing sea, 5 66 TO THE QUEEN OF MY YOUNG LIFE. And rays of tremulous moon, And night's low-surging tune, Is love forgotten, O queen, forgotten of thee ? XXIII. Oh, are there roses bound ' Within thy breast and wound Within thine hair, and not one rose for me ? Are there within thy breast Ten thousand thoughts caressed Flower-like, yet not one thought for the old bright sea ? XXIV. Oh, hath thy kiss delayed By road-side, hath it strayed Amid the untender woods, sweet, far from me ? Then let it now return Rose-soft, and o'er me burn. Like greeting of west wind gentle o'er the sea f TO^THE QUEEN OF MY YOUNG LIFE. &f XXV. Hath thy dear ntiOuth the flowers Made fragrant for long hours, And hath thy mouth no blossom-kiss for me ? Shall I^not, one night, mark. Moon-splendid through the dark, Thee tender as God, love, love-flushed by the sea ? XXVI. Shapely as Venus, white As her own body bright. Tender with awful tenderness for me, A perfect woman-forln Moon-white, unclothed and warm, A goddess whose wings brood, passionate, o'er the sea. XXVII. Then shall thine utter kiss Be God to me in bliss, Godlike, me godlike make ; transfigure me : 68 TO THE QUEEN OF MY YOUNG LIFE. And as the old world's dead wings Release me, lo ! there rings My voice of risen delight, love, o'er the sea. 69 TO MY LADY. A BALLAD. Wonderful naked neck, Marble, pure, beyond fleck. Wonderful sea-deep eyes, Splendid as waves or skies. Wonderful arms and hands. Wonderful soft hair-bands. TO TO MY LADY. Wonderful body, too sweet For bodies of gods to greet. Wonderful lips, divine With wvour of eglantine. From what wonderful land Camest thou, girl-form grand ? Rising as Venus rose From white waves, whiter than snows. ■ Coming as Venus came To set the world aflame. Love, where art thou now. Tender, noble of brow ? TO MY LADY. 71 What flowers in what land Have caressed thine hand ? Dost thou dream of me, Dream of our old sweet sea ? Dream of the love-sweet dell, Where our footsteps fell ? Dream of the words I spoke When love the alence broke ? Dream of the deep green valleys Whence the soft breeze sallies. Laden with odours fair That soften the summer air ? Dost thou dream of the days When, ardent with new-born lays, 72 TO MY LADY. I flung at thy dear feet Many a song-flower sweet ? Splendid as Dante's queen (She too was fifteen When he first beheld Her figure and love forth-welled) — Splendid as Dante's bride Thou wast, by the green clifi"-side Standing, lithe, upright. Youth's wonderful one sweet sight. Now thou art no more A glory on that far shore. TO MY LADY. 73 The inland woods have heard Thy laughter, O love-voiced bird ! And inland flowers have seen The seawind-kissed fair queen. Art thou content with flowers That blossom within thy bowers ? Dost thoti not yearn for the sea ? Dost thou dream never of me ? Oh, wonderful body and hands, Who kisseth the brown hair-bands ? Who kisseth body and hair And breast-flowers soft and rare ? 74 70 MY LADY. Hath he wonderful tender hands To gladden the brown hair-bands ? Hath he subtle and gentle touch To fondle the dear neck much ? Hath he voice of the old sweet sea ? Hath he love and lyre of me ? Hath he spirit as fierce as mine, And passion as sparkling wine, And love as the old white flowers That scented our woods for hours ? Take this one far word; Let the sound of my song be heard TO MY LADY. 7S Where thou art sitting to-day, — Look up, sweet, — hearken, I pray. Give me thy wonderful hand. And enter the long-lost land. Enter the woods one night, A spirit, a wonder white. Or I will wait for thee By the old unaltered sea. Give me a kiss and cling About me, O soft of wing ! Touch me with every nerve ; With wonderful bend and curve Of wonderful supple form. Womanly, eager, warm, 76 TO MY LADY. Earnest, swift, on fire, Satiate my desire. Lean and throb to me Like music of the sea. Be body and neck and face, Mixed in a wild embrace Awful, entire, supreme, Great as a great God's dream. Give me thine utter soul. Thy spirit, thine heart, — the whole. Be compliant and pure ; With rapture of clasp secure My neck in thine eager hands, And smother with loose hair-bands 719 MT LADY. 77 (That fluctuate over me, So that their night I see Alone, and nought beside Save star-eyes of my bride) My face, and pour thy splendour Great, terrible, burning, tender, Throughout me : like all flowers That ever filled earth's bowers ; Or like the rush of a stream. Or music's manifold dream. Like one multiform flower, My body and soul imbower, — One woman-blossom, giving Joy utter, abundant, living ; 78 TO MY LADY Joy beyond all speech, That song's words cannot reach , Joy that quivers along The body in throbs of song, And through the soul in leaps That stir the soul's dim deeps — Wonderful body divine, Flower-body, be thou mine ; Flower-lips, rose-mouth, kiss, cling,- White arms, be tense white ring My body to embrace : And, wonderful woman-face, Thy spirit through thine eyes Mingle, with dear low sighs TO M7 LADY. 79 Of utter joy, with me : Woman, my^woman be^ 8o 'A HYMN OF WOMAN. Is there one summer night Wherein thou art not white, O Woman diviner than all summer airs ? Is there one tender rose Without thy mouth that glows Within the central crown the rosebud bears ? Each meadow of corn thy golden beauty wears. The dreams of youth are thine, The buds upon the vine, The splendour of noonday and of quiet night : A HYMN OF WOMAN. 8i Thy sacred locks of gold Round lovers thou dost fold, And in the utter stars thine eyes are bright ; Radiant thou shinest upon the mountain-height. What glory can we see Of passion without thee O dark-eyed queen of passion and of pure Delight that makes all things Thrill to the sound of wings, Start at the gleam of some celestial lure ; Within thine hand thou dost all flowers secure. Thine hair is black as night Sometimes, or golden-bright As every shade of slowly-ripening corn ; Or EngUsh simple brown Soft locks thou hast for crown, 6 82 A HYMN OF WOMAN. And breast whose subtle sweet scents put to scorn Blossoms whose dew-kissed petals kiss the morn. Whether in youth we dream Or days of manhood teem With urgent labour, lady, thou art there In love the world to drape ; No mortal may escape The sweet bewildering tangle of thine hair ; With the increasing years thou growest more fair. Thou art a sacred queen To boyish rapt sixteen, But never the flying days may fly from thee ; Thou broodest as of old Above the tossed broad gold Of sunset and of sundawn on the sea. And o'er the wind-tossed grass-blades of the lea. A HYMN OF WOMAN. 83 Ever thou art, love, there, — The wind-wave of thine hair. And all thy splendour of bloom, and thy white hands ; Yea, thy pure body white Is our sweet moon of night, Amazing and enthralling all the lands With ever sweeter tenure of pure bands. Sweet, ardent, swift of gaze. Upon the flower-hung ways Of earliest youth thou treadest like a queen ; But when the soft flowers fall Thou art still over all. Abiding with the same old smile serene Untouched amid the autumnal dim demesne. For autumn unto thee Is but as spring ; we see No diminution in thy glory, O thou 84 A HYMN OF WOMAN. For whom the roses wear Their garb of fragrant air, For whom the lilies bend imperial brow ; For whom the autumnal breezes whisper now. Not ever a rosebud falls Within grey trellised walls But for its falling do the great gods grieve ; But thou beyond all grief, Untouched, unsere of leaf, Regnant, the immortal high land dost achieve, And bloomest deathless from life's morn till eve. Beyond all seas and showers, Beyond all earthly hours, Unconquered and immortal, sweet, thou art ; The utter dreamful skies Thrill to thy tender eyes ; A HYMN OF WOMAN. 85 The moonbeams and the sunbeams watch thine heart ; Through the blue moonlit heavens thy swift feet dart. Thou art not any flower Of earthly passing bower, But sweet and glorious as from God's own hand : Thou fiUest all the breeze And the far laughing seas And all the green recesses of the land With rose-breath, as when countless flowers expand. In history's far weird days Thou didst thy banner raise Unchanged ; thou wast to races vanished long The same unearthly queen Of majesty serene. With sceptre sweet and so with sceptre strong ; A poem in Greece or Rome, a Syrian song. 86 A HYMN OF WOMAN. By rivers echoing far 'Neath dead and broken star, 'Neath planets fallen themselves now in the void;, Thou wast a flower new-born With all the flush of morn Upon the cheeks whose tender flush decoyed, And sweetness in the white hands which destroyed. Thou ravelledst hearts of men As even now, so then,^ Thou tangledst strong men's spirits in a snare :: Thou gavest unto them Sweet passion's diadem, — To kiss thy bosom and to kiss thine hair, — To know thee longed-for and to find thee fair. Through the ages thou hast been The same white endless queen. Filling the vales with music and the sky A HYMN OF WOMAN. 87 With wonderful pure light, And all our hearts with might, — Soothing with gentle laughter every sigh, Bringing the bounty of farthest heaven more nigh. What thou wast in the day When on the water-way Flamed the bright galley of the Egyptian queen, Thou art, white sweetheart, still ; Late ages thou dost thrill, And thou didst gladden all the years between ; Fostering, above earth's gardens thou dost lean. Intenser is the rose Of passion when it blows In later manhood, — and the growing race, Woman, find fairer things Soft-gathered in thy wings A HYMN OF WOMAN. And tenderer hues of beauty in thy face Than all thy far ancestral rumoured grace. So, lady, left so long Beside the sea-waves strong, Intenser ever is the love I bear Unto thy dear grey eyes Coloured as Northern skies And all the endless garland of thine hair. And body white and wonderful and fair. No day can pass but brings Sound sweeter of thy wings, And tenderer echo of approaching feet : Thou canst not flee away ; Is even sombre and grey ? Flush it with sunrise of thy coming, sweet. And at thy voice bid all the old mists retreat ! REMEMBER ME. As thou dost through far flying vales retreat With soft breath than the wind-kissed rose more sweet, Remember me ! Remember me when sunset through the panes Gleams, — when the burning gold of sunrise reigns Above the sea. When all the woods in June with laughing birds Are loud, remember love's old June-sweet words, Love's summer glee. go REMEMBER ME. As thou dost hold thy new love by the hand, Remember, lady, all the old flowerful land, Remember me ! When 'days are dreary now, and lips are cold. And no sweet singer at thy gate is bold, Think on the sea. Think how the old waves sang louder for my song, How sweet the moonlit beach was, and the strong Lyre of love's glee. By all the old summer days and woods divine That leapt at lovers' footsteps, yours and mine, Remember me ! By silent sorrowing in thy swift retreat Think, if the rills be tender, how more sweet The open sea. REMEMBER ME. 91 Think, if the buds that smile for thee inland Be gracious, were it not more grace to stand Alone with me ? Far out of sight of common haunts and ways, Tender as in the old tender-eyed sweet days Beside the sea ; The days which closed in sacred wondrous tune Of mystic first love 'neath the mystic moon, In marvellous glee ; Were it not passing sweet again to stand, Lips touching sweet lips, strong hand touching hand, — 1 Remember me. 92 HYMN. By thy perfect sea, Lord deliver me ! By thy strength of hand Over sea and land, Over hills and plains ; By thy love that reigns : By thy stars and storms. By thy sun that warms : HYMN. 93 By thy snow that shields Seeds and fallow fields : By thy breath that speaks In the sweet spring-weeks : By the summer rose, Where thy beauty glows : By thy tenderness, By thy soft caress : By thine outspread wings. Wherethrough thunder sings : By thy glories poured Over mount and sward : By thy wondrous might, Shown in starry night : 94 BYMN. By thy mountain-lakes, By thy white snow-flakes : By thy lonely seas, By thy rosefed breeze : By thy rains and clouds, By thy white mist-shrouds : By thy heaven of blue, Which thy love smiles through : By thy tender heart, By thy lightning dart : By thy wondrous world In thy love-robe furled : By thy majesty, God, deliver me ! 95 LOVE-SONG Are the roses in the green lanes sweet, The soft airs tender ? Are the red flowers bright among the wheat, Clothed in rich splendour ? Are the white waves swift upon the shores. With feet advancing ? Is the moon a marvel when it pours Forth light-floods dancing ? 96 LOVE-SONG. Are the stars a glory in the sky, — The green sea-billows A grandeur, — is there sadness in the sigh Of wind-swept willows ? Is there wonder in the melody of night. And perfect glory In the tossing of the long manes white Of sea-waves hoary ? Is there soothing in the North wind's kiss, The South wind's greeting ? Is the West wind messenger of bliss, Tired faces meeting ? Is there healing in the great sweet hand Of God which lifts us. Redeeming from the waste far land Where sorrow drifts us ? LOVE-SONG. 97 The roses on thy hps are sweet, Thy soft kiss tender : Thy feet shine swift among the wheat, Garbed in white splendour. Thy steps are swift upon the shores, Glad steps advancing ; Thy glance a marvel when it pours Forth love-floods dancing. Thine eyes are tender as the sky That meets the billows : Thy soul is gentle as the sigh Of breeze-swept willows. There is wonder in thy melody by night, And perfect glory 7 LOVE-SONG. In the trembling of thy soft hands white O'er love-tales hoary. There is soothing in thy soft soft kiss, Balm in thy greeting : Thy lips are messengers of bliss, Long-lost lips meeting. There is healing in thy sweet white hand, O love, which lifts us. Saving from the roseless land Where life's storm drifts us. 99 SONG. THE FUTURE. The blue sky gleams, The old dead dreams Vanish adown the air : From tree and bower, From grass and flower, Comes message of morning fair Again the rose In England glows, Again the sweet streams sound ; SONG. The woods are white With buds' delight, Anemones star the ground. The utter sky Gleams pure and high And the old moon thrills the vales r Once more for free Souls sounds the sea, And the outspread wide wind's sails. Far, far behind, We leave the blind Deaf souls who love the past ; The future's deep Voice thrills our sleep, Its mantle upon us is cast. SONG. loi The green meads sing, Alert of wing The future's songsters fly On sweet white pinions O'er broad dominions Of wonderful untouched sky. E'en love is new And sweet of hue, Flushed as the first spring rose. And passion gleams. Soft-draped in dreams. And the blossom of soul-life blows. DESDEMONA RE-AWAKENED. Desdemona is alive ! The strange sweet head Shines, is not dead : We are re-wed. The green fields laugh ; The blue waves gleam ; Death was a dream ; O sweet sun-beam ! DESDEMONA RE-AWAKENED. 103 My woman smiles ; same eyes still 1 strove to kill, Have ye your will ! My love is here ; dear same hands, What love expands In heaven's new lands ! Or is it earth ? The earth new-borri With flush of morn On bright brow worn. O love ! love ! love ! 1 slew my soul With you — the whole : Death was the goal. 104 DESDEMONA RE-AWAKENED. O soft-haired head ! O eyes of light And bosom white And shoulder bright ! O body and soul ! Body so sweet And soul so meet ; Lo ! doubt's defeat ! '05 TO THE REV. STOPFORD A. BROOKE, ON HIS LEA VING THE CHURCH OF ENGLAND. Now where the high hills are And all the airs with mountain flowers are sweet, Tread thou ; the valleys yearn not for thy feet : Their wreathed mists bar Thy vision, in prison, from risen great gold star. Now where the strong streams run Seek thou with ever more familiar tread The utmost summits where the sun burns red, The strong free sun, And where in air most fair God's crowns are won. io6 TO THE REV. STOPFORD A. BROOKE, The crowns of victors strong, O'er pain, o'er doubt, o'er loneliness, o'er death, Who have traversed life's lone sea with fearless breath ; But now they long, Yearn, each, in speech to reach the victors' song. For the utmost tenderness Of spirit is all the hope man can bfestow : To win from his own soul its utmost glow, — So to redress Some pain and, strain, and gain love's white caress. The awful utter love Is the only gift we care for now, — to hold Within our souls God's soul and this unfold : All mere creeds move Fast on the blast, are passed, — this dwells above. ON HIS LEA VING THE CHURCH OF ENGLAND. 107 Beyond all earthly creeds Thou passest now to the utmost peak, O friend, Where in love's vision all our visions blend : Each soul that bleeds High to this sky with sigh at length succeeds. With deep sigh of relief, — Watching at last the unimprisoned stars Now face to face and not through Church-forged bars : Sweet even if brief The hour when power doth shower from sun to sheaf. The one gold autumn hour Whose glory compensates for all the year Of mingled pain and labour and swift fear ; When thought to flower Springs, and the autumnal woodbine rings life's bower. io8 TO THE REV. STOPFOHD A. BROOKE. To pour our souls away In utter selfless love ; this joy alone Sets the divine sweet, soul on God's pure throne ; This in our day We yearn and burn to compass, as we may. August 22, 1880. 109 THE IMMORTAL AND THE MORTAL. Oh where the immortal and the mortal meet In union than of wind and wave more sweet, Meet me, O God- Where thou hast trod I follow, along the blood-print of thy feet. Oh, though the austere ensanguined road be hard And all the blue skies shine through casemates barred, I follow thee — Show thou to me Thy face, the speechless face divinely marred. THE IMMORTAL AND THE MORTAL. Lo ! who will love arid follow to the end, Shall he unscarred a smooth unred way wend ? Shall he not too With bitter dew Of blood the bright path bead, strained hands extend ? Lo ! who will follow love throughout the way, From crimson morning flush till twilight grey ? Who fears not chains, Anguish and pains, If love wait at the ending of the day ? If at the ending of the day life's bride Be near our hearts in vision glorified : If at the end God's hand extend That far triumphant boon for which we sighed. THE IMMORTAL AND THE MORTAL. Oh, where the immortal to our mortal flows, Flushing our grey clay heart to its own rose. Spirit supreme Upon me gleam ; Make me thine own ; I reckon not the throes. I would pour out my soul in one long sigh Of utter yearning towards thine home on high : I would be pure, Suffer, endure. Pervade with ceaseless wings the unfathomed sky. Oh, at the point where God and man are one, Meet me, thou God ; flame on me like the sun ; I would be part Of thine own heart. That by my hands thy love-deeds may be done. THE IMMORTAL AND THE MORTAL. That by my hands thy love-truths may be shown And far lands know me for thy very own ; Descend on me Like surge of sea, Like splendid tower of water shoreward blown. Oh, to the point where man and God unite. Raise me, thou God ; transfuse me with thy light ; Where I would go Thou, God, dost know ; For thy sake I will face the starless might. The night is barren, black, devoid of bloom, Scentless and waste, a wide appalling tomb ; To tardy wings Of life woe clings And fiery hours insatiable consume. THE IMMORTAL AND THE MORTAL. 113 But where thou art with me thy mortal, one, God, mine immortal, my death-conquering sun. Meet me and show What path to go Till the utter work of deathless love be done. 114 TO THE GREATER WOMAN. O greater woman with the great sweet hands, Queen of all flowers and loves in all sweet lands, When lonely, in weird pain, my spirit stands, O great love, hear me ! When loves of earth are feeble and forsake. Thou Woman-God, my worn-out spirit take, Renew, deliver ; soften and re-make ; Great God, be near rne ! TO THE GREATER WOMAN. 115 Heal me with wonder of thine awful kiss : , If earth's friends fail, and ever earthly bliss Declines, O God thy beauty — leave me this ! ^ Thy breath to cheer me ! O queenlier woman with the loving breast So white, so tender, soothe me, give me rest ; If all are frail, in thee my soul is blest ; O white love, save me ! whiter woman with the rose-sweet hair Than. all the abundant tresses yet more fair Which the dear brows of earthly women wear, Lift from the grave me ! 1 mix my heart with thine': with awful cry I turn me theeward from the loves that lie ; I trust thee, seek thee, praise thee as I die, For thou shalt save me ! Ii6 TO THE GREATER WOMAN. Are they flower-soft ? then art thou softer yet And tenderer : on thy brow more high calm set ; Oh, let my face by thy swift face be met, O woman, hold me ! In arms that never open to let fall. In breast wherethrough no withering serpents crawl. In hands that close in like a sweet safe wall, O sweet God, fold me ! O greater heavenlier woman than all these, With breath more tender than the tenderest breeze That shakes in Italy the moonlit trees, To thy will mould me ! 117 NEVER MORE. New foaming seas, New spring-tide breeze, New shells upon the shore, New leaves on trees, — But never never more The old tides that broke on youth's beach, splendid, nor their roar. New loves with gold Locks like the old. New rose-mouth to adore, New hands to hold, — But never never more The woman's face which Ughted all that laughing shore. ii8 NEVER MORE. The shore where fell Waves loved so well, Where cliiFs their gold flowers bore, Whose tender tendrils swell This year, — but never more Shall crown the brown-haired head they crowned and bound of yore. New meadow-sweet in dales, Spreading like white soft veils Above the wild-wood floor ; New moon when sunset pales ; But never never more The old moon that o'er the swoon of scented vale did soar. New wonderful blue skies. And wonderful bright eyes, But not the eyes before Whose gaze sweet love low lies ; NEVER MORE. H9 Yea, never never more The hands whose tender splendour first unhinged love's door. New nights of peace and bliss, New woman-mouth to kiss. But not the old mouth's sweet store Of summer scents, — not this, — No more, no more. That flush of love, the' sweetest woman ever wore. DESOLATION. With tenderest touch of mystical sweet hands And fragrant overflow of soft hair-bands She made me laughing lord of all love's lands. She raised me upward towards love's eagle height By tenderest touching of her bosom white And by her sweet deep brown eyes' laughing light. She kissed me on the mouth, a kiss suprertie Of a soft rose far softer than a dream, And gave me heaven and God in one swift gleam. DESOLATION. I2i She left me, mocked me, — and this earth was hell. With never air to breathe, no flower to smell ; Lo ! as she went, God, spear-pierced, tottering, fell. ALONE. Uone upon the scentless earth I stand ; Alone : j'ar barren fields stretch wide on either 1: Wind-blown ^ot one dear flower of woman's heart is For me : 'lot one grass-blade in rocky rainless cle ALONE. 123 Only the awful waste of billows white And strong : Only the starless soundless boundless night, — No song. Only the Godless speechless heavens, — no sound On land or sea : No help, no hope, no heart, no haven found For me. 124 SWEETER. Lilies are sweet, but sweeter is thy breast Whereon our tired hearts fall and therein rest, O lady ; Its calm is than the utmost calm more blest Of valleys shady ! The rose is sweet, but sweeter is-thy mouth Than all the roses gladdening all the south With fragrant splendour ; Where thou art, ne'er for e'er is passion's drouth O woman tender ! SWEETER. I2S May-bloom is white, but whiter are thine hands Than all May-blossoms smiling in spring-lands, O spotless woman : Where thou art, every gentle flower expands Of sweet love human ! The night is sweet, but sweeter sweeter far In thy soft arms the dreams imprisoned are ; Far sweeter, sweeter : Thy swift glance thrills the darkness like a star, A sudden meteor ! Dreaming in June beside a river-shore Is sweet, but oh with thee through dreams to soar To love's low measure Is sweeter, sweeter, exquisite far more, — A nobler pleasure ! 126 SWEETER. The sweet wind's kissing mouth is dear delight, But oh thy sacred kiss that crowns the night, Than breeze more pleasant ; And oh thy body than all flowers more white, Joy omnipresent ! 127 DEATH. Death that healest the weary, Descend thou upon me, Dividing life's days dreary With surge of sea. Lo ! my spirit's summer Fades, is past and gone : O thou swift sure comer. Speed thou on ! 128 DEATH. Not one love abideth ; No more roses gleam ; Time all loves derideth, Every dream. Not one woman waits now, Not one love avails ; At thine awful gates now Passion pales. Lo ! through the unbroken Silence comes thy voice, Sweet, of silvery token. Saying, " Rejoice. " If no roses wait thee, Lo ! I, death, am here With wide wings to mate thee, Be of cheer ! DEA TH. " If no bright buds yonder Flame upon the hill, Through my meads, soul, wander At thy will. " If no lips be tender. Am not I thy queen ? Hath not my mouth splendour Soft, serene ? " Underneath my pinion, Weary, be at rest ; In calm death-dominion ; This is best. " Never wake to sorrow, > Sorrow never more ; Dread not, child, the morrow : -'■■ Life is o'er." 129 130 MODERN FAITH. One moment's splendour in the crimson rose, One moment's sweetness ; then all sweetness goes : Never again the flame-flushed petal glows. A star, a moon, a cloud, a space of blue ; Then no more skies, moons, clouds, — no star-rays new ; No fresh morn's fern-fronds exquisite with dew. Love gleaming splendid from the water white One moment, cleaving waves with shoulder bright : Then loveless passionless deep sunless night MODERN FAITH. 131 A kiss : sweet mouth tight-pressed against our own ; Then autumn dying leaves about us blown ; The dim December wind's sepulchral tone. A woman's gracious quivering form to hold ; Rapture to gather from her lips of gold ; Then never pressure of sweet lips : we are old. A dream of God and help from heaven, and then Despair on earnest faces of all men : Groans to the void ; no answer back again: A dream of heavenly skies and towers of gold : Then frozen earth, the long night and the cold ; No bride-like heaven in eager arms to fold. One gleam of awful passion o'er the sea : Then never again, O love, the form of thee ; Only the wanton flakes of foam that flee. 138 . MODERN FAITH. Summer but once ; then darkness and a tomb, And wings of night pregnant with purple gloom^: One rose, — no more ; one vain waft of perfume. One glory amid the vales of cream-white fair Soft Jupe-loved meadowsweet in June-soft air l One meadowsweet-soft bosom ; then despair. 133 TEN YEARS AGO. Ten years ago with sweetest young emotion Before thy feet I cast a swift tumultuous tossing ocean Of fancies fleet. I flung before thee flowerbuds bright and burning, And many a dream, And passion white and pure, mA tender yearning, A fair heart-stream. 134 TEN YEARS AGO. Where art thou now, and where are all the fancies That flamed and flew ? Where are the swift-winged splendid sweet romances That cUmbed the blue ? Where are the long waves wonderful and hoary That swept the strand ? Within those woods what flower hath now the glory Of thy white hand ? What meadow-sweet is sweet as was thy breathing In the old lost days ? What fame is pure as fame thy hand was wreathing, The old first green bays ? What rose is as thy girlish breast sweet-scented. Thy shoulders fair ? Yea, thy flushed cheek did find the rose and lent it Its blush to wear ! TEN YEARS AGO. 135 What flower through all the hills and valleys gazing Shall love now see, Splendid as was the unclothed white amazing Splendour of thee ? What woman, Venus-like, with silvery laughter From the old-world foam Sprang sweet as thou ; once loved, what love comes after ? What rest, what home ? 136 ENGLISH FLOWERS AND SEAS. In the land of breezy cliff-tops and blown grasses, O Christ, art thou ? Where the summer-wind through crimson clover passes. Do blossoms bow ? Do the tender roses in the green June hedges Before thee burn ? Do the rushes tall along our river-edges To thy face turn ? ENGLISH FLOWERS AND SEAS. 137 Do the lilies white their fragrant stems before thee, O Christ-king, bend ? Do English woods and English hills adore thee And greeting send ? Is English honeysuckle glad to ring thee. Thy fair brown head ? Do watchful hands of English women bring thee Soft roses red ? Do EngUsh maidens open hearts and bosoms For thee to see ? Art thou the lord who gathereth English blossoms From plant and tree ? Are Englishwomen's spirits tearful, tender, When thou art near ? Trembling do they unveil for thee their splendour With woman's fear ? 138 ENGLISH FLOWERS AND SEAS. Art thou the lord of many a soft heart beating With love of thee ? Art thou the prince of wide waste waves retreating. Our white fierce sea ? Art thou the ruler of the autumn glory Of dell and vale ? Do women, woods, and golden leaves, and hoary Waves, shout " All-hail " ? Nay : Beauty's self upon our rocky ledges Is sole sweet queen ; She, rose of roses in our rose-sweet hedges. Shines in the green. She, 'mid the wavelets white a woman whiter. Rises to stand Upon our storm-swept cliffs a sweet star brighter Than thy bright hand. ENGLISH FLOWERS AND SEAS. 139 Our blossoms and our women bend before her, Her face they seek : Our mountain-winds and mountain-mists adore her ; For her they speak. Our maidens not for thee O Christ are tender, — Oh, not for thee : But English eyes their unapproached white splendour Sometimes may see. The eternal seas on iron shore-sides breaking For our ears sound : The summer winds the moon-lit aspens shaking Love Northern ground. The courser-waves along the gold sands charging Not in thy name Spread wide white manes along the yellow margin Of beach they claim. 140 ENGLISH FLOWERS AND SEAS. Yea, not for thee a maiden's rose-like passion Bloomed in the North : Not towards thy lips in mystical low fashion Words trembled forth. Not for all wreaths wherewith the lands imbower thee, Would I displace My one white rose, — nor hand, O perfect flower, thee To Christ's embrace. 141 AN ADJURATION. By the old white maze of swift bewildering billows That stormed the strand ; By the old dear woods' autumnal mossy pillows, By thy white hand ; By far streams washing tips of bended willows, A far-off land ! By all sweet sacred memories I adjure thee. By clifiF, by star. By maze of garden shrubs that now secure thee ,42 AN ADJURATION. Where no songs are ; By the old soft dreams that once, sweet, did allure thee. By pain's red scar ! By all the tossing tides of bitter sorrow, A foaming main ; By love's low whispers when he sought to borrow New hope in vain ; By all the soft sunrises that to-morrow Cloud-depths retain ! By moons that swam serenely o'er the ocean. Gilding the foam ; By our young hearts' sustained intense emotion. By passion's home ; By the long deep Lethean nightshade potion Given while we roam. AN ADJURATION. 143 By mine own heart that never can forget thee ; By flowers of song ; By my swift lyre that ceaseless doth regret thee Forlorn so long ; By every tender flower that since hath met thee, By yearning strong. By silvery moonlight flooding garden reaches Long leagues inland, Reminding thee of rays that lit the old beaches, The wave-swept strand By this sad song itself whose mouth beseeches Touch of thine hand ; Be gracious : — as the summer rose is tender, Be thou to me ! Unveil, white love, thy white eternal splendour 144 AN ADJURATION. As by the sea Love saw soft lips and shaking hands surrender ; So let it be. Lo ! how the moonlight o'er the mountains hoary Of time yet beams : Rise thou O woman moon haloed with glory, With gentle gleams ; Close thou the wandering wail of passion's story, Of passidn's dreams. Before the October winds the grasses harden Tarry for me In quiet nook of red-leaved autumn garden, Or by the sea : Thyself give for sweet token of sweet pardon. The bloom of thee. AN ADJURATION. 145 By burning light of sunrise on the spaces Of old fair seas ; By the swift laughing light of love that chases The quick-winged breeze ; By our words' wings and the immemorial races, O love, of these ; Rise thou, a woman at last, and, flower-delightful. In close embrace Pour through mine eyes the unforgotten rightful Dream of thy face ; Let love be ardent, masterful and mightful, Some little space. Rose of all roses, wait within the garden, Wait thou alone, Woman's soft thrill of over-tender pardon 10 146 AN ADJURA TION. Within thy tone ; Wait ere the stealthy frosts the first blades harden, Ere chill winds moan ! 147 VOICES. Prologue. . CHRIST. Lo ! o'er the wide green waves is thy sun setting, Thy sun that flamed throughout the centuries long With rays so vehement of point and strong ? Will it be lost to sight beyond regretting In the green waves that surge around it, fretting Its red fierce disc with floods of mocking song ? Do new sweet moons and stars the blue night throng ? Will there be suns for homage and forgetting ? We loved Christ's rose of blood till, tenderer far, The rose of Beauty flamed, a silver star. Flower-sweet, flower-tranquil, o'er the lessening foam : Then saw we in the depths within her eyes The end of our eternity of sighs, Peace and a haven of hope, a painless home. 148 VOICES. CHORUS OF CHRISTIAN ELDERS. Christ being raised, dieth no more ! Hearken : the Christ-king stands With tender and outstretched hands ; He bringeth a law to the lands, Glad tidings to every shore. Christ being raised, dieth no more ! Flag of the Christ-king, rise Blood-red in the blue clear skies : Lead us, through sorrow and sighs. Through tears and pangs of the war. Christ being raised, dieth no more ! Bend we before our King And banners of greeting bring ; With swift sure ecstasy sing, With down-bent homage adore. VOICES. 149 CHORUS OF GREEK MAIDENS. Christ being dead, liveth no more I Hearken : our Lady is fair As a rose in the morning air, Sent from on high to prepare Sweet tidings for every shore. Christ being dead, liveth no more ! Beauty of Venus our queen In front of us flame and be seen ; Lo ! whiter than water the sheen Of her body, our token of war. Christ being dead, liveth no more ! Wonderful Goddess, thee Sprung white from the foam of the sea, On gladsome and bended knee We worship and hymn and adore. 150 VOICES. CHORUS OF CHRISTIAN ELDERS. Christ being raised, dieth no more I Heal us, O Christ ; our sighs To the innermost cloudland rise : Wipe thou the tears from our eyes, From eyes that are weary and sore. Christ being raised, dieth no more I Never was heart so pure As thine, Christ ; thou shalt endure For ever : thy throne is sure, Yea, firmer than any before. Christ being raised, dieth no more ! Bountiful Christ ! oh stand With sword and sceptre in hand : Thou art prince, thou art king to command. Thou art God's own Son from of yore. VOICES. CHORUS OF GREEK MAIDENS. Christ being ^ead, liveth no more ! Wipe thou our weeping with hair Outpoured, sweet, smelling of air Of tenderest June-night, rare Sweet bounty for souls that are sore. Christ being dead, liveth no viore ! Never were roses as white, O Goddess, as thy breast bright : Tender as moon in the night It gleams thy people before. Christ being dead, liveth no more ! Beautiful rose-sweet maid, 'Neath the olives, in glimmering shade, Thou standest, nude, unafraid, A snow-white queen fromof yqre. 151 152 VOICES. CHORUS OF CHRISTIAN ELDERS. Christ being raised, dieth no more t Bend upon us thy face, Thy bounty, thy beauty, thy grace,— Be our goal in the wearisome race, — The balm of thy spirit outpour. Christ being raised, dieth no more I By thy groans upon Calvary's tree, Blood-drops like tides of a sea. Redeem thou the world unto thee ; By the oath thy Father swore. Christ being raised, dieth no more I s To the farthest bounds of the land Far stretches his strong right hand ; As a lion o'er leagues of sand He paces, and loud is his roar. VOICES. 153 CHORUS OF GREEK MAIDENS. Christ being dead, liveth no more I Sweet, with the balm of thy breath DeUver from shadow of death ; ■ O'er mountain, valley, and heath, Thy blessing and help outpour. Christ being dead, liveth no more ! By thine own dear calm white hands, Calm love, deliver the lands From shackles and perilous bands ; Christ never thy sweet oath swore. Christ being dead, liveth no more ! To the furthest limits of sight Soft reaches our love's hand white ; Little she cares for the might Of Jesus, his lion-like roar. 1 54 VOICES. CHORUS OF CHRISTIAN ELDERS. Christ being raised, dieth no more I All the heavens of gold In his sure grasp Christ doth hold ; He stands, keen, stalwart and bold, Alert at the heavenly door. Christ being raised, dieth no more ! Help us, O Christ, to rise To the loftiest untouched skies : Hear thou our groans and sighs ; Aid us to heaven to soar. Christ being raised, dieth no more I He walked on the waves of the lake Which a glistering floor did make : Not a ripple had force to shake His foot till his march was o'er. ■ VOICES. 155 CHORUS OF GREEK MAIDENS. - Christ being dead, liveth no more ! All the heavens of blue Her clear gaze glimmereth through ; Her soft tears fall in the dew ; She guardeth the high morn's door. Christ being dead, liveth no more ! The sweet and the tender seas And the loving and gentle breeze Are thine, O Venus ; with these. For wings thy soul doth soar. Christ being dead, liveth no more ! And Love in the blue seas shines As they wander in sparkling lines ; Never her grace declines, Never her sceptre is o'er. ,56 VOICES. ' CHORUS OF CHRISTIAN ELDERS. Christ being raised, dieth no more ! Surely where thou dost stand Are flowers and songs of the land ; Summer at thy right hand Shines on the green earth-floor. Christ being raised, dieth no more I What was the raiment thou Didst wear, Christ ? crucified how Was thy body and pierced thy brow ! Thy shoulders a red robe wore ! Christ being raised, dieth no more ! Sweet are thy lips and face, — Fulfilled of fair pure grace ; On" the steps of thy shrine we place Rich fruits ripe to the core. VOICES. 157 CHORUS OF GREEK MAIDENS. Christ being dead, livitK no more ! Surely within thy breast All buds of summer time rest As in soft and scented nest ; Thou clothest the sweet earth-floor. Christ being dead, liveth no more ! White is thy body, O Queen ; Its tender adorable sheep O'er the moonlit waves is seen : Thy shoulders their loveliness wore ! Christ being dead, liveth no more I And we bring roses and fair Wreaths tenderly wrought prepare ; Berries in thy black hair We twist, red-ripe to the core. 158 VOICES. CHORUS OF CHRISTIAN ELDERS. Christ being raised, dieth no more ! Gifts in thine heaven, O King, Thou hast for the hearts who sing At thine altar, and round thee ding ; Gifts from thine heavenly store. Christ being raised, di^th no more I Flies as a flag to the front Christ's war-plume ; there in the brunt Of the battle he foes doth hunt, — Yet the people his prowess ignore. Christ beiAg raised, dieth no more t Never shall frost again Defile the grass of the plain ; Never shall fierce snows stain The wide fields frozen and hoar. VOICES. 159 CHORUS OF GREEK MAIDENS. Christ bdng dead, liveth no more I Thou art the only flower We care for now in thy bower : Thine own scent, sweet one, shower Upon us, its fragrant store. Christ being dead, liveth no more ! On the sweet. wind exquisite sighs From our musical love-land rise ; Beauty a bird in the skies , Sings, — yet her song they ignore. Christ being dead, liveth no more 1 Now the roses blow For the waste wide miles of snow ; Singing is with us for woe ; Grass for the dead plains hoar. i6o VOICES. CHORUS OF CHRISTIAN ELDERS. Christ being raised, dieth no more / Four Evangelists came, Robed in raiment of flame, Eager with passionate aim, Christ's stern warriors four. Christ being raised, dieth no more I Christ the whole earth planned : It leaped new-born from his hand ; His Spirit the waste void fanned With its breath, and swift life bore. VOICES. i6i CHORUS OF GREEK MAIDENS. Christ being dead, Uveth no more ! Beauty'4 messengers fair Are fire and ocean and air, And the green earth clothed in rare Flower-raiment : ministers four. Christ being dead, liveih no more ! Beauty the whole earth made ; The sunlit lands and the shade ; Mountain and valley and glade ; Life as a babe She bore. i62 VOICES. Epilogue. BEAUTY. Yea, thou art whiter than the Christ, O tender Venus who risest from the waves of time With the old form beyond all words sublime ; As forest air when the night-mists surrender And flowers are touched by sun, O stainless splendour Thy breath is sweet : thou dwellest in a clime Of love and lyric harmony and rh)Tne, Far from the foot of slow-eyed foul offender. Take thou the future ; in thy passionate kiss Is all we need of earthly, heavenly bliss : O body of beauty, all thy wealth bestow ! Like freshest smell of ferns in fragrant lanes Is the dear scent that trembles o'er thy veins, And sweeter is thy mouth than man can know. 163 O DEATH. O Death in some green hollow of mountain-ranges, By some calm sea, Hast^thou no][haven of hope that never changes. No place for me ? Hast thou no valley green with silver fountains Where I may rest ? No lake that limns its deep imbosoming mountains In liquid breast ? i64 DEA TH. Shall I not wake some quiet morn and find thee, Lure thee to me ; Cling to thy neck, O true love Death, and bind thee With lover's glee ? Thou art gentle of heart and all who love may trust thee. Thou wilt not fail ; Force frightens not nor sanguine battle-dust thee, Mars not thy maiL The russet stems of summer flowers obey thee When summer fails ; The golden autumn glittering woods portray thee, These are thy veils. Thou art great of soul and sweepest with thy pinion O'er sea and air Winning all glory of June to thy dominion, All robes flowers wear. DEA TH. i6 And me too singer of tragic things, and weary, Thou shalt redeem : Save from the endless joyless hopeless dreary Faith in a dream. O greater singer than I, and far more fateful. On me who weep Take pity and grant for songful life and hateful A sortgless sleep. i66 THE LAND OF SLEEP. Along with quiet spirits of elder singers I too shall sleep, When falls the hushed harp from the weary fingers, In darkness deep. There are the ghosts of those who came before me, A strange sweet band Whose voices from my youth have hovered o'er me And swayed my hand. THE LAND OF SLEEP. 167 There Keats, there Shelley ; there the figure graver Of Wordsworth calm ; There women-singers, souls of sweeter savour Than June-night's balm. There the swift eyes that gleamed, the hearts that ^arried With us awhile, Lightening for us the woes our spirits carried With sunlike smile. When the long days have done their task and, weary, I too may go, Within the dim sepulchral chambers eerie Where cold streams flow ; Within the hollow of deathland I shall wander, Bringing to these Dead spirits a sudden lyric sound of yonder Soft English breeze ; i68 THE LAND OF SLEEP. A gleam of sunlight on my brow yet lingering, Glad it may be To those whose harps once laughed to their high fingering By English sea. One breath of rose or furze or English heather, That they may weep : Then, weary as they, with them, in sombre weather, I too shall sleep. 1 69 AND ART THOU TENDER ? And art thou tender O Death to wayside roses, Not good to me ? Dost thou with cold breath wither gleaming posies On hill and lea ; Dost thou with gentle hand receive the summers, Their glory past ; Are golden Junes within thy halls glad-comers ; In chambers vast I70 AND ART THOU TENDER ? Of silent calm soul-healing restitution Dost thou O Death Gather the swift years weary of pollution By living breath ? Ob, dost thou in thy wondrous darkened amber Superb dim caves Hold, as in fragrant solemn bridal-chamber Beneath the waves. The spirits of weary singers who by mountains And rills of Greece Sang to the old-world unreturning fountains, The old-world trees ? The spirit of strong unintermittent Dante Beside thy streams Dwells? Hast thou not some bower, tho' bowers be scanty, For modern dreams ? AND ART THOU TENDER? 171 Canst thou to every pallid flower be tender, Each pale past song, Yet not unrobe for us thy viewless splendour O death-breast strong ? Sweeter than woman, stronger than the passion That through youth's veins Bounds for the burning white sea-born Thalassian, Death, heal our pains ! 172 AN ELEGY. I. And art thou dead ? O hushed in solemn chamber Art thou the deathless form, the deathless face, Caught now in death's illimitable embrace ? Is this white shrine whereover wild vines clamber Thy resting-place " O wondrous body to which the waves were gracious When it sprang forth a splendour from the spacious Deep halls of sea-washed amber That close in Venus' grace ? AN ELEGY. 173 II. What shall I wind, O marble brow, around thee ? Surely our ancient ferns and meadow-sweet Are even than the august great rose more meet : The growth that filled the woods where love's eyes found thee And barred retreat ; Those sacred groves whereover once a glory Flamed like the sun, — now dim with mosses hoary, — The woods wherein love bound thee And stayed thy girlish feet. III. Wonderful hair that once the Northern breezes Found sweeter than the clover-fields that shine Star-like along the level cliff-top line. Now may death's hand toy with thee as it pleases ! His fingers twine Idly the locks at sight of which love maddened. 174 AN ELEGY. Idly the hair which all the sweet world gladdened ; Now strand by strand death seizes What once was so divine. IV. Thou art gone from the old grey cliff, and who may follow ? Art thou to nether gods exceeding fair ? Oh do they wonder at the black-brown hair, Laughing for joy within their chambers hollow As they prepare Roses and flowers and many gifts to greet thee, — Jubilant gods advancing swift to meet thee. Yea even gold-harped Apollo Thrilling with song the air. What land of love is thine, what perfect splendour Of soft-voiced lovers wandering with calm feet AN ELEGY. 175 Along the meadows that the west winds greet With heavenly kiss flower-exquisite and tender, With mild heart-beat : Whom hast thou now, O sweet beyond all roses, On whose strong heavenly breast thy breast reposes, — Or dost thou not surrender, Alone for me flower-sweet ? VI. Oh, through the woodlands, o'er the old seas foaming, Spirit of perfect love, I cry to thee ! Wilt thou not wait me by some sunset-sea, — Within the purple sombre shadow of gloaming, — By green spring-tree ? Human art thou no more ? or art thou stronger In sweetest passion-force as years grow longer ? Stronger in that thou art roaming Heaven-lands apart from me ! 176 AN ELEGY. VII. So to the spirit I cry : Thy wondrous body Sweeter itself than flowers, with flowers I ring. And these poor garlands of sad words I bring; Garlands wherein the autumn leaves mix ruddy With sprays of spring : Words patient under sorrow and uncomplaining. Yet stricken of grief as leaves the storms are staining, - Which, goldeii-Jiued or bloody, Flutter from autumn's wing. VIII. No more the waves shall worship thee their daughter Born of the tender wreaths of Northern foam ; No more shalt thou with sun-sweet footstep roam Over the white tossed leagues of billowy water, Thy well-loved home : AN ELEGY. 177 The tomb now holds thee as it holds each lily That fades at even on dim upland hilly ; Dead art thou ; dead thy laughter Whose wings the clear heavens clomb. Sept. 5, 1880. 178 CHRIST AND VENUS. Across the weary waste of billowy water, From heaven's high shore, Comes Christ's voice saying, " O son, O weary daughter, Thy toil is o'er ". Across the moonlit meads, where tremulous willows Bend dappled arms ; Across the bright sea's sunlit laughing billows. Shine Venus' charms. CHRIST AND VENUS. 17^ But hearken not : think of the skies so golden, The seas so sweet, The glory of him who trod the lake-waves olden With unharmed feet. But we are weary, — and love's white limbs are shining The soft night through ; What fellowship have we, O spirits repining At love, with you ? Hark to the solemn voice of Jesus saying, " Soon will the door On souls unsound and feeble feet delaying Close evermore ". Hark to the gracious voice of Venus chiding The slow-foot crew ; Her rose-sweet breasts amid the roses hiding Tarry for you. l8o CHRIST AND VENUS. And you may win the immortal peace that faileth Never indeed : Believe in Christ ; mark how the pierced brow paleth, The torn feet bleed ! Mark how the flowers faint back for very wonder When Venus speaks : The tints that flame behind the mountains yonder Are in her cheeks. After life's battle, lo ! the towers of marble ; The sweet high song That seraphs in God's golden palace warble, White-plumed and strong. After the weary day the sweet flushed night-time. And waiting there. Giver of every summer-soft delight-time. Our goddess fair. CHRIST AND VENUS. i8i After the lusts of earth the pure dominions Where Christ is seen Cleaving the solemn air with gold vast pinions Of awful sheen. And after this the scent among the mountains Of Venus' locks : Sound of her footstep tender amid the fountains And moss-gay rocks. After the,heat of earth the cool high heaven Where no lusts dwell : Lifted we are, yea saved, we sinners, even From flames of hell. Lifted we are by the divine dear brightness Of Venus' breast : Yea, by the body's soft exceeding whiteness Our lips caressed. i82 CHRIST AND VENUS. Jesus ! from all foul thoughts and shapes deliver ! From all base dreams ! Their goddess pierce with darts from out thy quiver ; With sword that gleams ! Hurtless art thou and harmless, sweetheart tender,— Christ's arrows fail ; For thine invulnerable naked splendour. Nude, needs no mail >83 THE ONLY REST. There is a land where roses fade not ever, Where hearts once joined in one turn traitors never, The land of death : There all is silent : through that pure dominion Flies never a bird with wandering wistful pinion And wistful breath. Our flowers betray us, fading with the summer, Each sunset darkens for the night, sure-comer, Pursues each hard ; i84 THE ONLY REST. Life robs us fast of sweet familiar faces, Robs us of health, endows and then displaces Each aging bard. Beauty is sweet : tender the fair white shoulder ; But beauty groweth dim, — ^the lips wax colder That once were warm : The flower-scent quits the neck and leaves the bosom That once was wordless wealth a bloomless blossom, Quits mouth and arm. The winter groweth apace : our loves escape us ; In mantle of chill gloom the dark days drape us ; The dark short days : — The old summer thoughts and dreams are no more valid ; By autumn walls the autumn daisies pallid Their dank heads raise. THE ONLY REST. iSj Women we loved are weary or dead or faithless ; Blossoms we loved the bleak wind leaves not scatheless, It dims their cheeks : In front of us lies mist-winged drear December ; Behind, the months we care not to remember. The flower-filled weeks. So is it in life : God seems to have forgotten ; The very roots of hope and faith seem rotten And rotten their leaves : Death's kingdom seemeth to our spirit lonely The one thing that abideth,— yea the only Sure rest Fate weaves. NO MORE. The sweet green flowerful laughing summers coming Again shall shine ; Again the June wind's subtle fingers strumming Shall shake the pine ; Again the yellow-banded bee go humming O'er clover and vine. Again the long waves, wonderful in whiteness, Shall storm the shore ; The yellow moon with the old weird shimmering brightness NO MORE. 187 Her rays forthpour ; Yea, some shall love with the old unchanged heart-lightness, But we no more. Weary the world seems ; like a woman colder. Who soft words said But yestereve and leant with dear soft shoulder Against our head : She is changed to-day ; and all the world's grown older ! Its charm is fled ! i88 ANOTHER AUTUMN. The leaves again are glorious green and golden ; The child is gone Whose laughter through the bright glades in the olden Days lured me on. While as of old with sanguine autumn splendour The wild woods shine, Noi as of old the young face soft and tender Looks up to mine. ANOTHER AUTUMN. 189 Once I could happier make a child's heart beating With love of me By word or touch, than all the high sun's greeting Makes glad the sea. Now weary amid the selfsame groves I wander ; As erst, they are fair : But one gold gift shines not that once shone yonder — A child's gold hair. One gentle thing that sounded sounds not ever — A child's sweet tone : One hand will seek the hollow of my hand never ; I am alone ! I go HOLD THOU MY hand: When I top pass at length, a weary singer, To death's dim land ; When no more dreams and visions round rne linger, Hold thou my hand ! When the last song is sung, the last word spoken, The last kiss sealed — When for thee, love, the silence is unbroken, Nor death's gates yield ; HOLD THOU MY HAND i 191 When for the last time I, thy poet tender, Thy mouth have kissed ; When ho more round thee sweeps the wild song-splendour; Shall I be missed ? Will morning flowers lack somewhat, love, of brightness Because of me ? The moon with less of thrilling soft love-whiteness Caress the sea ? Will the long days without me, love, be dreary ; The long strange days ? The uncaressing starless cold nights weary ? Footsore the ways ? Wilt thou remember how the old dear moon-glory Eell o'er the seas ? The thunder of waves whose prancing squadrons hoary Charged at our knees ? 192 HOLD THOU MY HAND ! And oh the night : the night of sacred wonder, Mute, crowned of stars, When, once, the fiery love-god smote in sunder All gates and bars. Wilt thou, when never husband-hand and tender May more embrace. May captive hold thine uttermost wife-splendour, ' Think of my face ? Think of the singer who for thee sang solely, When not one heard ; Who gave thee all his soul-power, gave it wholly In deed and word ? Oh, will the eternal nights we passed soft-sleeping With God for guard Rush on thy memory ? wilt thou wake, sweet, weeping, And struggle hard HOLD THOU MY HAND t 193 To reach my spirit yearning down from heaven With eager speed ? Oh, God, how little yet, how little is given To meet great need ! Thou art weary of song sometimes ; wilt thou be weary When no songs more Beat at thy window with moon-pinions eerie ? When no sounds soar? When for the last time through the night I follow The form of thee Leading to our sequestered soft dream-hollow Beside the sea ? When never again in utter love I hold thee O woman, O sweet ! Never again in strong embrace eAfold thee Nor thine eyes meet ! 13 1 94 HOLD THOU MY HAND 1 Oh be not weary ; think how short a season Love-life may be ! Thou lovest me, I know, beyond all treason ; So love I thee. Hold thou my hand through life : and if death takes me To his dim land Ere thou must go, then, as life's breath forsakes me, Hold thou my hand ! 195 THEE FIRST, THEE LAST. Because thou wast the first To waken passion's thirst When all the morning youthful air was sweet ; Because while yet the dew Fresh fern-fronds glittered through Thou didst the fern-fronds shake with youthful feet, Thy name first, last, in song-land I repeat. Because the seas were fair With breath of morning air When thou didst traverse, laughing, their wide ways ; 196 THEE FIRST, THEE LAST. Because in vale and dell Young spring-like petals fell And dreams were sweet in many a woodland maze. Thee first, thee last, in song to heaven I raise. Because the woods were green. Because thou wast my queen Long ere pale sorrow haunted with fierce wings The autumn desolate rills, And thunder-smitten hills. And forests dark where pain her white hands wrings,. Thee first, thee last, my lyre's remembrance sings. Because thou wast my Bride, Young, beautiful, soft-eyed, Long ere the voice of other woman spoke ; Because thou wast the flower First sent in life's first hour, THEE FIRST, THEE LAS'T. 197 White as the seas that round our footsteps broke, Both first and last I bow me to thy yoke. Because no woman's face Had, then, the same sweet grace. Nor flower-like fell the hands of woman then Caressing on my heart ; Because the crown of Art Thou wast, and my life's mission among men Thou madest plain, I hymn thee, love, again. I hymn, sweet lady, thee, With voice of our old sea. With passionate surge of song-wave on the shore Of fast-receding time ; I seek thee in my rhyme. Beautiful, tender as thou wast, once more, And all the old darling days of love adore. igS -THEE FIRST, THEE LAST. Because in the early glow Of morning thou didst throw A glamour o'er my life that never yet Hath faded quite away, Though shades of evening grey Are in the west, and cold years must be met, , Upon thy brow this wreath of song I set. I bring thee, love, again A soft memorial strain ; A memory as of morning o'er the sea : Pale flowers for thee to wind. With love-glance flung behind, Within thy tresses ere swift years that flee Banish the morning thoughts, and thoughts of me.. Thee first, thee last, I crown And lay my singing down THEE FIRST, THEE LAST. 199 Just as of old for blessing of thine hand ; Again, in dreams, a boy. Full of love's fiery joy, Watching the sea-shaies of thine eyes I stand, While miles of meadow-sweet scent all the land. SLEEP. When the wild days, love, Pass, and night's haze, love, For the sun's blaze, love, Falls o'er the land ; How we shall sleep, love, Tenderly weep, love. Passion-joy reap, love. Glad hand in hand ! SLEEP. How we shall kiss, love, Pleasure we miss, love, Into one bliss, love, Swift-gathered then ; How we shall cling, love. While our souls sing, love, While passion's wing, love. Guards us again. Now the days dreary Groan, and the eerie Frozen nights weary Body and heart ; Yea, not a pleasure Breaks our sad leisure ; Sick beyond measure Sigh we apart. SLEEP. Oh, when together How the old tether Bursts, and blue weather Laughs in the breeze X How the old sadness Fades, and our gladness Mounts up to madness, Thrilleth the trees ! How we are lifted, Blessed now and gifted, We who were drifted Far out to sea ; Now thy heart waketh, Sweet one, that breaketh, Trembleth and acheth. Lost without me ! SLEEP. 203 I too am waking, Draught of joy taking, Eager lips slaking In the pure wine ; Wine that thou givest, Love, while thou livest — As thou receivest Strength-gifts of mine. Ah ! when our sorrow Flies on the morrow. How we shall borrow Pinions to fly : How we shall soar, love. Bursting the door, love, Slavery o'er, love ; Free, you and I ! 204 ' SLEEP. When we meet next, love, Joy for our text, love, Tired not nor vext, love, How we shall weep : One day forsaking Earth and its aching, Prison-bars breaking. How we shall sleep ! 205 THIS VERY DAY. This very day long years ago The autumn woods were sweet With passage of thy feet, Thrilling the wild gold wheat And glades where dim flowers blow. Eleven years this very day I asked thee to be mine And round thy brow did twine Ferns, heather, and woodbine, And many a woodland spray. zo6 THIS VERY DAY. Eleven long long years ! Where hast thou been so long, O lady of my song, — For still the wild flowers throng The woods, and still thine ears May hear the old love-strain That filled the woods that day Around thy spirit pky, Cheering thy feet that stray Along life's outstretched plain. But oh that autumn day ! How sweet the clear blue weather Was, when we strolled together, Feet light as flying feather. Along the woodland way :| THIS VERY DAT. 207 Talking of fairy-lore ; Of many mystic things ; Of the mstle of love's wings ; Of how love sits and sings ; Till night came, all was o'er. Over : for ever over : The long sweet day was ended, The light with darkness blended. The trees dark arms extended ; Faded the scent of clover. Faded love's fragrance too ; Faded the rocky seat Whereon you sat, my sweet. With mosses for your feet ; Darkened the skies so blue. 2o8 THIS VERY DAY. And all was in the past ; That past wHich holds our dreams, And all the dead sun-beams, And all the dried-up streams ; Holds them, — and holds them fast. There in the past art thou, O lady of the dear Green woodland that shines clear Across so many a year ; So clear I see it now. And see thee with the face So dear, so sweet, so young. That all my heart hath sung. That once my spirit wrung, Yea, slew it for a space. THIS VERY DAY. 209 See thee with soft girl's eyes Upon that mossy seat, O girlish love so sweet ; Within that green retreat , Beneath those blue lost skies. Listening with tender face To first love's eager tune ; And then, the cliiT, the moon, The star-lit soft night soon. The placid ocean-ways ! O wonderful lost dream ! On this the very day I turn back, while I may, And sing a lost moon-beam, A wandering starry ray ; 14 THIS VERY DAY. And sing the face that shone So flushed, so fair, so sweet, Within the green retreat ; Yea, sing the white swift feet Whose swiftness lured me on : Yea, sing the old strange eyes Of mingled green and grey. That on this very day Laughed in the woodland way, Flashed under autumn skies. Sept. 17, 1880. TO THE AUTHOR OF "THE PRINCE'S QUEST AND OTHER TOEMS". Wouldst thou join, O brother, The swift-winged poet-throng ? Wouldst thou tread the burning Paths where singers, yearning Onward, upward turning. Jostle one another, The mountain-airs among ? TO THE AUTHOR OF Oh, thy soul is young yet, Crowned with sweet youth's leaves ; Thou hast not been maddened By neglect, and saddened By lost love, — but gladdened All thy soul hath sung, — ^yet Fate thy future weaves. Joy thou shalt have, singer ; Not all song is pain : Hearts of women sweeter Than thine own soft metre. Than thy swift words fleeter. Shall for thy sake linger, — Hearken to thy strain. Many a sunset waits thee. Many a summer day ; *'THE PRINCE'S QUEST AND OTHER POEMS". 213 Many a bower of roses Where Venus' breast reposes And all its wealth discloses ; Time not yet, friend, hates thee ; Thou art early in the way. Many a friend shall find thee, Many a friend forsake ; Many a love with tender Show of white soft splendour Shall for thee surrender ; Many a bright noon blind thee, Many a morning break. Many seas with billows Green or blue or grey Shall for thee their roaring Music be forth-pouring : 214 TO THB AUTHOR OF Many birds be soaring Through the oaks and willows Where thy footsteps stray. So thy life shall forward Push its lingering wave ; Till the stars less golden Seem than in the olden Sweet days mist-enfolden ; Till thou lookest shoreward, Poet, at thy grave. See that ere thou sinkest, > Some true work be done : Ere the rose-leaves wither Seek to lure fame hither ; With thy Ijrre and zither Light what life thou drinkest Ere the set of sun. "THE PRINCE'S QUEST AND OTHER POEMS" 215 One true song is endless, One sweet hymn supreme : Chant but one true tender Song, and its winged splendour Back to thee shall render, Yea, though life be friendless, Joy deeper than thy .dream. 2l6 FAR BEHIND. Far behind the early Youthful meadows gleam : Wonderful lost places Full of sweet fair faces,- Skies o'er which the pearly Soft cloud-clusters stream. All is far behind us : We are marching on Towards it may be sweeter FAR BEHIND. 217 Summers, passions fleeter ; Summer flowers may find us, — But what flowers are gone ! Gone, yea gone for ever Where the sunsets go ; Where the sunrise-splendour, Infinitely tender, Fades to sleep, — and never Quite the same doth glow. Is there use in glancing O'er the long strange road, — Dwelling on the fancies, Unfulfilled romances. That like sea-waves dancing Countless round us glowed ? 2i8 FAR BEHIND. Is there use in wondering Where the dream-scents go ? Now that we are older And life's skies gleam colder Is there good in pondering What once moved us so ? Ah, the old vales of wonder, Sweet old flower-filled vales ! Where are now your posies, All your white sweet roses ? At the midday thunder Every old valley pales. For our life in midday, Yea, in burning noon, Halts beside some fountain. FAR BEHIND. 219, Half-way up the mountain ; Early mists that hid day At the sun's heat swoon. Marching towards the ending, In the midst we wait : Halt our forces, gazing Down the heights amazing. Blue dim slopes extending Far towards life's first gate. Down the rocks we, weary, Gaze and wonder much How we ever reached them, How our cannon breached them ; How the cliff-sides dreary Yielded at our touch. FAR BEHIND. Half-way up the mountain, Here, in calm, we stand : Still the summit hideth, Still its mist derideth ; By the midway fountain Wait we, hand in hand. Halting, swift remembrance Flies on sudden wings Backward down the alleys Into green lost valleys. Perished beyond semblance, Where a lost love sings. Backward into splendour Of the early days Shoot the plumes of yearning. FAR BEHIND. Towards the soft vales turning ; Towards the pure soft tender Green still valley-ways. Beautiful past speaking Those far valleys gleam : Wonderful and holy, Filled with streamlets lowly, - Streams the blue sea seeking Where the white waves dream. Exquisite the rapture Of the early days, Now so far behind us That it fails to find us : Yea, we fail to capture Scent of the old sprays. FAR BEHIND. Oh, such leagues lie stretching Out their weary length 'Tween us and the early Clouds so grey and, pearly, We've no power of fetching Back past passion's strength ! Nought is left but onward, Ever on, to go : Up the high hills yonder Towards the home of thunder ; Starward, heavenward, sunward, Towards the high sky's glow. What is left but yearning, Struggling, to the end ? Not again reposes FAR BEHIND. 223 In the vales of roses One fierce spirit burning Upward e'er to tend ! What is left but motion O'er the high dry sod ? What is left but vigour In the blue air's rigour ? Lone on life's mid-ocean, What is left but God ? 224 THOUGH THE DAY BE DREARY. Though the day be dreary, Even comes apace, The ending of the race, The sight of sweet love's face So restful to the weary. Though the day be burning, Yet shall night succeed, And darkness soft give heed To us in utter need, Responsive to our yearning. THOUGH THE DA Y BE DREAR Y. 225 When the day is over, Comes the scent of sand Touched by the wet sea's hand To heal the burnt-up land, And waft of cliff-top clover. And brightness of thy face O love, O woman tender. Thy soul's clear endless splendour, And all thy love can render Of soft redeeming grace. IS 226 TO VENUS. An experiment in rhyme. Wonderful exquisite bowers of the flowers of the passions, Tender the splendour ye render in marvellous fashions : Bright the delight of your white to our eyesight Thalassians. Sweet are thy feet that retreat being fleet through the posies, Venus, that lover-like cover like myriads of roses The ways and the bays and the sprays where thy body reposes. TO VENUS. 227 Wonder of thunder can sunder and sever from thee Never a mortal : immortal thy portal of sea Gleameth and beameth and streameth with laughter and glee. Flower-like and bower-like, roseshower-like, we pray thee to save, VeliuSj our soul from the goal and the roll of the wave Swirling and curling and whirling us fast to the grave. By thy body most beautiful, dutiful, now we beseech Heal us and save : by thine hair and sweet air of the beach Whence thou risest sublime to our clime, give us time, room and reach. Give our rhyme, Venus, time and sublime it till worthy it be Of thy face and fhy grace and the place where we tarry for thee. Where the sound without bound now is found of thy limit- less sea. 228 TO VENUS. With mouth Uke the South when the drouth of the terrible day- Is ended and blended with splendid unspeakable spray Of rain and of mist, be the souls of us kissed, so we pray. Be our blossom, O bosom, our fragrant and tenderest rose : Enfold us and hold us and mould us, — not one of us knows Till thou dost surrender how tender thy splendour, love, glows. 229 MANY LOVES, AND VENUS. Wonderful and delicate in seeming Is this girl fair ? Lo ! yet another hath eyes gleaming Through blackest h^r, And yet another hath eyes dreaming, And sweetest air. Which is tenderest and best and sweetest ? The white-limbed maid ? Which sways passion's harp with finger fleetest ? 230 MANY LOVES, AND VENUS. Which hand hath played Love's melody with ecstasy completest, And most hearts swayed ? Beautiful the golden tresses That blind the sun ! Tender are the white caresses By strong hearts won. And yet the swift and searching soul confesses Not all is done ! O delicate and soft brown glances, O eyes of blue, From each to each the vision dances, — For each s