Bnqli«h Solleetion 
 
 THE GIFT OF 
 
 3ame$ Morgan Hart 
 
 ^■^^'^'^^^ ^\^1^^'-'. 
 
__ ,. Cornell University Library 
 
 PR 5527.02 1889 
 
 Days and nights. 
 
 3 1924 013 557 099 
 
The original of tliis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013557099 
 
DAYS AND NIGHTS 
 
DAYS AND NIGHTS 
 
 
 BY 
 
 ARTHUR §YMONS 
 
 ' ' These things are Ufe : 
 And life, they say, is worthy of the Muse. " 
 
 Modem Love. 
 
 MACMILLAN AND CO. 
 
 AND NEW YORK 
 1889 
 
 All rights reserved 
 
f\,\<\%^X^ 
 
 H% 
 
 6 
 
TO 
 
 WALTER PATER * 
 
 IN ALL 
 GRATITUDE AND ADMIRATION 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Prologue i 
 
 Red Bredbury's End 5 
 
 The Return 9 
 
 A Revenge ... 11 
 
 A CAFi-SlNGER 15 
 
 The Opium-Smoker . .* 18 
 
 A Bridal Eve 19 
 
 A Brother of the Battuti 26 
 
 The Justice of the King 29 
 
 A Village Mariana 31 
 
 Night and Wind .... . . 40 
 
 SoROR Tua 42 
 
 Margery of the Fens 43 
 
 Of Charity 48 
 
 The Temptation of Saint Anthony ... 50 
 Requies. (From Leconte de Lisle) . . . .51 
 Wood-Notes : A Pastoral Interlude — 
 
 I. A Wood 53 
 
 II. Fauns at Noon 54 
 
Vlii CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 III, Symphony. (From Leconte de Lisle) . . 60 
 
 IV. The Wood-Nymph 61 
 
 V. Bohemian Folk-Song 64 
 
 The Knife-Thrower 66 
 
 A Vigil in Lent 71 
 
 The Tyrannicide 74 
 
 Vale, Flos Florum . 77 
 
 A Litany of Lethe 79 
 
 From Catullus 82 
 
 Rondeau . 83 
 
 An Interruption in Court 84 
 
 The Street-Singer . . .... go 
 
 The Abandoned 91 
 
 Bell in Camp 92 
 
 A Winter Night 97 
 
 Lazarus at the Gate 98 
 
 A Crisis 99 
 
 Scenes de la Vie de Boh^ime — 
 
 I. Episode of a Night of May . . . 105 
 
 II. Rispetto 107 
 
 III. At the Ball 107 
 
 An Episode under the Nihilists . . . .no 
 
 A Home Circle 119 
 
 Esther Bray 120 
 
 Satiety ... 124 
 
 Forgotten Death 125 
 
 The Soul's Progress . . . . 126 
 
CONTENTS IX 
 
 FACE 
 
 An Act of Mercy 127 
 
 An Old Soul 130 
 
 The Nun 133 
 
 Renunciation 134 
 
 Magdalen on the Threshold 137 
 
 A Woman 142 
 
 A Rondeau of Love in Spring . . . -145 
 Posthumous Coquetry. (From Gautier) . . .146 
 
 The Fisher's Widow 149 
 
 By an Empty Grate 150 
 
 A Lover's Progress 154 
 
 Confession. (From Villiers de I'lsle-Adam) . . 168 
 Of a Winnower of Wheat to the Winds. (From 
 
 Du Bellay) 169 
 
 Regrets — 
 
 I. To Juliet 171 
 
 IL Rispetto ... .... 172 
 
 An Altar-Piece of Master Stephan . . .173 
 
 The Pilgrimage to Kevlaar. (From Heine) . . 178 
 
 Helena and Faustus 183 
 
 Venus of Melos 200 
 
DAYS AND NIGHTS 
 
 PROLOGUE 
 
 Art lives, they say, withdrawn on some far peak, 
 The home of clouds, the sanctuary of stars ; 
 
 She hearkens, and the ancient heavens speak, 
 She sees strange lands beyond the sunset bars. 
 
 The winds commune with her, she hears the voice 
 Of waters, and she hears, as one who dreams. 
 
 The cry of men who suffer and rejoice 
 Beyond the boundaries of her utmost streams. 
 
 Brooding aloft, she reigns a lonely queen. 
 
 Nor aught of earth nor aught of man would know. 
 
 Impassible, inexorably serene, 
 Cold as the morning on her hills of snow. 
 
 B 
 
PROLOGUE 
 
 So say they, blindest leaders of the blind, 
 Bending before a phantom fancy-bred : 
 
 Draw back the curtain — there is nought behind ; 
 The godhead from the empty shrine is fled. 
 
 Seek her not there ; but go where cities pour 
 
 Their turbid human stream through street and 
 mart, 
 
 A dark stream flowing onward evermore 
 
 Down to an unknown ocean : — there is Art. 
 
 She stands amidst the tumult, and is calm ; 
 
 She reads the hearts self-closed against the light ; 
 She probes an ancient wound, yet brings no balm ; 
 
 She is ruthless, yet she doeth all things right. 
 
 She looks on princes in their palaces, 
 She peers upon the prisoner in his cell ; 
 
 She sees the saint who prays to God, she sees 
 The way of those that go down quick to hell. 
 
PROLOGUE 
 
 With equal feet she treads an equal path, 
 Nor recks the goings of the sons of men ; 
 
 She hath for sin no scorn, for wrong no wrath. 
 No praise for virtue, and no tears for pain. 
 
 All serve alike her purpose ; she requires 
 The very life-blood of humanity ; 
 
 All that the soul conceives, the heart desires, 
 She marks, she garners in her memory. 
 
 At times she hears from meadows inward borne 
 The bleat of sheep, the chirrup of the birds ; 
 
 Wild airs blown on her from the freshening morn 
 Waken her song to unaccustomed words. 
 
 Then is she glad ; then brief idyllic notes 
 
 Sound through her sadder strains ; they sound not 
 long. 
 
 The gladness ceases as the echo floats 
 
 Back to its meadows : sadder grows the song. 
 
PROLOGUE 
 
 The winter of the world is in her soul, 
 
 The pity of the little lives we lead, 
 And the long slumber and the certain goal. 
 
 And after us our own rebellious seed. 
 
 Therefore the notes are blended in her breath, 
 And nights and days one equal song unites ; 
 
 Yet, since of man with trouble born to death 
 She sings, her song is less of Days than Nights. 
 
RED BREDBURY'S END 
 
 " Joe," the old man maundered, as he lay his length 
 
 in the bed, 
 " Joe, God bless you, my son, but your dad's no better 
 
 than dead. 
 Eh, I'm a powerful sinner, and I thank the Lord for 
 
 the same, . . . 
 But, Joe, I'm dying, I tell you ! Joe, Joe, and I 
 
 can't die game." 
 
 II 
 
 "Ay, old man," said the son, "die game, or die like a 
 
 rat: 
 If you choose to sneak into heaven, I see no harm in 
 
 that." 
 
RED BREDBURY'S END 
 
 " But the parson, Joe, for pity—" The son leaned 
 forth from his chair, 
 
 And the old man shrank and whimpered and shud- 
 dered away from his stare. 
 
 It was night, and the wind blew loud, and the rain 
 
 swept over the moor. 
 And once and again a branch tap-tapped like a hand 
 
 at the door. 
 The fire leaped, flickered and fell, and a candle 
 
 guttered and winked ; 
 And the old man peered at the light till his eyelids 
 
 reddened and blinked. 
 
 IV 
 
 " Joe," he quavered again, " 'twas cunning, eh, my son ? 
 We stopped the mouths of the rogues, and we fought 
 
 the law, and we won. 
 But I tell you, here as I he, I can see those corpses stand. 
 With a tongue in every wound, all bloody at God's 
 
 right hand. 
 
RED BREDBURY'S END 
 
 " I can't die yet ! I can't ! Oh mercy ! I'll tell, 
 
 I'll tell ! 
 Quick, fetch me a parson, Joe, and save my soul out 
 
 of hell ! " 
 The old man stopped, for his breath came short, and 
 
 the light grew dim • 
 Then he shrieked, " I'm going to God, and I must get 
 
 right with him ! " 
 
 "Dad," said the son, "lie still; die easy; let bygones 
 
 be. 
 Now your own neck's free of the noose, you shall tell 
 
 no tales of me. 
 We've kept our counsel together : get right with God 
 
 if you will : 
 God tells no tales, but the parson's a man : and I say, 
 
 he still ! " 
 
RED BREDBURY'S END 
 
 VII 
 
 Then the whole peht rage and remorse of the old 
 
 man burst in a cry, 
 And he bounded up in the bed, and he flung up his 
 
 arms on high ; 
 His clenched fists beat at the air : then he doubled 
 
 and fell on the bed, 
 And his eyes were a fear to see : they lived : but the 
 
 man was dead. 
 
THE RETURN 
 
 Sit here, beside the fire ; now, hold my hand, 
 Mother, and let me see and feel you so. 
 Was I a child once, mother, long ago ? 
 I seem to understand . . . 
 
 Well, mother, is your child the very same ? 
 Your heart's still open, and you let me in ? 
 I come, I enter ; but I bring my sin, 
 I bring my sin and shame. 
 
 Will you take that too ? will you take it all ? 
 I cannot leave that burden any more ; 
 And still, across the sealed and guarded door, 
 I hear old voices call. 
 
THE RETURN 
 
 I hear old voices ; I may follow : hark, 
 They call me sweetly into the wild night ! 
 Those wicked faces glimmer, flushed with light : 
 All round, the night is dark. 
 
 Ah, but you take me, and I rest at last ; 
 Keep me, and do not let me go away ! 
 My life's irrevocable yesterday 
 I bury in the Past. 
 
 I come back weary, bringing penitent rue ; 
 I come back aged, and broken down, and spent. 
 May I come back, mother ? Are you content ? 
 May I come back to you ? 
 
A REVENGE 
 
 I SAID, " This ends our treaty. We have been 
 Husband and wife thus long, and I have seen 
 No fault in you, nor given you cause of wrong. 
 I wake. You have perchance deceived me long. 
 (Pardon ! I do not ask.) Nor do I say 
 One word of blame, or raise my voice to-day. 
 Simply, all ends. But yet, since you and I 
 Find no convenient sudden way to die, 
 I guard you, not your husband, not your foe, 
 A gaoler merely, till you please to go 
 The way all flesh must follow even as we.'' 
 
 Thus far I spoke, calmly as now, when she. 
 Hiding her face, broke into bitter cries. 
 I looked upon her with indifferent eyes. 
 
12 A REVENGE 
 
 Then I resumed, " We leave this house ere night. 
 Be ready. Take your jewels, yours by right. 
 As is this watch." I raised it. It was his. 
 
 The beauty of a faithless woman is, 
 To some — I pity such — still beautiful, 
 A fever of the flesh that will not cool, 
 A poison in the blood, a rankUng thorn. 
 I may declare that since that fatal morn 
 Her beauty was to me, though beauty still, 
 Indifferent, mine no longer, and no thrill 
 Disturbed the execution of my task. 
 
 She lived three years. Nay, surely you may ask ! 
 
 But have I more to tell ? A chateau-grave, 
 
 A ruinous pile, in woods so dense, they gave 
 
 No traces to the heedless traveller, 
 
 Closed in upon us : there I lived with her. 
 
 " Since words are vain," I said, " vain words lay by ; 
 
 I will not speak to you until you die." 
 
 Nor did I utter any word. She wept, 
 
 Raved, prayed, defied, entreated, but I kept 
 
A REVENGE 13 
 
 Eternal silence. Day by day she came : 
 
 Now it was, " I repent me of my shame ; " 
 
 Now, " I have sinned, and that was heaven ; 'tis well, 
 
 For you have turned on me the keys of hell ; " 
 
 Now, "But one word — speak — any word — but speak !" 
 
 And she would sob till tears had left her weak. 
 
 And look upon me with her panting eyes. 
 
 And cling about my feet. I, being wise, 
 
 Made answer none at all, knowing my worth ; 
 
 But, if she waxed unbearable, drew forth 
 
 His watch, and froze the fountain of her tears. 
 
 Three years went round, and she was dead. Three 
 
 years 
 I watched her beauty wither, and her life 
 Ebb, a slow stream. She, seeing how vain was strife. 
 Desisted, learning wisdom thus, though late. 
 Each waited. I was patient and could wait. 
 Since when Death came, he came to her a friend. 
 He came at length. I stood, knowing the end. 
 As her breath gasped, more faintly, to get free. 
 Even then I did not speak, but silently 
 
14 A REVENGE 
 
 That last time I drew forth the watch. And lo, 
 She rose, she caught it, all her face one glow. 
 And clasped it to her breast, and smiled again, 
 And died. 
 
 So my revenge had been in vain. 
 
A CAFfi-SINGER 
 
 — Mother, I cannot breathe : the room swims, stifles 
 me. 
 
 Give me a little air ! 
 O that the night were over ! Good God, let me see 
 
 Another sunrise there ! 
 
 Mother, you will not go — to-night — to dance and 
 sing? 
 
 Oh, I must have you by. 
 They will not mind, mother : it is a little thing. 
 
 Do, wait until I die. 
 
 — Child, do you think they care, they care, if the 
 heart breaks. 
 Unless the voice breaks too ? 
 
1 6 A caf:6-singer 
 
 Do you think they'd lose one laugh one minute for 
 our sakes, 
 Because of me and you ? 
 
 My girl, it breaks my heart. Good-bye. I go. They 
 wait. 
 These spangles — are they right ? 
 Stay, one more dab of rouge. And if I come too 
 late, 
 Good-bye, my dear, good-night. 
 
 — My daughter, not too late, say, not too late ! I flew 
 
 As a lost soul might fly 
 Out of the flames of hell. I have come back to you. 
 
 — In time ... to see me die. 
 
 — But were you lonely, child? — Oh, lonely as the 
 tomb. 
 
 I shuddered in the night. 
 O how the shadows stalked and crept about the room ! 
 
 Now, mother, all is right. 
 
A caf:£-singer 17 
 
 — I had to leave you, child. I'm come. The agony 
 
 I had, I too ! — Farewell. 
 Don't sob like that, mother ! I . . . — Don't die yet, 
 Marie ! 
 
 The priest . . . God . . . heaven and hell . . . 
 
 I don't know — some folks do . . . — The good God, 
 he'll be kind— 
 I hope so — by and by. 
 One kiss more, mother dear. We can't pray. Never 
 mind ! 
 He'll understand. Good-bye ! 
 
THE OPIUM-SMOKER 
 
 I AM engulfed, and drown deliciously. 
 
 Soft music like a perfume, and sweet light 
 
 Golden with audible odours exquisite, 
 Swathe me with cerements for eternity. 
 Time is no more. I pause and yet I fiee. 
 
 A million ages wrap me round with night. 
 
 I drain a million ages of delight. 
 I hold the future in my memory. 
 
 Also I have this garret which I rent. 
 
 This bed of straw, and this that was a chair, 
 
 This worn-out body like a tattered tent. 
 
 This crust, of which the rats have eaten part, 
 This pipe of opium ; rage, remorse, despair ; 
 
 This soul at pawn and this delirious heart. 
 
A BRIDAL EVE 
 
 She. How cool the night is ! Cool wind, but no 
 stars. 
 Is it not morning ? We'll not call it morn 
 Until the light comes. 'Tis my bridal eve. 
 I come to you, my own. 
 
 He. And I am here. 
 
 You have not ever called to me, I think, 
 But I have answered " I am here." 
 
 She. Now, now. 
 
 Under the curtaining branches : how the wood 
 Folds round us all its multitudinous arms ! 
 And we are safe now : let us sit and wait. 
 We shall not tire of waiting. 
 
 He. Dear, — 
 
 She. I feel 
 
 As if the old wood were an old true friend ; 
 
20 A BRIDAL EVE 
 
 It holds us on its quiet bosom ; soon 
 We shall be quiet too. . . . You cannot see, 
 But you must know, the oak-tree yonder, high 
 Above its fellows, the wood's grandsire : when 
 The sun leaps on the world, his first red gold 
 Catches its tips, and fires the tree with flame. 
 That is our signal. 
 
 He. Oh, but I have often 
 
 Lain here in the mid-forest, early morns, 
 Before the birds were up — my bird of dawn, 
 My lark, whose morning music called me forth, — 
 I learnt to know your tree, brave tree that takes 
 The first flush of the sun's bright rosy wings ! 
 Be sure I shall not fail. Fail — oh my God, 
 And we shall never look on it again ! 
 For me — but do you dearest, can you know 
 All that the signal means ? 
 
 She. Life. 
 
 He. Death. 
 
 She. O dearest. 
 
 This is not death, to die with you, my own ! 
 Death is to live without you : oh, not this ! 
 
A BRIDAL EVE 
 
 Each little pulse in all my body leaps 
 For very joy ; I am so happy, I must 
 Sing, as a lark sings, soaring up the sky 
 To God's feet — I must sing away my soul 
 Or else keep exquisite silence, brooding over 
 The secret heart of joy. We die, we Uve. 
 
 He. So young ! 
 
 She. And so I leap into the light. 
 
 The great light of the shining stream of Death, 
 With a light foot ; and is it better, love. 
 To totter up to the white brink, and fall 
 Helpless and heedless, tired with weary years. 
 Into the future ? I die young. 'Tis well. 
 
 He. Surely it is not well that one so young. 
 So loving and so innocent — oh, my love, 
 It is not well that I should drag your life 
 Down into this steep pit of death ; my years 
 Have little but old sorrow in them : death 
 Is as a friend's face, having all my friends : 
 I have not anything on earth but you, 
 And I am fatal to you. Would to God 
 We never met, that I should do this thing ! 
 
22 A BRIDAL EVE 
 
 She. Hush ! that is cruel ; you will slay my heart 
 Before the time. God spoke to me through you. 
 I had been dumb and blind and deaf : you came ; 
 Better than shining fairies that a child 
 Sees in the twilight, better than my dreams, 
 All the live earth was full of joys ; I heard 
 The music that we do not hear in things 
 Until our ears are opened : all the hours 
 Were full of music, and my tongue was loosed. 
 And there were three words given me to say — 
 I'll say them now : " I love you ! " 
 
 He. And 'tis I 
 
 That snatch you out of all the new-born life. 
 The friendly and familiar air of Earth, 
 The perfect moments ; and to hurry you — 
 Whither ? A great Perhaps stands written. We 
 Grope in the dark : there may be light before, 
 But we are leaving light behind us. Come ! 
 There is yet time. I take you from so much, 
 It is so soon I take you ! 
 
 She. Friend, I leave 
 
 No inch of earth that loves me. I am come 
 
A BRIDAL EVE 23 
 
 To an immeasurable cloud of woe : 
 
 It hangs above me, it envelops me, 
 
 I strike my hands out in the darkness : you, 
 
 Your warm hand seizes mine. Oh, hard to leave 
 
 This earth that shudders not at such a shame, 
 
 This light that hurries on my wedding-bells ; 
 
 Oh, hard to leave my friends, my father : nay, 
 
 I will say nothing of him, he is mine — 
 
 Mine was he, I am his no longer : sold, 
 
 Sold like a little bleating sheep that bleats 
 
 Up to the knife : he has sold me to a thing 
 
 As old as he, my father ; to a thing 
 
 That eats and drinks and drains the blood of men 
 
 Into his coifers : he's an alchemist. 
 
 And turns blood into gold ; my lord shall have 
 
 A sweet nurse, and she wears his golden chains. 
 
 Friend, it is hard to leave these friends of mine, 
 
 (O mother, mother, mother up in heaven !) 
 
 So hard that I have need of one deep draught 
 
 To let me slumber and forget them. 
 
 He. Dearest, 
 
 Forgive me ! and forget the wicked past, — 
 
24 A BRIDAL EVE 
 
 Is it not past, dear, now we wait and hold 
 Our fingers on the latch, as surely past 
 As when the door that opens once and shuts, 
 Swings open and the great light floods our souls ? 
 There are but certain moments left us now, 
 
 And then But O, but O, you are so young 
 
 And might have been so happy ! 
 
 She. I have been ! 
 
 I have been very happy, and am now 
 Most happy, as I hold your hand and look 
 Deep into your dear eyes, and wait the end. 
 
 He. You said you could have sung for joy : sing 
 now. 
 Under your breath, sing ! 
 
 She. But I cannot now. 
 
 I am quite happy, but I cannot sing. 
 I feel creep over me a certain peace, 
 Awe, silence : let us die in silentness. 
 Is not God good ? 
 
 He. My child, believe, believe ! 
 
 She. Do you not think that he will pardon us ? 
 " Because she loved : " do you remember that } 
 
A BRIDAL EVE 25 
 
 God, we have loved much : forgive our sin ! 
 There was so great a shame ; we sin, perhaps. 
 But that were greater sinning. Oh, I know 
 He will have mercy and be pitiful. 
 
 Do you not fear a little, dearest ? 
 He. No. 
 
 1 do not fear. Look, do you see a change 
 Creep into the closed sky ? Beyond our sight 
 There's sunrise : it is day. Our branch will burn 
 Soon, and the end will come. Kiss me, my dear. 
 See, here are both the phials. 
 
 She. .. Oh, my own, 
 
 I could not help it ; but we die together. 
 You and I. Stay : one moment. Now the branch 
 Burns. It is God looks down upon us. Dearest, 
 You do not fear ? 
 
 He. I do not fear. One kiss. 
 
 She. So . . . heart to heart, dearest ! 
 
 He. Yea, heart to heart. 
 
A BROTHER OF THE BATTUTI 
 
 Shed, sinful flesh, these tears of blood. 
 
 For all thy vileness all too few ; 
 Wash out, O holy healing flood. 
 
 The sins that alway in God's view 
 Stand as a mountain day and night, 
 
 A mountain growing up from hell ; 
 Smite, deluge of my torments, smite 
 
 Upon the burrowing base, and swell 
 Up, upward to the very brow. 
 
 Shall God no mercy have for me 
 When thou art shaken, even thou. 
 
 Hurled down and cast into the sea ? 
 No mercy ? Yea, doth God require 
 
 These cruel pangs, and all in vain 
 To save me from the flaming fire ? 
 
 Shall all my blood pour forth like rain, 
 
A BROTHER OF THE BATTUTI 27 
 
 Nor fructify the barren sod, 
 
 Nor cleanse my scarlet sins like wool, 
 Nor turn the burning wrath of God ? 
 
 Lo, all these years my hours are full 
 Of sorer suffering than of old 
 
 His martyrs bore, that triumphed still. 
 Gained grace, and heard the harps of gold. 
 
 And saw the city on the hill. 
 I have not tasted flesh, nor fed 
 
 On dainty fare, nor known the touch 
 Of joyous wine, nor bitten bread, 
 
 Save mouldy, and of that not much. 
 Sour crusts, with water old and stale, 
 
 And herbs and roots ; no rest I take 
 Save when these vile limbs faint and fail, 
 
 But roaming all the night awake 
 I think on my exceeding sin. 
 
 God knows I take no rest at all, 
 Who haply, resting not, shall win 
 
 The final goal before I fall. 
 Yea, and not these alone ; yea, these 
 
 Might all men do for heaven ; but I, 
 
28 A BROTHER OF THE BATTUTI 
 
 In suns that scorch, in moons that freeze, 
 
 About my shuddering shoulders ply 
 This biting scourge of knotted cord, 
 
 And shout to feel the blood run down. 
 Wilt thou not think on this, dear Lord ? 
 
 Yea, when the jewels of thy crown 
 Thou countest up remembering. 
 
 Wilt thou not. Lord, remember this, — 
 That is not, Lord, a little thing, — 
 
 And let me see thy heaven of bliss ? 
 O Lord, my Love, my Life, my Love, 
 
 I swoon in ecstasy divine ; 
 Take, take my blood and drink thereof, 
 
 A drink-offering of costly wine 
 Poured out into a sacred cup ; 
 
 Take, take my blood poured freely out 
 And drain the winepress' fruitage up. 
 
 O Lord, I parch with burning drought, 
 I, whom the streams may not refresh ; 
 
 Give me, my Lord, my Love, give me 
 Thy spirit, as I give my flesh 
 
 A living sacrifice to thee. 
 
THE JUSTICE OF THE KING 
 
 Now God shall judge you : doubt not that : yet still, 
 Because he hastens not to take the rod, 
 I have a word to say to you, and will : 
 And afterward, remember, there is God. 
 
 Sire, you will hear me. I am, as you know, 
 Her father. You will hear me. Nay, I deal 
 In words, not swords. You need not peer below 
 My cloak. I come to stab with words. What's steel ? 
 
 Sire, I have served your father. In his tomb 
 He hes ; his 'scutcheon, stainless, lay above. 
 Stainless it lies no longer. Stained by whom ? 
 By whom ? I charge you, sire, know nought thereof ! 
 
 I served your father. In his days men sp^ke 
 
 Of Honour : you were there, and should have heard. 
 
30 THE JUSTICE OF THE KING 
 
 Of God : how he the thrones of earth shall shake. 
 Of Justice : you remember, sire, the word ? 
 
 Ah well ! Then hear me. You are set on high 
 To do us poor men justice. Justice, King ! 
 My heart is broken. What of that ? I cry 
 For justice ; and it is my child I bring. 
 
 I lay her broken honour at your feet, 
 I set before your eyes her branded name. 
 I pray you, do me justice. I entreat 
 Justice ; I charge you — justice for that shame ! 
 
 I mock myself and you. Plain words serve best. 
 I am her father, and I have to say 
 Just these words : God requite you 1 For the rest. 
 He will attend, and I can wait his day. 
 
 Never forget, sire, those three words. Ay, live — 
 
 Live and remember to eternity. 
 
 I never shall forget you nor forgive, — 
 
 But, sire, she loves you : you are safe from me ! 
 
A VILLAGE MARIANA 
 
 The warm long days of summer slipt away, 
 
 Then, as the sun grew paler, creeping Time 
 
 Led in the autumn, and the winter came 
 
 With watery noons that shook an angry torch 
 
 At sunset, and the winter, unawares, 
 
 SUd into spring. Then the blithe baby spring, 
 
 A petulant little one full of smiles and tears, 
 
 Grew from the tiny stature of a child 
 
 To womanhood, and so was summer. Thus 
 
 The eternal seasons circled in their course. 
 
 For her, she too had duties ; being poor 
 
 She could not sit and nurse her new-born grief, 
 
 A babe that idler mothers love ; by day 
 
 Her hands were busy in her father's house. 
 
 All the day through — that day's-work never done, 
 
32 A VILLAGE MARIANA 
 
 For still the endless loom was waiting, still 
 
 Pointing to work and ever work ahead. 
 
 Yet, as the shuttle shifted, and her hands 
 
 Plied in and out among the shifting threads. 
 
 She would lift up her eyes, and through the panes 
 
 (Glazed with white paper in a pane or two) 
 
 Would see her lover stepping suddenly 
 
 Out of the great long unseen road beyond, 
 
 Into the square of light before her : now, 
 
 Now he is fingering with the latch ; he flings 
 
 The door wide, sunlight splashes all the floor, 
 
 And he is there with light about his face. 
 
 So, with that light upon him, he would come 
 
 To see her in her day-dreams ; dreams, at first, 
 
 That left the shadow lighter in their wake. 
 
 When the girls came about her, peeping in, 
 
 (Still as she worked) chatting, and asking her, 
 
 " What of your lad ? " laughing ; she answered them. 
 
 Finding it easy to keep back the tears, 
 
 " He's gone to London, walking all the way, 
 
 But he'll come back by railroad ; he'll come back. 
 
 Rich, as he means to be, and marry me." 
 
A VILLAGE MARIANA 33 
 
 And when the girls laughed, nodded and looked wise, 
 And said, " Oh, Marian, when the lads get rich, 
 They don't come back ; they never come back then. 
 They marry a grand lady who wears gloves ; 
 They don't come back to us;" she looked at them, 
 Proudly, a little fiercely : " Not my lad ! " 
 
 When the first letter came, spelt cautiously 
 
 Although the writing staggered, all that day 
 
 A light was in her eye, she drew great breaths, 
 
 As of a tonic air to one long sick, 
 
 And little smiles would come about her lips 
 
 At unawares. She knew the words by heart 
 
 From the first reading, but her hands would pause. 
 
 Dropping the shuttle while she opened out 
 
 The crumpled sheet again, and yet again. 
 
 Till, crying at herself for idleness, 
 
 She looked at it no more ; only still said 
 
 The words beneath her breath. When friends came in, 
 
 She read them from the letter how he went. 
 
 And how he came to London, and was now ; 
 
 Holding the sheet before her, being ashamed 
 
34 A VILLAGE MARIANA 
 
 To seem to know it (where else ?) in her heart. 
 But other parts she did not read to them, 
 Words written for herself alone. She smiled 
 When the girls said, " But, Marian, what else ? 
 Your letter's longer than you read to us ! " 
 Smiled the calm happy smile of one that has 
 A lover who sends lovers' messages. 
 
 And when the girls said, "All the lads at first 
 Write letters to you and remember you ; 
 But wait a bit : he'll drop off like the rest ; " 
 She, as one does when atheists gibe at God, 
 Said nothing, only smiled, being content. 
 
 So letters came, and she sent letters back, 
 
 Twice the length, very much the better writ 
 
 (Had not the parson praised her copy-book ? 
 
 " What ? " to her father, " this your wench's hand ? ") 
 
 Telling him simply all the simple news. 
 
 And so the seasons changed, and changed again. 
 Changing for ever, evermore the same. 
 Indifferent to the little lives of men. 
 
A VILLAGE MARIANA 35 
 
 At length he writes more seldom ; " press of work : 
 To-day moved up ; more wages, more to do, 
 And harder ; but write always when you can, 
 Marian, you know I love to hear from you." 
 She noticed, first with pride and then with dread. 
 How good his writing comes to be ; and now 
 Her pretty village hand seems mean and coarse. 
 Nothing to pride herself on any more, 
 Nothing that he will care to see. She wept 
 A few salt tears, as children when a toy 
 Seems good no longer; brushed them off, and 
 
 dropt 
 That little innocent vanity. 
 
 Time passed. 
 The girls said, " Marian's paler than she was : 
 Does she get any letters now ? " One said, 
 " I went her way, about the stroke of twelve. 
 Yesterday morning : just outside the door 
 I met the post — mother's away, you know — 
 He gave me mother's letter. In a haste 
 (I had some message) I undid the door. 
 
36 A VILLAGE MARIANA 
 
 And bounced in with the letter' in my hand. 
 There was our Marian, not a step away, 
 Holding her hand out, with the queerest look, 
 All of a tremble. ' Oh, it's mine,' I said ; 
 She flushed and stammered something. I believe 
 He doesn't write her : she writes him, I know." 
 " Just as we thought ! " they said. 
 
 So Marian worked. 
 Minding the house, and weaving at the loom. 
 While the eternal seasons came and went. 
 
 Doubtless she suffered. As the time went by, 
 Tidingless time, her face began to dwine ; 
 Angles came out where the firm flesh sank in, 
 Her eyes looked larger, underlined with black. 
 Sometimes, at night, she did not sleep. She lay 
 Staring across against the white low wall. 
 The whiter for the moonlight. In her heart 
 There was an aching trouble, on her brain 
 A weight, a vague weight pressing heavily. 
 That would not let her sleep. Sometimes, at night. 
 
A VILLAGE MARIANA 37 
 
 She slept a sleep broken by ominous dreams : 
 
 How she was falling, falling down a pit, 
 
 A great black slimy pit, and as she fell 
 
 She saw him there beside her, and he laughed 
 
 And would not catch her ; and she fell, and found 
 
 That it was London, and she walked at dusk 
 
 Along a certain street, and as she walked 
 
 Two people passed her, going arm in arm, 
 
 A lady all in silks, a man with her 
 
 Wearing a tall hat, and they came so close 
 
 She slipt into the gutter ; and looking up 
 
 She knew her lover. 
 
 Still at times she wrote, 
 Piteous letters, not reproaching him, 
 " But oh, dear John,'' she begged, " one word to say 
 If you are happy — rich — too rich for me — 
 To say if you don't love me any more. 
 I love you always." But no letter came. 
 
 At last, one day, the old gray schoolmaster, 
 
 A man of books and thoughts, who had from town 
 
38 A VILLAGE MARIANA 
 
 A Radical paper daily ; kind he was, 
 
 With brains behind his spectacles, but eyes 
 
 For printed matter only ; coming by, 
 
 Looked in and nodded in his pleasant way 
 
 To Marian as she sat with listless hands 
 
 Passing the shuttle, and " My dear," he said, 
 
 " You used, I think, to know John — what's his name ? 
 
 Here, see it on the paper ; see, it tells 
 
 He's married to — who is it ? Clara — what ? 
 
 Well, a good marriage, I should say, fair, fair, 
 
 'Tis a good part of London, fairly good, 
 
 A very decent part — the bride's ; well, well, 
 
 I always said young John would make his mark. 
 
 Come, then, let's have the paper." So she gave 
 
 The paper back into his hands, and then. 
 
 He being gone, she shut the door and turned 
 
 Back to her seat and groped and clutched at it 
 
 And found it and sat down, and in her hands 
 
 She took the shuttle, but her feet forgot 
 
 To work both treadles, so the shuttle passed 
 
 Twisting and tangling the disordered threads. 
 
 And so slipt through her nerveless hands, and fell 
 
A VILLAGE MARIANA 39 
 
 Soiling the delicate silks. At that she turned 
 Her face away from the great senseless loom, 
 Away from the blank window, never more 
 A messenger of joy ; and slipping down, 
 Flung both her arms across the chair, and put 
 Her face between them ; and God knows, not I, 
 Whether she wept or had no strength for tears. 
 
NIGHT AND WIND 
 
 The night is light and chill, 
 Stars are awake in the sky, 
 
 There's a cloud over the moon ; 
 Round the house on the hill 
 The wind creeps with its cry 
 Between a wail and a croon. 
 
 I hear the voice of the wind, 
 
 The voice of the wind in the night, 
 Cry and sob and weep. 
 As the voice of one that hath sinned 
 Moaning aloud in its might 
 
 In the night when he cannot sleep. 
 
NIGHT AND WIND 41 
 
 Sleep ? No sleep is about. 
 What remembering sin 
 
 Wakes and watches apart ? . . . 
 The wind wails without, 
 
 And my heart is wailing within, 
 
 And the wind is the voice of my heart. 
 
SOROR TUA 
 
 For the statue of Lorenzetti, in the Venice Exhibition, 1887, 
 representing a chained and recumbent figure larger than life ; 
 who, if she broke the silence of her misery, might speak thus : — 
 
 Ye that pass by, come near and look on me ; 
 I am despised, rejected and out-thrust ; 
 My garments are acquainted with the dust. 
 My soul is bosom-mate of misery. 
 
 Come near and look upon me, sons of men. 
 Would I were dead ; yea, peace is with the dead, 
 The dead are happy, having no desire. 
 I rise and fall, and rise and fall again. 
 Something is in me, famishing for bread. 
 Baffled and unappeasable as fire. 
 Woe, woe is me, I tire and may not tire ! 
 Eternal strength in weariness is mine. 
 Raise me, I call. Come nearer, I am thine. 
 What ? Knowest thou not thy sister ? I am she. 
 
MARGERY OF THE FENS 
 
 Yes, I'm dying by inches ; the Devil has got his way : 
 I fought him fourscore years, but he's gripped me 
 
 hard to-day. 
 No, not God, not a word of God ! For I let him be. 
 The Devil is waiting, I tell you, but God has forgotten 
 
 me. 
 
 II 
 
 Sir, you know I'm a witch ? Look here, lean closer 
 
 down : 
 If you tossed me into the dyke, you know I couldn't 
 
 drown ; 
 If you pricked me over with pins, I never could feel a 
 
 pin; 
 For the Devil has sealed me his, and I've sinned the 
 
 Original Sin. 
 
44 MARGERY OF THE FENS 
 
 Fourscore years have I lived, here in the heart of the 
 
 Fens, 
 Dragging ages of years, but fourscore years of 
 
 men's ; 
 And the pools '11 stir, and the fogs '11 rise, and the 
 
 winds '11 moan ; — 
 Ay, there were others along with me, once; but 
 
 they're gone, they're gone. 
 
 IV 
 
 Ages of years alone ! There was Dickon, my man, 
 
 he died. 
 And the child didn't die, but her father was on the 
 
 Almighty's side, 
 And he took him away to himself; but he left the 
 
 girl to hell. 
 And me he left to the Devil, with hardly a soul to 
 
 sell. 
 
MARGERY OF THE FENS 45 
 
 Cursed and motherless girl, motherless girl that was 
 
 mine ! 
 I brought her up on my knees, and she left 'em to 
 
 herd with swine ; 
 I never have named her name these twoscore years 
 
 save three : 
 She cast me off to be harlot, and I cast her off from 
 
 me. 
 
 What's that crying and wailing ? The wind ? Oh, 
 
 ay, the wind. 
 And the wages of sin is death, and the soul shall die 
 
 that hath sinned. 
 She cast me off, and she came back home with her 
 
 baby again ; 
 And I spoke no word, and I shut the door in her 
 
 face in the rain. 
 
46 MARGERY OF THE FENS 
 
 VII 
 
 And the baby wailed and wailed on the threshold 
 out in the night ; 
 
 And all night long she lay at the door, and I sat up- 
 right ; 
 
 And at morn she rose, and I spoke no word, and she 
 went her way ; 
 
 And the wages of sin is death, and it's I must die to-day. 
 
 VIII 
 
 Inch by inch I'm dying, and Satan's at watch hard by, 
 For he'll have my soul, — it was all I had, — when I 
 
 come to die ; 
 For my man that was he died, and my girl that was 
 
 she fell. 
 And I flung my soul away, and the Devil caught it for 
 
 hell. 
 
 IX 
 
 Twoscore years save three I've lived the life of a witch. 
 And I've plagued the cattle and folk with cramp and 
 murrain and stitch ; 
 
MARGERY OF THE FENS 47 
 
 And I've sold my soul, for my girl she killed my 
 
 heart : let be ; 
 She cast me off to be harlot, and I cast her off from 
 
 me. 
 
 Go, and leave me alone. I'm past your help. I shall 
 
 lie, 
 As she lay, through the night, and at morn, as she 
 
 went in the rain, I shall die. 
 Go, and leave me alone. Let me die as I lived. But 
 
 oh. 
 If the wind wouldn't cry and wail with the baby's 
 
 cry as I go ! 
 
OF CHARITY 
 
 A BEGGAR died last night ; his soul 
 Went up to God, and said : 
 
 " I come uncalled, forgive it, Lord ; 
 I died for want of bread." 
 
 Then answered him the Lord of heaven : 
 " Son, how can this thing be ? 
 
 Are not my saints on earth ? and they 
 Had surely succoured thee." 
 
 " Thy saints, O Lord," the beggar said, 
 " Live holy lives of prayer ; 
 
 How should they know of such as we ? 
 We perish unaware. 
 
OF CHARITY 49 
 
 " They strive to save our wicked souls 
 
 And fit them for the sky ; 
 Meanwhile, not having bread to eat, 
 
 (Forgive !) our bodies die." 
 
 Then the Lord God spake out of heaven 
 
 In wrath and angry pain : 
 " men, for whom my Son hath died, 
 
 My Son hath Hved in vain ! " 
 
THE TEMPTATION OF SAINT ANTHONY 
 (after a design by felicien rops) 
 
 The Cross, the Cross is tainted ! O most Just, 
 Be merciful, and save me from this snare. 
 The Tempter lures me as I bend in prayer 
 
 Before the sacred symbol of our trust. 
 
 Yea, that most Holy of Holies feeds my lust, 
 The body of thy Christ ; for, unaware, 
 Even as I kneel and pray, lo. She is there. 
 
 The temptress, she the wanton ; and she hath thrust 
 
 The bruisfed body off, and all her own, 
 
 Shameless, she stretches on the cross, arms wide, 
 Limbs pendent, in libidinous mockery. 
 
 She draws mine eyes to her — Ah, sin unknown ! 
 She smiles, she triumphs ; but the Crucified 
 Falls off into the darkness with a cry. 
 
REQUIES 
 
 (from the FRENCH OF LECONTE DE LISLe) 
 
 Like a sad exile from his country's shore 
 I leave behind my heyday sweet and fleet, 
 The magic country I shall see no more. 
 On the hill's height I stay my lingering feet, 
 And see, where far the horizon's cloudlets sleep. 
 My last hope fly ; and bitterly I weep. 
 
 Unhappy one, heed well thy mute distress : 
 Nought shall revive, thy heart nor yet thy youth, 
 In grief remembering earlier happiness. 
 Turn then thine eyes to meet the bitter truth. 
 Resigning to eternal night, their own, 
 The love and joy that thou hast never known. 
 
52 REQUIES 
 
 Time hath not kept his promises divine ; 
 Thou never shalt behold thy ruins green : 
 Strew the forgotten dust of their decline ! 
 And thou, prepare for thy last sleep serene, 
 Remembering, in the shadow where thou art, 
 No heart in all the world beats to thy heart. 
 
 Thus is life made ; needs be that all comply. 
 The foolish rage, the feeble moan oppressed, 
 But the wise laugh, knowing that they must die. 
 Seek the still grave where man at last finds rest. 
 And there, forgetting all thy hopes and fears. 
 Repose in peace through the eternal years. 
 
WOOD -NOTES 
 
 A PASTORAL INTERLUDE 
 I 
 
 A WOOD 
 
 Come into the close shadow of the wood. 
 
 Here is cool quiet bom of solitude, 
 
 Cool leafy caverns, murmurous as the sea's, 
 
 When a breath blows across them. Here are these 
 
 Lone alleys to the flitting footfalls known 
 
 Of nymphs that haunt the silences alone ; 
 
 Divinest leisure, large as heaven or morn ; 
 
 Deep thoughtfulness, of all the ages born 
 
 Whose shadows slumber in the central shade ; 
 
 Quiet delight ; a pensive pleasure made 
 
 By that sweet sense of slumber that still leaves 
 
 A far-off air about the vacant leaves, 
 
S4 WOOD-NOTES 
 
 An air as of some palace walls that seem 
 To rise and sway in a remembered dream. 
 
 II 
 FAUNS AT NOON 
 
 I Faun. When one has gathered up the nuts, what 
 then? 
 
 you are wise, old Faun ; my limbs are young 
 And love to lie in the cool grass, o' days. 
 When the sun's hot, and shrivels up the leaves 
 Out in the open — why do leaves grow there 
 
 And parch, when they might grow under the trees ? 
 That's where I love to lie, under the trees, 
 In the cool grass, and feel how cool it is. 
 As it creeps about your sides and tickles you. 
 
 1 laugh for joy ; it is so pleasant. Now, 
 I do not like to hear you talk so wise, 
 
 For then you must be saying, " Do not this. 
 Do not this pleasant thing " — it is not good ! 
 And you must say, " Do this, and this, and this," 
 
FAUNS AT NOON 55 
 
 All stupid things, because so very wise. 
 
 Do you not know, old Faun, you are so stupid ? 
 
 2 Faun. Little one, if you lie i' the curlfed shade 
 And laugh in tune with the lean grasshopper. 
 How shall you find the berries sweet to the teeth, 
 Roots of good savour, nuts with milky kernels. 
 Fine forest-fare, tender and succulent ? 
 
 I Faun. I shall not want it, father Faun, if I have 
 it not, 
 I shall have it if I want it, I suppose. 
 Good father Faun, go, go ! You are so wise. 
 So wise, so stupid, that I drowse to hear you. 
 There was a bee hummed yesterday as I lay. 
 Hummed i' the tall grass, in the stalks of it, 
 Round about the httle flowers, into 'em, into 'em. 
 Still buzz, buzz, buzz ; and still so very busy, 
 So busy and so noisy with his buzzing, 
 His fluttering, and his fumbling, that I hated him. 
 Troubling the noon-hour. You are like the bee, old 
 
 Faun; 
 You buzz, I do not like it, go away. 
 I shall not gather nuts ! Here comes my brother. 
 
S6 WOOD-NOTES 
 
 2 Faun. Ah, little Faun, little Faun ! 
 
 \Goes deeper into the forest. 
 
 3 Faun. Brother, I saw — 
 What think you ? 
 
 I Faun. O, that long red moth with streaks 
 
 Down his bright back, yellow ? you have seen him ? 
 
 3 Faun. No. 
 
 I Faun. Then a bird like him we saw one day, 
 Small, gray in most, with a bright crimson spot. 
 Sharp-voiced ; he fluted like the flutes of mortals. 
 
 3 Faun. Mortals ! Yes, I have seen a mortal. 
 
 I Faun. Wonder ! 
 
 We have but seen so very few of late, 
 Here in mid-forest, with the tumbling greens 
 And spiny. 
 
 3 Faun. 'Ty^as a mortal, and he talked — 
 
 I Faun. Was there another with him ? 
 
 3 Faun. No ; he talked — 
 
 I could not see who listened, though I crept 
 Round all the trees, and peeped into the bushes. 
 And listened with my ear, and looked, and looked. 
 He talked ; I heard him. 
 
FAUNS AT NOON 57 
 
 I Faun. And what said he, brother ? 
 
 Z Faun. Ho! ho! ho! ho! I laugh to think of 
 him — 
 Perhaps Pan cursed him, or a god who dwells 
 Out of the wood — he was so strange a mortal. 
 Look ; see, I draw my jaws down, long and thin, 
 Wrinkle my eyes, and ruffle up my cheeks. 
 Wag my head — so ; and sigh — so. Thus was he. 
 Only I cannot do it as he did, 
 So wry, so very laughable. Ho ! ho ! 
 
 I Faun. But tell me, oh do tell me what he said ! 
 
 3 Faun. Come now, he said ... I think I can't 
 remember. 
 
 I Faun. Try though. 
 
 3 Faun. He said . . . 
 
 I Faun. Look, look ! Is that the one ? 
 
 3 Faun. That burnt -out colour moth, with sickly 
 wings 
 Like sickly leaves I 
 
 I Faun. Ah no. 
 
 3 Faun. We shall not see him. 
 
 I Faun. You do not think so ? no, you do not ? no ! 
 
58 WOOD-NOTES 
 
 3 Faun. Indeed, I'm certain he's flown inward ; 
 thither 
 Go all the beautiful bodies. What a splendid 
 Place must they find to go so far and fast ! 
 
 I Faun. Cannot we go too, brother ? 
 
 3 Faun. Oh no, that's 
 
 A very long way, and we tire and droop. 
 And lie under the bushes, and pant — so. 
 If we go very very far ; and oh. 
 The weariness that comes into the feet ! 
 If we had wings, now ! 
 
 I Faun. Like the birds, and bees, 
 
 And flies, and moths, and butterflies, and insects ; 
 Why are these winged with wings, and not we too ? 
 
 3 Faun. They are so small ; you must not mind 
 them. We 
 Do not, like them, need wings to walk about. 
 
 I Faun. I would, for all that, we had wings like 
 them ! 
 
 3 Faun. Where would you fly ? Out of the wood ? 
 
 I Faun. To the sea. 
 
 The old Faun, who's so wise, has told me of it. 
 
FAUNS AT NOON 59 
 
 It is most wonderful ; and far from here ; 
 
 Farther than straight up to that little cloud. 
 
 It is all water, like our streams, and great, 
 
 Great as the earth ; and green, and sunshiny. 
 
 Like the green tossing grass, and tossed like that. 
 
 No, more than that ; more, when the winds blow on it. 
 
 And then it runs about, — and roars like the thunder, — 
 
 And climbs up, up, into the very sky. 
 
 And hisses like a serpent if you rouse him. 
 
 And he flings at you with his quivering tongue. 
 
 But it is very beautiful, always, 
 
 And wonderful, and I would see it. You, 
 
 Where would you go ? 
 
 3 Faun. I would go up to heaven, 
 
 Right up, right through the trees, above them, up. 
 Into the cool air that we drink, still up 
 Until I came to one of those white clouds. 
 And I would climb upon it, perch myself 
 On the top peak, and sail with it. We would go 
 Under the sun, and over all the earth, 
 And I should see it all — all the long earth. 
 That must be very long, for we have never 
 
6o WOOD-NOTES 
 
 Seen even to the sea, from the highest top 
 
 Of any of our trees : I should see all. 
 
 And we should sail and sail, and come at last 
 
 To that cold land the stars go to. But see, 
 
 We cannot have wings, and we shall not see them. 
 
 I Faun. Have the gods wings? Pan has none. 
 I would have none. 
 
 3 Faun. Oh, but he's swift as wings, on his goat- 
 feet, 
 When he runs after nymphs. 
 
 I Faun. We can run too. 
 
 3 Faun. Come. 
 
 I Faun. And no piling nuts, old Faun, old Faun ! 
 
 Ill 
 
 SYMPHONY 
 (from leconte de lisle) 
 
 Goatherd ! this wood is to the Muses dear. 
 No spiny holly nor dry brambles here ; 
 Through gallingale and hyacinth breaking free 
 
THE WOOD-NYMPH 6i 
 
 A sacred spring flows ever peacefully. 
 Noon burns without, where, on the slender grass, 
 Cicadas leap to feel the sun-rays pass ; 
 But, from the beech to myrtle-branches nigh, 
 ' Here, the merles sing full-throated as they fly. 
 Come, by the Muses ! to this fresh dark shade. 
 Lo, here thy flute, my lyre of ivory laid, 
 Daphnis shall raise his clear voice, and we all, 
 Anear the high rock's moss-enshrouded wall. 
 Whence Nais, one white finger on her lip, 
 Hearkens, will hinder goat-foot Pan from sleep. 
 
 IV 
 THE WOOD-NYMPH 
 
 (after a picture bV burne jones) 
 
 The green leaves, ah, the green leaves cover me ; 
 Would I might lose this unloved human life 
 And share the happy being of the leaves ! 
 For lo, they live and grow and drink the sun 
 And sip the nectar of the heavenly showers 
 
62 WOOD-NOTES 
 
 And have no sorrow with it ; but they grow 
 
 Happily, and Pan at even blesses them. 
 
 While I, alas me hapless, I am joined 
 
 Part to their life, and all in longing to them ; 
 
 Part to the gods, the bright gods whom I see 
 
 Flash through the woods at even or morn, and 
 
 make 
 The beautiful famiKar trees seem strange ; 
 And part to mortals and their little life. 
 Green leaves that cover me, to you I mourn, 
 My sisters, my more happy sisters, ye. 
 Rustle, rustle in the summer air, 
 With happy cries of birds among your boughs : 
 Be happy, though I am not happy. Nay, 
 I am not all unhappy, evermore. 
 One while a bird sings on the topmost bough 
 And my heart sings, forgetting life and death 
 And sorrow : so forgetting I were blest, 
 And bliss the gods deny me. When they walk 
 The forest before sundawn — Artemis, 
 Girt for the chase and followed by her hounds, 
 Queen Here or another, ere the dawn, 
 
THE WOOD-NYMPH 63 
 
 Or Aphrodite with the rosy dawn — 
 I may not speak my longings, but they pass, 
 Pass unregardful to their happy heaven. 
 They see me not — not me, akin to Gods ! 
 These tears are vain. — When mortals pass at eve. 
 Treading a delicate path between the trees. 
 Pale mortal men and women, with their loves — 
 It pains me that I see them, for I know 
 I am not as they are, and cannot share 
 The little love that fills their httle life- 
 Vain, vain ; and they too pass and see me not. 
 Ah me, dear leaves, forsaken of gods and men. 
 And sad because I cannot live their life, 
 WiU you not love me whom none others love ? 
 Will you not teach me how to live your life. 
 My sisters, my more happy sisters ? — live 
 In peace and quietness and still content, 
 And freshen and fade and freshen and have no care 
 And have no longing, full of peace to live. 
 Forgetting thus for ever life and death 
 And Gods and men and sorrow and delight. 
 
64 WOOD-NOTES 
 
 V 
 BOHEMIAN FOLK-SONG 
 
 (from the FRENCH) 
 
 The moon was in the sky, 
 Pale, pale her light had grown ; 
 I went into the forest 
 All alone. 
 
 All alone. 
 
 My heart was well-nigh glad, 
 But when I thought of thee 
 Grief came and made me sad. 
 
 It came with the winds of autumn 
 When the dead leaves drop from the tree. 
 Because thy heart hath forgotten 
 Thy lover afar from thee. 
 
BOHEMIAN FOLK-SONG 65 
 
 It came with the rain fast falling 
 Through the dead leaves again, 
 Because that over a dead love 
 The heart must weep like rain. 
 
THE KNIFE-THROWER 
 
 She stood at the door of the tent in the midst of 
 
 the Fair. All round 
 The booths lay thick and white, hke mushrooms 
 
 a-spread on the ground. 
 Steam-music clamoured and screeched, hoarse voices 
 
 out-clamoured the steam, 
 And the folk like a stream swayed past, and the bed 
 
 was too strait for the stream. 
 
 She stood at the door of the tent ; a short old patched 
 
 red gown. 
 Shapeless (she taught it shape) like an old red rag 
 
 hung down ; 
 
THE KNIFE-THROWER 67 
 
 But the night of her hair was upon it, and her body 
 
 moulded it through, 
 And the rag was more than a robe, and the old was 
 
 better than new. 
 
 Ill 
 
 The girl was a Romani chai, pure breed, and her 
 
 great black eyes 
 Had a perilous underglow, like the smouldering' fire 
 
 that lies 
 Waiting a breath to leap to a flaming life: they 
 
 slept : 
 Our eyes met, challenged, replied, and the gleam in 
 
 the girl's eyes leapt. 
 
 IV 
 
 She stood at the door ; outside, her father whirled in 
 
 the air 
 His broad, large-hafted knives, and vaunted his living 
 
 ware; 
 
68 THE KNIFE-THROWER 
 
 The men crushed into the tent, and the girl's eyes 
 
 drew me in : 
 Her glance was heady like wine, and her face was 
 
 splendid as sin. 
 
 Eh, the brave girl she was ! I shivered, not she, as 
 
 she stood 
 With her face to the man her father and her back to 
 
 the target of wood ; 
 She stood there, rigid as steel, and her eyes had a 
 
 steady glow 
 As she watched the man her father and he lifted his 
 
 knives to throw. 
 
 One ! — a great knife flew straight and quivered an inch 
 
 away 
 From the cheek that never paled as they played their 
 
 deadly play ; 
 
THE KNIFE-THROWER 69 
 
 Two ! — three ! — four ! — five ! — the blades flashed forth 
 
 at the girl : she stood, 
 A target of flesh, had one swerved, with her back to 
 
 the target of wood. 
 
 VII 
 
 And never the while she stirred, as the knives framed-in 
 
 her face ; 
 Only, the eyes just winced, as the blade sprang into 
 
 his place. 
 Braver the far for that ! for she knew it was death or 
 
 life. 
 And she dared to stand with her face to the man and 
 
 her eyes on the knife. 
 
 via 
 
 Frightful it was, but worse, when she turned her side, 
 
 and a blade 
 Quivered behind her neck, and she leaned back upon 
 
 it, and laid 
 
70 THE KNIFE-THROWER 
 
 Her exquisite throat for a mark : oh heaven, what 
 
 a curve to the chin ! 
 And the brute's knives sprang at it — brutes ! — and all 
 
 round stuck quivering in. 
 
 IX 
 
 Fast in the wood they stood, and she slipt from 
 
 amidst them, and laughed, 
 And the light in her eyes danced up, and I drank 
 
 the light as a draught ; 
 We passed from the tent, ashamed (I hope) of the 
 
 horrible sight. 
 But the light of the brave girl's eyes was a flame in 
 
 my brain that night. 
 
A VIGIL IN LENT 
 
 If the carved Christ in ivory crucified, 
 
 Carved, and in anguish nailed upon the cross, 
 
 And crowned, and pierced by thorn and nail and spear, 
 
 He before whom this woman sobbing prays, 
 
 If he have any memory of the past 
 
 Or mercy for the present, let him bow. 
 
 Come down at last from off the eternal cross. 
 
 And lean a lifted finger and long gaze, 
 
 Which shall indeed save her, whom but a look, 
 
 Whom but a gesture saves. 
 
 The woman kneels 
 With bowed head underneath the fallen hair 
 That makes a double darkness in the night. 
 Where the moon falls her white hands shine. She clasps 
 Her hands together. In the street below 
 She hears her lover's whistle. 
 
72 A VIGIL IN LENT 
 
 Suffering Christ ! 
 Mark how the drops start out upon her brow, 
 The tears that bUnd her eyelids, and the sobs 
 That choke her voice in praying. 
 
 " O Lord Christ ! 
 Christ that hast Mary for thy mother, Christ 
 That art the Son of God, and very God, 
 Pity me, for I fall : I cannot turn : 
 I see the road before me, and behind 
 The sea roars of the angry memories. 
 Lord Christ, I cannot turn, — Lord, Lord, not this ! 
 Let me sin delicately, and be safe. 
 
 there are voices calUng eitherward ; 
 
 1 cannot lose the voices. Let me go, 
 Christ ! I would tread the violets in the moss. 
 The veinfed violets of the woods of love ; 
 
 I cannot bruise my feet upon the stones 
 That pave the sacred floors. Christ, let me go ! 
 How can I pray for strength who cannot wish 
 The will thereof were in me ? He is mine. 
 Lord, and I live in him ; we twain are one. 
 What is this other ? Nay, thou knowest the man. 
 
A VIGIL IN LENT 73 
 
 And that there are in this wide world mayhap 
 
 The women who might love him. Never mine ! 
 
 Never have I been his ! Hear me, Lord Christ : 
 
 To thee I swear it. See my lover, Lord : 
 
 I can be bold to say thou madest him 
 
 For me, and he is mine, and I am his. 
 
 O let it be a very little sin ; 
 
 Forgive me ; do not punish him at all. 
 
 If me thou must remember in thy wrath ; 
 
 Let us have peace on earth, and follow us 
 
 With peace to heaven. How we will praise thy name ! 
 
 Thou shalt have incense of remembering tears, 
 
 Thou shalt have music of remembering sighs. 
 
 Thou shalt have prayers, and surely penitence. 
 
 Suffer us, then, this little sin, O God ! 
 
 (He calls ! I come, my lover !) What are we 
 
 But leaves a strong wind carries down the air 
 
 Far from the trees that bore them ? leaves yet green, 
 
 Leaves from no bountiful branches plucked, but blown 
 
 From a young graft within an aged trunk. 
 
 Lord, this is Love : thy gift : thine own are we : 
 
 Remember me in mercy; for I go." 
 
THE TYRANNICIDE 
 
 I CRY to man, I cry to God, 
 I haste along the beckoning road ; 
 The stars are in my brain : they reel 
 Round the heavens like a wheel ; 
 The fire strikes off them as they spin 
 And to my brain it enters in ; 
 At every shudder of the night 
 I shudder back in my affright. 
 
 I sware the oath, I did the deed ; 
 He dies, I said, the land is freed. 
 He sat, he saw me not ; I said. 
 Look once before thy life be dead. 
 This once, I said, see Liberty ! 
 He turned, he turned his eyes on me : 
 And now with darkness on his eyes 
 Beneath the look of God he lies. 
 
THE TYRANNICIDE 75 
 
 The stars spin round, the wind whirls high ; 
 He did not speak, he did not cry. 
 He looked one look, he did not fall, 
 The blood fell down and covered all, 
 His head bowed down upon his breast, 
 He seemed to sit and take his rest, 
 His long white hair flowed down behind : 
 See — see — there, tangled in the wind ! 
 
 I sware the oath, I did the deed : 
 
 God says the land shall not be freed ; 
 
 I thrust the knife into his side. 
 
 He looked upon me ere he died ; 
 
 He dropt his hands, he bowed his head, — 
 
 He looked so good when he was dead ! 
 
 I saw his side, I saw his face : 
 
 The people are not free, God says ! 
 
 The wind is coming down the sky ; 
 I have great joy he made no cry. 
 He turned, he turned and looked : I see 
 His eyes, I see his eyes on me. 
 
76 THE TYRANNICIDE 
 
 Still the stars spin, and pierce my brain : 
 I must turn back and go again 
 And seek him out and stand and see 
 If still he turns his eyes on me. 
 
VALE, FLOS FLORUM 
 
 Poor Flower of Flowers, hoar Time is harsh with us, 
 
 Time who has made all Edens ruinous. 
 
 Already his sharp frosts begin to bite. 
 
 He will not spare our garden of delight. 
 
 Thee too he will not spare, nor thee nor me, 
 
 Nor hope now green, nor pallid memory. 
 
 Live in to-day : all yesterdays are not. 
 
 Swifter than breath, vainer than things forgot. 
 
 Mere idle stones our feet have pressed and passed. 
 
 Live in to-day : why labour to forecast 
 
 The morrows that shall come, and be to-day ? 
 
 But we are foolish mortals every way. 
 
 Child, if thy mirror warns thee, heed it well ; 
 
 The first gray hair and earUest wrinkle tell, 
 
 Alas too well, the tale of coming years : 
 
 Nurse no vain hopes, nor cherish fruitless fears. 
 
78 VALE, FLOS FLORUM 
 
 One sighs, For I have seen the privet pale, 
 
 The roses perish and the lilies fail. 
 
 Sigh not at all, but say (if worst be worst), 
 
 In these last things shall men recall my first, 
 
 Wondering, and as old age breaks down and bows 
 
 The comely walls of my life's crumbling house. 
 
 Then more than ever shall I triumph, when 
 
 Age brings my past before the eyes of men. 
 
 Poor Elower of Flowers, regard thy mirror well ; 
 
 It warns ; nay, loose me : Flower of Flowers, farewell ! 
 
A LITANY OF LETHE 
 
 O Lethe, hidden waters never dry, 
 We, all we weary and heavy-laden, cry, 
 O Lethe, let us find thee and forget ! 
 
 — All we have sinnfed, and yet the scars remain. 
 — And we, all we had sorrow. — And we had pain. 
 O Lethe, let us find thee and forget ! 
 
 Thou that dost flow from Death to Death through Sleep, 
 Whose waters are the tears of those that weep, 
 O Lethe, let us find thee and forget ! 
 
 Thou that dost bring sweet peace to hospitals, 
 And to the captive openest prison-walls, 
 O Lethe, let us find thee and forget ! 
 
8o A LITANY OF LETHE 
 
 Thou that dost loose the soul from murdered Truth, 
 And youth from yesterday, and age from youth, 
 O Lethe, let us find thee and forget ! 
 
 Thou from lost love remembered sett'st us free 
 From hopeless love, a lorn eternity ; 
 O Lethe, let us find thee and forget ! 
 
 Thou from repentance tak'st the sting, from vice 
 The memory of a forfeit Paradise ; 
 O Lethe, let us find thee and forget ! 
 
 Thou in our grief dost hide from us no less 
 The anguish of remembered happiness ; 
 O Lethe, let us firtd thee and forget ! 
 
 Thou that dost lay aKke on all thy spell, 
 
 And free the saint from heaven, the wretch from hell, 
 
 O Lethe, let us find thee and forget ! 
 
A LITANY OF LETHE 81 
 
 Bring, bring soft sleep, and close all eyes for us. 
 Sleep without dreams, and peace oblivious ; 
 O Lethe, let us find thee and forget ! 
 
 We, all we weary and heavy-laden, cry. 
 Too tired to live, and yet too weak to die, 
 O Lethe, let us find thee and forget ! 
 
FROM CATULLUS 
 
 Come, Lesbia, let us live and love, 
 Nor rate sour age's saws above 
 A farthing for the price thereof ! 
 Suns may go down and yet arise ; 
 When once the brief light on our eyes 
 Goes down, there is, for our long keeping, 
 Night, an eternal night of sleeping. 
 Give me a thousand kisses, then 
 A hundred, then a thousand, then 
 Another hundred, and again 
 A thousand, and a hundred more. 
 Then, when so large has grown our score, 
 We'll lose the reckoning, lest that we 
 Should know our own felicity ; 
 Or, envying, one should learn what this is, 
 Knowing how many were our kisses. 
 
RONDEAU 
 
 If thou forget, why let the world go by : 
 Why should I hope to live or fear to die, 
 Since in thy love I live, and that is dead ? 
 A widowed heart that may no more be wed 
 Hath no desire ; and what desire have I ? 
 
 Nay, this desire : if love be all a lie. 
 And words pass idly as a smile or sigh, — 
 May I no more remember words once said, 
 If thou forget. 
 
 So, though the dust of years on years should fly 
 About my feet ere 'neath the dust I lie, 
 My soul, no more desiring to be fed 
 From Love's hands fondly with his bitter bread, 
 Shall reck no more than yonder quiet sky 
 If thou forget. 
 
AN INTERRUPTION IN COURT 
 
 " Sirs ! this is some mistake ! You know not, sirs, 
 This is my daughter ! See, my daughter ! Ah ! 
 Jenny, my child, we have not met before, 
 These many years ; where have you been, my child ? 
 I know there was no wrong; they said Let's 
 
 laugh. 
 My Jenny ; I have found you, this strange way, 
 Here. Why, I'm glad indeed they came to make 
 This . . . this mistake. What is it, Jenny ? Sirs, 
 Permit me, sirs, an old man, scarcely strong 
 Of late, since . . . since . . . Permit me, there is 
 
 here 
 Some error, if I so may term it. This, 
 Being my dear child, cannot be, indeed, 
 The person whom you take her for. I speak 
 As one who knows her. I am her father. Yes — 
 
AN INTERRUPTION IN COURT 85 
 
 (You'll pardon me, then, Jenny, if I say 
 I am your father ? will you not, my child ?) 
 You see, sirs, I am old, quite poor — quite poor ! 
 I have known better fortunes — let that pass — 
 You see we could not meet on equal terms. 
 My girl and I. I would not have my girl 
 Ashamed of her old father ; and, in short. 
 We have not seen each other for so long. 
 She did not know me, you observed, just now ? " 
 
 Now while the old man spoke, I watched the girl. 
 First, as he thrust and elbowed through the hall, 
 Hat forward, coat torn back, and waving arms. 
 Up to the dock, and grasped her hand, and gasped 
 Half-inarticulate words — the woman stood 
 Stock-still, just turning, with a brazen stare 
 (Be sure he never saw) above the paint 
 Still left upon her cheeks ; she looked, indeed. 
 Callous, case-hardened and impenitent. 
 She only wore that mask a minute. Quick, 
 Fallen forward on the rail, her forehead pressed 
 Against his hand and her hand holding it. 
 
86 AN INTERRUPTION IN COURT 
 
 Weeping great tears, she sobbed out, "Father, 
 
 father !" 
 There crouched and stayed. 
 
 All through the hall there ran 
 A shiver ; neighbours looked, among themselves. 
 One at another ; no one spoke : all heads 
 Strained forward towards one point : .sheei: silence : 
 
 still 
 The old man talked. 
 
 And no one hindered him ! 
 I think that all, the very lawyers, felt 
 A something : was it awe, fear, sympathy ? 
 They held their breath, and said no word. Just so, 
 Speechless, you stand and scarcely dare to breathe, 
 While a wrecked vessel, tossing on the reef, 
 Sways halfway over, qnd the rope from land 
 Shoots out, a line of light, above the waves — 
 Straight to the mast, where the drenched wretches 
 
 cling ? 
 Or vainly now the last time in the surge ? 
 I've seen it, and I saw this. 
 
 Still, I say. 
 
AN INTERRUPTION IN COURT 87 
 
 The old man talked. 
 
 " I crave your patience, sirs, 
 And thank your kindness ; an old man, you see, 
 I cannot say quite shortly what I would. 
 You pardon me ? I pray you look then, see 
 If Jenny here before you could be such 
 As that you speak of. Jenny, do not cry ; 
 All shall be well. 
 
 " Sirs, God was good to me. 
 Who gave two daughters : this is one, the other 
 Died younger : she is now in heaven : her grave 
 Has a white stone : I often visit it. 
 But Jenny ever was my dear one. She, 
 When Milly lay about, nor cared to stir, 
 (Only looked at you with that patient smile). 
 Ran always, ran and laughed, and made the place 
 As merry as a nest. She sang, — dear heart ! — 
 I hear her now. But this is not my tale. 
 What, indeed, should I say ? Oh, sirs, I mean, 
 If you had seen her always as a child. 
 If you had seen how good, how good she was, 
 How good she was to me ; if you could know 
 
88 AN INTERRUPTION IN COURT 
 
 How dear she is to me, and how I love her, 
 Now, now she is no longer but a child — 
 A woman, grown a woman — she, my child, 
 I have not seen her for so long ; dear Lord, 
 So long since I have seen her ! And now, now, 
 Knowing how good, how good and pure she is, 
 My child — to see her thus ! Good sirs, forgive 
 These tears I can scarce keep from falling down, — 
 I feel them in my voice. 'Twill make you weep. 
 Truly, I think, yourselves. Jenny, stand up : 
 You will permit her, friends, to go with me ? " 
 
 That broke the spell. My eyes, perhaps, being 
 
 moist. 
 Saw tears in others' eyes ; but till that word 
 The very judge seemed touched. That broke the 
 
 spell. 
 Seized by the rough hands of the law, thrust back. 
 Scared, the old man let fall his daughter's hand. 
 Feebly resisting. Still he tried to speak — 
 Vainly. The case proceeded. Tearless now 
 The woman stood, with tight-locked lips and hands, 
 
AN INTERRUPTION IN COURT 89 
 
 And I, who marked her eyes, could see in them 
 Unutterable agony — the light 
 
 Of the quenched innocent years. The case went 
 on. 
 
 Even when the verdict and the sentence came, 
 The full conviction, all the shameful truth. 
 She heard as though she heard but in a dream ; 
 Not any sigh broke from her. And no sound 
 Came from the old man. But the man indeed 
 Had fainted. They removed her quietly, 
 And the court thinned. In passing out I went 
 A long way round : some pressed about the man : 
 I could not dare behold him when he woke ! 
 
THE STREET-SINGER 
 
 She sings a pious ballad wearily ; 
 
 Her shivering body creeps on painful feet 
 Along the muddy runlets of the street ; 
 The damp is in her throat : she coughs to free 
 The cracked and husky notes that tear her chest ; 
 From side to side she looks with eyes that grope, 
 Feverishly hungering in a hopeless hope, 
 For pence that will not come ; and pence mean rest, 
 The rest that pain may steal at night from sleep. 
 The rest that hunger gives when satisfied ; 
 
 Her fingers twitch to handle them ; she sings 
 Shriller ; her eyes, too hot with tears to weep. 
 Fasten upon a window, where, inside, 
 
 A sweet voice mocks her with its caroUings. 
 
THE ABANDONED 
 
 The moonlight touched the sombre waters white. 
 
 Beneath the bridge 'twas darker. Was she cold ? 
 
 She shivered. Her poor shawl was worn and old, 
 And she was desolate, and it was night. 
 The slow canal crept onward ; to her sight 
 
 It seemed to beckon, and the lapping told 
 
 Of rest and quiet sleep : how sweet to fold 
 The hands from toil and close the eyes from light, 
 And so shut out all memory, and go 
 
 There where men sleep, and dreams, perhaps, are 
 not. 
 O never any dreams, she murmured ; so. 
 Longing for sleep, the sleep that comes with death, 
 
 She fell, she felt the water, and forgot 
 All, save the drowning agony of breath. 
 
BELL IN CAMP 
 
 I LOVED him ! Dare to give me back the lie ! 
 Cowards and white-faced hussies ! Oh my God, 
 That I should stand and see him at my feet, 
 My Charlie, my old partner, and you things. 
 Flicking your painted curls against the light, 
 Dare to mouth lies at that dead man and me ! 
 Nell, if you know who shot him, tell me, Nell. 
 Here's the blood dabbled all about the floor, 
 Clotted in pools, curdled, and here's the hole. 
 And his shirt stained about it in the chest. 
 And he's all cold ; lie on my breast now, dear, 
 I'll nurse you, and I'll make you warm again. 
 Oh, oh ! if he'd grow warm again, I'd let 
 You, Moll, you. Bet, try all your airs on him. 
 And make believe to blush (you can't, you know) 
 When he looked at you with his eyes ! I'd let 
 
BELL IN CAMP 93 
 
 My Charlie think to love you if he would, 
 
 You wretched things, and leave me mope and sit 
 
 Stabbed through and through with pins for every 
 
 look 
 And word and touch. I'd let you — if he would — 
 Whisper and bob heads in the corner there, 
 And laugh — laugh as you can — and leer aside, 
 And let him laugh out frank and loud and long, 
 Looking at me, to see the blood spirt up 
 And dash my cheeks with red. Oh, he should have 
 His will and way for ever. Won't you rise, 
 Charlie, and strike and curse me, Charlie dear ? 
 Now he won't strike or curse me any more, 
 He'll never any more be drunk again, 
 He'll never speak, not even to say, " Old Bell ! " 
 He'll never, never, never speak again. 
 Not even to swear. God bless you, Charlie dear, 
 God bless — I think he'll bless you, Charlie dear. 
 
 What ! gone ? All right, Nell, stay by me, good 
 
 Nell. 
 You're a kind one — the only one. You'll live 
 
94 BELL IN CAMP 
 
 And lead a better life, Nell ; you're so young. 
 Be honest, Nell ; you're a good kind one. 
 
 Look, 
 Here's all I love on earth ; here. I don't know 
 Quite how I ought to feel ; I don't so much 
 Seem mad with God, and mad to go and die. 
 As struck, and tired, and wearied out with life. 
 I don't much care to die : what's life or death ? 
 Folks die of broken hearts, they say : I feel 
 Walking along a gray long dusty road 
 At twilight, walking on into the night 
 And never counting milestones. 
 
 Charlie said 
 He'd marry me ; he always said that, Nell. 
 
 Do you think, Nell, God cares how people die ? 
 They shot him ; but you don't know who, you say : 
 Nobody knows or cares, in Silver Gulch. 
 
 I s'pose you'd hardly call him good, Nell ? Ah, 
 Don't laugh ; you hurt me. But what's " good ? ' 
 Some men — 
 
BELL IN CAMP 95 
 
 Heaven help 'em ! — don't get tempted, can't go wrong; 
 And where's the goodness ? Oh, I hate 'em all ! 
 God knows me how I loved my Charlie. Well, 
 A man can't quite be bad, I've heard and think. 
 When even such a woman loves him. So, 
 Because I loved him won't God let him pass ? 
 The thing that I am can't beat God in love ! 
 
 Nell, you're so young. When I knew Charlie first 
 There wasn't a man in all the camp like him. 
 I see him now, the same ; but people say, 
 And, yes, I know, he's not the man he was. 
 He's still the same to me ; and now he's dead 
 I hold him on my heart, and see him there. 
 And he's the Charlie of old days. He sings 
 Something about a heart that never changes. 
 And smiles at me between his lowered lids, 
 And speaks it, and that's better than the song. 
 And there's a sharp red shadow, as the fire 
 Leaps, flung across his face and eyes and hair ; 
 And all behind him black long trunks stand up 
 And climb with dim boughs twisted, and shut off 
 
96 BELL IN CAMP 
 
 The great world and the wide heaven. 
 
 I see that, 
 And it's more woeful then to feel how cold 
 He's lying. 
 
 Better go, Nell. Let me be. 
 
A WINTER NIGHT 
 
 The pale moon shining from a pallid sky 
 Lit half the street, and over half she laid 
 Her folded mantle ; through the dark-browed shade 
 
 White windows glittered, each a watchful eye. 
 
 The dim wet pavement lit irregularly 
 
 With shimmering streaks of gaslight, faint and 
 
 frayed, 
 Shone luminous green where sheets of glass dis- 
 played 
 
 Long breadths of faded blinds mechanically. 
 
 The night was very still ; above, below, 
 
 No sound, no breath, no change in anything ; 
 Only, across the squares of damp lit street. 
 Shooting a mocking double from his feet, 
 With vague uncertain steps went to and fro 
 A solitary shadow wandering. 
 
 H 
 
LAZARUS AT THE GATE 
 
 "Brothers, the mirth runs high, here in the hall." 
 " Brothers, we have no heart for mirth, alas ! " 
 " Nay, come and join us ; griefs like shadows pass." 
 
 " Not ours, not ours, in anywise at all." 
 
 " Here is cool shade, cool wine ambrosial." 
 
 " Without here, all the sun's might smites the grass." 
 " Slow slide the golden sands of Time's hour-glass." 
 
 " Swift, swift ; and we would seize them ere they fall." 
 
 " O brothers, we rejoice and are at ease.'' 
 
 "And, brothers, we in sorrow work and wait." 
 
 " Your dirges drown our daintiest melodies." 
 "Yea, dirges, but the dirges of your fate.'' 
 
 " What cry is this that comes upon the breeze ? " 
 " The cry of Lazarus calling at the gate." 
 
A CRISIS 
 
 He could not sleep. The daylight ebbed away, 
 The long hot daylight of those day-long noons, 
 Before his waking eyes, and brought the night ; 
 And the night passed, the sleepless night all hours 
 Crowded with dreadful minutes ; one by one 
 He watched them, and he heard, them throb and 
 
 throb, 
 Feeling them in his body like a pulse. 
 Beating, and not to be quieted ; the dawn 
 Crept up on leaden wings, lingered, and crept, 
 And lingeringly brought the morrow in. 
 He saw the white face of another day. 
 Words came into his mind, and bent his knees, 
 And then they passed ; he stared against the wall 
 Hot with the sun, and could not drop his lids. 
 But wondered, kneeling, why he meant to pray ? 
 
100 A CRISIS 
 
 For night, he thought ; but could not tell : for night, 
 Or that the day might hold the night off long. 
 
 He sought the shelter of the pines. Their voice 
 Lulled him, but could not bring him sleep, nor shut 
 The open gates of his too-populous brain. 
 The ever-open gates. He oft would clasp 
 His hands across his temples, crying on peace ; 
 But no peace came. He walked among the pines, 
 Now dusky-bright, cool with the shadow of heat. 
 Brimful of silence ; afar off an axe 
 Rang dully, and at times a cone fell soft. 
 He neither heard nor saw. O cursbd Self, 
 He muttered ; for his selfhood hemmed him round, 
 A flame of fire about a narrow ring. 
 And fleeing he vainly circled, vainly beat 
 The fatal limits. One persistent thought 
 Panted behind, and urged him on : he turned 
 And faced his foe. 
 
 In a scattered flash of lights. 
 Leaping, and whirled, and mixed inextricably. 
 The fiery letters of a deadly sin 
 
A CRISIS loi 
 
 Stood out before him. All beside was vague. 
 He could remember nothing. Am I mad, 
 He wondered, or indeed this criminal ? 
 He strove to think, but as he strove his mind 
 Faltered, all shone, lights danced before his brain. 
 The ground rose up before him, swayed, fell back, 
 He reeled, and caught both hands against a pine. 
 There glowed the letters and the fiery fact : 
 He gazed on them with horror. 
 
 But indeed 
 He strove against the spectre, for as yet 
 His will was in his hands, and fought for him. 
 He turned and wooed his memory, and she came, 
 A handmaid bringing mellow wine. He drained 
 Cup after cup with eager lips, and heard 
 A laughter, that was his, sound in his heart 
 Like hollow echoes in a tomb. The past 
 Smiled in his eyes with ominous eyes ; all pale 
 The ghosts of many yesterdays long gone 
 Walked sheeted round their graves ; he heard a bell 
 Toll in the darkness ; darkness and the dead 
 Rose up before him. 
 
I02 A CRISIS 
 
 Now began to form, 
 Bred of the fever of his sleepless brain, 
 Distempered dreamings. Faces in the dark. 
 Through the hot throbbing age-long nights, and when 
 He shut his lids against the day, came near. 
 Staring upon him with wide-open eyes. 
 Eyes of an ageless agony endured. 
 Faces absorbed upon a sea of mist. 
 Still, tossing, floating, shuddering, intertwined. 
 Going and coming ! At a slant of sun. 
 Striking a dancing finger up and down, 
 He started ; at a shadow, at the clock 
 Calling the hours out suddenly. A step, 
 Treading the streets behind him, gave him fear ; 
 He trembled at a voice. 
 
 And now his will 
 Slipt slowly, like a stone into the sea, 
 Slowly away from him. Steadily now 
 The haunting thought that tracked his heels drew near. 
 Nearer, and pressed behind him, and crept up. 
 As with a hot breath on his neck, a hand 
 Upon his shoulder, and an evil face 
 
A CRISIS 103 
 
 Drawing his eyes inevitably to it. 
 
 He struggled less ; he let the vile thing creep 
 
 Closer and closer, till it whispered him, 
 
 Claiming him for its own. "And I am thine," 
 
 He said aloud ; " for I have done the deed : 
 
 Surely it must be, I have done the deed ! " 
 
 So thus the shadow of a fancied crime 
 
 Lay on his soul. He brooded o'er it, mused, 
 
 Beheld himself with horror, and yet watched 
 
 With an intense immitigable fear 
 
 The hooded secret peeping from his breast. 
 
 The horror grew ; he loathed himself, and gazed 
 
 Fearfully up at heaven, and called the sun 
 
 " God's eye," and shrunk away from it, and cried 
 
 (Silently, lest the earth should hear) " Lost, lost ! " 
 
 And his whole soul cowered in upon itself 
 
 Now on a day of stifling heat there rolled 
 
 Heavily up against the fainting wind 
 
 Dull sudden clouds with ragged edges, heaped 
 
 Tumultuously together. Bound to bound 
 
 They spanned the narrowing sky. Suddenly forth 
 
104 A CRISIS 
 
 Sprang from the farthest clouds and leapt and flashed 
 
 Cleaving -and shearing through the veil of rain 
 
 Incessant arrows of the lightning, voiced 
 
 With crackling thunders crashing through the vault. 
 
 Shaft after shaft rained down from heaven. He stood 
 
 Voicelessly agonising ; all his soul 
 
 Shuddered within him at the wrath of God, 
 
 The anger of the outraged Lawgiver, 
 
 Pealed in a voice from Sinai ; bare he stood 
 
 To every arrow flaming down the skies, 
 
 The witness and the avenger. " Strike ! " he cried : 
 
 A burst of blazing fire filled all the air : 
 
 And then the madness took him ; while the storm 
 
 Howled in the heights and tossed the deeps to light, 
 
 Hurling the cataracts of the clouds abroad 
 
 And ruining down the hills of heaven in flame. 
 
SCENES DE LA VIE DE BOHEME 
 I 
 
 EPISODE OF A NIGHT OF MAY 
 
 The coloured lanterns lit the trees, the grass, 
 The little tables underneath the trees, 
 And the rays dappled like a delicate breeze 
 Each wine-illumined glass. 
 
 The pink light flickered, and a shadow ran 
 Along the ground as couples came and went ; 
 The waltzing fiddles sounded from the tent. 
 And Giroflee began. 
 
 They sauntered arm in arm, these two ; the smiles 
 Grew chilly, as the best spring evenings do. 
 
lo6 SCENES DE LA VIE DE BOHfeME 
 
 The words were warmer, but the words came few, 
 And pauses fell at whiles. 
 
 But she yawned prettily. " Come then," said he. 
 He found a chair. Veuve Clicquot, some cigars. 
 They emptied glasses and admired the stars. 
 The lanterns, night, the sea, 
 
 Nature, the newest opera, the dog 
 (So clever) who could shoulder arms and dance ; 
 He mentioned Alphonse Daudet's last romance, 
 Last Sunday's river-fog. 
 
 Love, Immortality ; the talk ran down 
 To these mere lees : they wearied each of each, 
 And tortured ennui into hollow speech. 
 And yawned, to hide a frown. 
 
 She jarred his nerves ; he bored her — and so soon. 
 Both were polite, and neither cared to say 
 The word that mars a perfect night of May. 
 They watched the waning moon. 
 
RISPETTO— AT THE BALL 107 
 
 II 
 RISPETTO 
 
 Her lover waits and lingers at the door : 
 
 " Come out, my dear, come out, my dear," he sighs. 
 
 " But ah," she thinks, " there's one who loves me 
 
 more ; " 
 She will not hearken to her lover's cries. 
 
 " Good-night, good-bye," the woeful lover says : 
 I laugh to meet him with his moody face. 
 I laugh to think of what in heart thinks she. 
 — Come out, my dear, and say good-night to me ! 
 
 Ill 
 
 AT THE BALL 
 
 Two and two, to and fro. 
 
 They dance to the strains of Manolo. 
 
 Ah me, my heart is heavy as lead. 
 
 And the fiddle's sobbing, " Laurette is dead ! " 
 
io8 SCENES DE LA VIE DE BOHfeME 
 
 Two and two, to and fro, 
 
 They dance to the strains of Manolo. 
 
 My heart is heavy, I stand apart, 
 how shall I heal my broken heart ? 
 
 Two and two, to and fro. 
 
 They dance to the strains of Manolo. 
 
 " O, I'll heal your heart, my friend, my friend ; 
 Love me or leave, for love has an end." 
 
 Two and two, to and fro. 
 
 They dance to the strains of Manolo. 
 
 She has bright black eyes and thick black hair, 
 Belle brune : now my poor Laurette was fair. 
 
 Two and two, to and fro. 
 
 They dance to the strains of Manolo. 
 
 " Come dance with me." Laurette, Laurette ! 
 " She has forgotten ; do you forget ! " 
 
AT THE BALL 109 
 
 Two and two, to and fro, 
 
 They dance to the strains of Manolo. 
 
 Do you love me, little one ? " Yes — may be.'' 
 Then I love you, I think. " Come dance with me.'' 
 
 Two and two, to and fro. 
 
 We dance to the strains of Manolo. 
 
AN EPISODE UNDER THE NIHILISTS 
 
 Ivan. So, he. is dead, poor fool, they tell me. Well, 
 'Tis well. He may tell our secrets to the worms ; 
 They will not heed him, and we shall not fear. 
 
 Dmitri. Ay, he is dead : thank heaven for it, Ivan ; 
 We must be very thankful. All the same, 
 I think it best, if you can understand. 
 To say no more of this thing, out of doors. 
 With people — you perceive ? — than must needs be. 
 No reticence, believe me ; nor no need 
 To push the topic into other mouths, 
 Whose tongues perhaps are bitter. You perceive } 
 
 Ivan. You mean . . . ? 
 
 Dmitri. I mean the brethren are best served 
 
 By silence. [ Vera rushes in. 
 
 What's this ? Vera ? 
 
 Vera. O my God, 
 
AN EPISODE UNDER THE NIHILISTS in 
 
 Vassili is murdered, foully murdered ! Oh ! 
 The talk's in all the streets. Dmitri, you knew. 
 And did not tell me ? 
 
 Dmitri. Well, and if I knew ? 
 
 Vera. You knew, you knew : I would I knew it 
 not: 
 I would I had known it "earlier. Did you hear 
 Last night when you came late 
 
 Dmitri. Go, Ivan. \Ivan goes out. 
 
 Late, 
 Late, yes, late — 
 
 Vera. Did you know then ? for I heard 
 
 A something in your step upon the stair. 
 Heavy, uncertain, like the sound of it 
 That night when mother died, and you came home 
 And told me. Why then did you tell me not ? 
 
 Dmitri. O yes, I knew — of course — and kept it 
 back: 
 That, that's your wifely way. What if I did ? 
 Any little thing — you kept it back, says she ! 
 What if I did, I tell you ? What's to you 
 If twenty men like Vassili were dead ? 
 
112 AN EPISODE UNDER THE NIHILISTS 
 
 Vera. To me ? O husband ! Dead — my friend, 
 my friend ! 
 
 Dmitri. Ay, your dear friend — too dear, belike. 
 Well, well, 
 He's dead now, and that's very true. 
 
 Vera. O Vassili, 
 
 My kind, dear, good friend . . . dead. It cannot be, 
 It must be : all's one. They have murdered you — 
 God curse the murderer ; all the plagues of God 
 Light on the murderer ! 
 
 Dmitri. Vera, will you put 
 
 An end to all this squalling ? Murderer ! 
 Who said the man was murdered ? Like enough 
 He had his reasons, Vassili, — I think 
 He did the deed himself. 
 
 Vera. You know he did not. 
 
 You know as clear as heaven he did not do it. 
 
 Dmitri. Eh, how should I know ? 
 
 Vera. Why, all know, I know, 
 
 You know, that some one foully murdered him. 
 Ah God, he's a saint now. 
 
 Dmitri. You will weep out 
 
AN EPISODE UNDER THE NIHILISTS 113 
 
 Those pretty eyes, my madam, that he praised. 
 Well, weep for you and me : I shall not weep : 
 I tell you, I am glad on't. Oh, you know, 
 You, meek-face ! you know I have cause enough 
 To joy myself in this. I am most glad. 
 
 Vera. Dmitri, you will not say those words again. 
 Fool, jealous fool, will you kill all my heart 
 With your foul tauntings ? Kill ? You say you are 
 
 glad? 
 Why are you glad, and talk of killing ? You, 
 You, you, you killed him ! 
 
 Dmitri. Madam ? 
 
 Vera. Yes, you, you ! 
 
 I see it all, I see it. You can dare 
 To look me in the face ? Devils are bold, 
 And look God back in answer. You are a devil — 
 You are a murderer ! 
 
 Dmitri. Madam, when your torrent 
 
 Foams to a finish, I will tell you. I 
 Killed him. 
 
 Vera. No, husband : I was but in anger, 
 I never meant it. No. I did not mean 
 I 
 
114 AN EPISODE UNDER THE NIHILISTS 
 
 The mad words I have said. Say no, say no. 
 You too, you jest ? It cannot be you mean it ? 
 That were too horrible. Say no ! 
 
 Dmitri. I say 
 
 I killed him, and I justify the deed. 
 
 Vera. God, bring the night down swiftly ! Bury me 
 Deep in the darkness. Can I ever look, 
 Ever again, upon the day ? 
 
 Dmitri. Words, words ! 
 
 I pray you for a little reason now. 
 Will you call all the town upon us, eh ? 
 Speak, if you must speak, lower, in God's name. 
 Vera. 'Tis true. That I should trust a woman ! 
 You plucked it from me. Vera. I was wrong — 
 That is, I mean, to trust you. For the deed. 
 That I can justify to God above, — 
 If there is any God above, that is. 
 Men will judge otherwise, most surely. Hence, 
 You keep my secret, do you understand ? 
 Vera! 
 
 Vera. Oh ! 
 
 Dmitri. Do you hear me, Vera ? Speak. 
 
AN EPISODE UNDER THE NIHILISTS 115 
 
 Vera. No, don't speak, Dmitri ! Is it all a dream ? 
 No. Say it's all a dream. 
 
 Dmitri. It is no dream. 
 
 But are you dreaming, woman ? What is it, 
 Vera? 
 
 Vera. I'm stunned, I think. Be quiet. Oh, 
 Now I begin to see things clear again. 
 It cannot be ! Do say it is not, do, 
 Dmitri ! For I should hate you if it were, — 
 My God, how I must hate you if it be ! 
 
 Dmitri. Vera, these words are toys. Arouse your- 
 self. 
 I killed him ; yes, I killed him, since you have it. 
 And you must keep the secret. Understand, 
 I had no voice, I was but the hand in it : 
 Others — you know who — the Committee — passed 
 Sentence ; I served their purpose. In a word, 
 I killed him. Murder ? not at all. I dealt 
 The legal execution. Do you hear ? 
 Mere legal execution. You'll forgive 
 The words I used when you provoked me, Vera ? 
 I think you loved him once : that's past, all's past ; 
 
ii6 AN EPISODE UNDER THE NIHILISTS 
 
 He's in the grave — as good as in the grave : 
 I'm in the grave if you should speak a vrord. 
 I know you will not, Vera. 
 
 Vera. Creature ! You ! 
 
 Coward ! That's how you beg your life of me ! 
 "Forgive you?"— flattery?— "legal?" What's all 
 
 this? 
 Oh, what a conscience you must have this while ! 
 I would not for a thousand years of life 
 Bear such a conscience in my bosom. Oh, 
 Dmitri, and I have loved you ! 
 
 Dmitri. Dearest one. 
 
 We have been angry with each other. Come, 
 Be friends again. I love you. All is well. 
 Just never say a word, and all is safe. 
 
 Vera. Never to say a word — yes, but to bear 
 The knowledge of it in your heart, to bear 
 The consciousness about you — all your days ; 
 Always to feel, there's some one coming by 
 Will read it, all in crimson, on my brow ! 
 To feel you carry that within your heart 
 Would make the boldest quail to sit with you. 
 
AN EPISODE UNDER THE NIHILISTS 117 
 
 Would make the vilest spurn you with his foot, 
 The merely decent loathe you worse than hell : 
 To have this always, every day, each day. 
 Lie down with you, and rise and sit with you, 
 And walk with you, and cleave to flesh and soul 
 
 Dmitri. Stop ! God, it's all come over me ! stop ! 
 stop ! 
 I feel it ! Oh, be quiet ! Shut your eyes — 
 My eyes, that is ! 
 
 Vera. Dmitri ! 
 
 Dmitri. There ! I'm a fool ! 
 
 What did you mean by working on me so ? 
 You turned my brain for a moment. Now 'tis past. 
 I tell you, 'twas a merely -legal — yes — 
 A merely legal execution. 
 
 Vera. Yes, 
 
 Mutter your " merely legal " ! You know well 
 You've done a murder on the noblest man 
 God ever made in Russia. 
 
 Dmitri. Noblest man ? 
 
 Eh, noblest man ? He was a snake. I'm glad 
 It was I that killed him, not another, now 
 
ii8 AN EPISODE UNDER THE NIHILISTS 
 
 I know you loved him, as indeed I thought 
 In stabbing him. 
 
 Vera. Dmitri, you don't believe 
 
 One single word you utter. I have never 
 Loved any one but you, and now, I think — 
 Yes, before God and that cold corpse, — I think 
 I do love no one. 
 
 Dmitri. That I could have loved 
 
 This woman, this cold piece of clay — not life ! 
 What if I did a thousand times the deed 
 You speak of? — if you loved me, you would love. 
 
 Vera. Ah, dead love, hearken to the murderer ! 
 Dmitri. Murderer ! There you shriek it — murderer ! 
 Is it your will to drive me out of mind ? 
 Always that hideous word — I am not, I say ! 
 Don't name it ! 
 
 Vera. So you cannot bear the name 
 
 That yet can bear the being ! How you start 
 If any one speaks out the thing you are ! 
 I will not speak it, Dmitri. If you knew 
 How wholly I despise you ! I'll not speak ; 
 Nor love you any more until I die. 
 
A HOME CIRCLE 
 
 The mother sits beside the grate, where still 
 The dying embers give a flickering glow ; 
 She hears folk passing in the street below, 
 
 And shivers, for the night is very chill. 
 
 The younger girl is sleeping in her bed : 
 
 The elder — 'twas her feet perhaps that passed, 
 And not alone, so tremulously fast : 
 
 She is scarce used, as yet, to earn her bread. 
 
 The mother hearkens, not for her. She knows 
 The reeling step upon the narrow stair. 
 
 He comes, and he shall have a dreamless sleep. 
 And the child sleeps. God have in pity those 
 Who watch the stars out in a mute despair. 
 Mother and daughter, and one may not weep. 
 
ESTHER BRAY 
 
 Esther, my lass, come hither ; stand there ; I've a 
 
 thing to say. 
 Lord, but your cheeks are white ! So be it, Esther 
 
 Bray. 
 Stand you there in the hght o' the iire. Now answer 
 
 me: 
 When the babe that's yours is born, whose wife'U his 
 
 mother be ? 
 
 Stand up, girl ! Look you here, I've a right to ask, I 
 
 think : 
 Child of my age you are, and I've gotten you meat 
 
 and drink. 
 
ESTHER BRAY 121 
 
 Mother's dead, you know, and I've looked to you, 
 
 Esther Bray : 
 Mine you are, and, by God, I've a right to ask, I say ! 
 
 Ill 
 
 Well, so you've never a word, and never a ring you 
 
 wear. 
 Look you, here where I sit, here in the selfsame 
 
 chair. 
 Father and son have sat, time out of mind : not one 
 Blushed for girl or boy of his getting — father or son. 
 
 Father and son we've hved on the land, and we've 
 
 worked the mill. 
 I've no son, but I said, there's the girl, she'll have it 
 
 still, 
 And Dick, he's a steady lad, works well at the trade ; 
 
 maybe, 
 If the match is made — No ! no ! but it's bastards 
 
 follow me. 
 
ESTHER BRAY 
 
 Esther Bray, rise up from the ground ; uncover your 
 
 face ! 
 You feature your mother, lass, and you're standing 
 
 there in her place, 
 Right where she used to stand, hands folded ; the fire 
 
 would shine 
 Sharp on her wedding-ring. Where's yours, lass ? 
 
 That was mine. 
 
 VI 
 
 Honest and bold we've been, and the word of a Bray 
 
 was gold, 
 We held up our heads with the best, we were always 
 
 honest and bold. 
 I'm the last ; ay ! ay ! gray hairs ; but never you 
 
 care ! 
 Let the old fool's head go hang : do you think you've 
 
ESTHER BRAY 123 
 
 VII 
 
 Hearken to me, my girl, you're mine, and I keep 
 
 you here ; 
 Bed and board you'll have, and your clothes, come 
 
 year, go year. 
 Child is child, and you're mine, but the brat's a 
 
 beggarly loan : 
 I'll house you under my roof, but the brat may find 
 
 his own. 
 
 VIII 
 
 Hey, do you hear, my lass? That's square. Why 
 
 don't you rise ? 
 Esther, rise up, I say. Here's brandy. God, she 
 
 lies — 
 You'll never move again, then, Esther ? Only see, 
 I've killed her, killed my child ! That's well. Now, 
 
 God, take me. 
 
SATIETY 
 
 I HAVE outlived my life, and linger on, 
 
 Knowing myself the ghost of one that was. 
 
 Come, kindly death, and let my flesh (being grass) 
 Nourish some beast's sad life when I am gone. 
 What joy is left in all I look upon ? 
 
 I cannot sin, it wearies me. Alas ! 
 
 I loathe the laggard moments as they pass ; 
 I tire of all but swift oblivion. 
 
 Yet, if all power to taste the dear deceit 
 Be not outworn and perished utterly ; 
 
 If it could be, then surely it were sweet — 
 
 I go down on my knees and pray : O God, 
 Send me some last illusion, ere I be 
 
 A clod — perhaps at rest — within a clod. 
 
FORGOTTEN DEATH 
 
 The man is dead, yea, buried dark and deep : 
 
 Alas, he knoweth not that he is dead. 
 
 As one who lives, he prays for daily bread ; 
 He sows for harvests, and he seems to reap. 
 Men call him lord ; great store hath he in keep. 
 
 For him at princely boards the feast is spread ; 
 
 He strives and hopes ; hath been of old time wed : 
 Yet deep the grave is where he lies asleep. 
 
 Woe to him that he hath not known his lot ! 
 
 Self-slain he stands, a corpse unburied yet : 
 His flesh he fed, his soul he left to rot. 
 
 Nor hath for it remembrance or regret. 
 If he his death-in-life have so forgot ' 
 
 Shall God for hini the second death forget ? 
 
THE SOUL'S PROGRESS 
 
 It enters life it knows not whence ; there lies 
 
 A mist behind it and a mist before. 
 
 It stands between a closed and open door. 
 It follows hope, yet feeds on memories. 
 The years are with it, and the years are wise ; 
 
 It learns the mournful lesson of their lore. 
 
 It hears strange voices from an unknown shore, 
 Voices that will not answer to its cries. 
 
 Blindly it treads dim ways that wind and twist ; 
 It sows for knowledge, and it gathers pain ; 
 Stakes all on love, and loses utterly. 
 Then, going down into the darker mist. 
 
 Naked, and blind, and blown with wind and rain, 
 It staggers out into eternity. 
 
AN ACT OF MERCY 
 
 Now this is why he killed her. First, she lied. 
 
 He said, "You love me still?" and she replied, 
 
 " Still." But he held her letter all the while. 
 
 Crushed in his hand behind him ; so, his smile 
 
 Tightened about his lips, which twitched. He laid 
 
 The damning thing before her. She betrayed 
 
 No tremor, but the colour left her cheeks : 
 
 So, when these women palter, nature speaks. 
 
 He said, " You love me still ?" She looked him down 
 
 With that magnificent darkness of her frown. 
 
 And clearly as she told the lie she told 
 
 The truth he asked for. " Are you then thus old. 
 
 And have you learned so little of our hearts ? 
 
 'Tis men teach women how to play their parts 
 
 By giving them the parts they learn to play. 
 
 I say, thus old ; and as we stand to-day 
 
128 AN ACT OF MERCY 
 
 Not to be shrouded from each other's eyes 
 By any vestige of the old disguise, 
 Since you have learnt the truth I spared you, sir, — 
 Why, take the truth to be your comforter ! 
 , Look close at me — but you are close — well, see, 
 Have I a gray hair ? can you spy on me 
 A wrinkle ? have I lost a tint of youth ? 
 For you (since I shall speak the very truth) 
 You are both old and ill : the ring you gave 
 Purchased a wife, it did not buy a slave. 
 Your wife I have been — to the world ; your nurse 
 I may be ; but I shall not be that worse 
 Disgrace than these disgraces any more, 
 Your flatterer, nor resume that mask I wore. 
 Nor need to say fair words, nor look fond looks : 
 These things are over ; you will read your books. 
 
 And I " she paused, and then she laughed (her 
 
 eyes 
 Were bluer than the depths of hyacinth skies. 
 And she laughed sweetly : she was fair to see.) 
 His smile grew harder, griped his chin, while she 
 Laughed, and he knew the measure of the cup 
 
AN ACT OF MERCY 129 
 
 She poured, and set for him to drink it up. 
 Should she not drink it with him ? What if God 
 Placed in his hands the expiating rod, 
 The rod of vengeance purifying sin ? 
 Should God not ope the gates to let her in ? 
 She stood there so superb in guiltiness — 
 So young in guilt ; but she was lost here, yes, 
 Lost ; and there mingled subtly in his brain 
 The lie, the truth more hateful, and again 
 The laugh that woke old echoes down in hell. 
 It beat within his brain, a wakening bell. 
 She swam before him. . . . 
 
 He was mad, they say. 
 He loved her, and he saw no other way. 
 
AN OLD SOUL 
 
 Dearie, the wind's a-wailing, and the sea ; 
 It's always, always so since Stephen died, 
 And John he died, and William died, all died. 
 Always the wailing of the wicked sea. 
 The beautiful, old, wicked sea I hate. 
 The sea that took my man and both my boys. 
 Dearie, you're little, you'll be happy, dear, 
 I hope so, always ; 'tis old folks, you know. 
 Old folks hke me, that lie awake at nights, 
 Thinking about their sorrows. Thinking, dear, 
 Thinking and thinking over all the past. 
 The past that's full of griefs, because thej^re old. 
 And yesterday is nearer than to-morrow. 
 Eh ? little Janie, she'll be old some day — 
 Little one, will you ever be old like me ? — 
 And then, please God, he'll give her better sleep. 
 
AN OLD SOUL 131 
 
 God is so good, you know : I feel all that : 
 Oh me, if one could understand his ways ! 
 It's dark, dark, trying just to understand. 
 Pray, Janie, say " Our Father " morn and night ; 
 You'll see him, and you'll hold his hand. I pray, 
 " Our Father " ; but I'm old ; my eyes are dim ; 
 I cannot see him very clearly. Oh, 
 It's hard to listen night and day and hear 
 The sea that's still a-wailing, and the wind 
 A-wailing night and day : it makes me think ; 
 I see them, there's my Steve, my two brave boys. 
 The boats, the nets, and sea all over them. 
 God let my husband and my two boys drown : 
 He's good : there's scores he lets 'em drown ; he hears 
 The weeping of the widows, up in heaven. 
 And lets men drown. Oh yes, I know he's good ; 
 I cannot see him, that is all : somehow, 
 I cannot understand. 
 
 I'm old, my dear ; 
 I talk sometimes . . . don't mind me, what I say. 
 Bring me my Bible, Janie ; there's his name, 
 See, Stephen, and I, Mary, John and Will 
 
132 AN OLD SOUL 
 
 (You scarcely mind your father ? no, I think) 
 All the names written fair in Stephen's hand. 
 There's comfort here, — there's comfort in the Book ; 
 It says God's good : he must be good, must, must, 
 We know he's good and loves us. But it's dark, 
 Thinking and thinking, oh, it's hard to see. 
 The wind's a-wailing, and the sea's a-moan ; 
 I see them, Stephen, my two boys, brave boys, 
 The boats, the nets, and sea all over them. 
 
THE NUN 
 
 She lies upon the cold stone of her cell, 
 
 'And the night deepens ; and the night is chill. 
 Fasting and faint, she nerves her flagging will, 
 Remembering the inevitable hell. 
 Yet still her lover's voice she hears too well, 
 
 And "Love, Love, Love," she hears and answers 
 
 still. 
 The Christ looms high against an angry hill, 
 Her heart and Love would roam a lowly dell. 
 
 Fasting and faint she lies. The shepherd Night 
 
 Leads the calm stars across his plains like sheep. 
 Earth slumbers. When shall slumber seal 
 her eyes. 
 Who, crying with lamentations infinite, 
 
 " Heaven, heaven ! " yet, ineradicably deep. 
 Hides in her heart an alien Paradise ? 
 
RENUNCIATION 
 
 Dearest, I loose the bonds you would not break : 
 I cannot have you suffer for my sake. 
 I know that you have tried to love me ; so, 
 I give you, for your pity, leave to go. 
 Go, and be happy — not with me. I say 
 The words I had not thought until to-day 
 My lips could come to utter. I have tried, 
 Day after day, when I was by your side. 
 But always all in vain, to tell you this. 
 I could not — dear, I could not. Now it is 
 My letter that shall tell you. You will write. 
 Perhaps, a word— I spare myself the sight. 
 Indeed I could not see you, lost and dear- 
 Write, if you will, the words I may not hear. 
 And say, not much, perhaps " I thank my friend, 
 My friend I could not love," and if you send, 
 
RENUNCIATION 135 
 
 This once — 'tis but a form of words — your " love," 
 The friend will prize your letter far above 
 Rubies. But write, I beg you write the line. 
 
 I wonder if you think you gave no sign. 
 
 Nothing to show you do not love me now ? 
 
 Oh, you will think so — you will marvel how 
 
 I stole your secret from you. Secret ? Nay, 
 
 Love has the key of secrets. Day by day, 
 
 I watched your passion's slow decline, the beat 
 
 Feebler and feebler of its pulse's heat ; 
 
 I saw, but I was silent, having hope. 
 
 Is Love not strong as Death ? Shall Love not cope, 
 
 My love — I said — with love that dies in her ? 
 
 Your love was ready for the sepulchre. 
 
 And Death was more than Love. 
 
 Now, all is o'er. 
 I give you back your word, your vows ; nay, more, 
 I set a chain upon the gate that keeps 
 My way of memories — where the past that sleeps 
 Shall, if it waken, beat that gate in vain. 
 Dear, I renounce you wholly. I retain 
 
136 RENUNCIATION 
 
 No hope, nor scarce remembrance, save how sweet 
 
 The days were, when I worshipped at your feet. 
 
 You have been always good to me, and I — 
 
 Because my whole poor life until I die 
 
 Shall be the nobler, having known you, — yes, 
 
 Now that I say this last f?irewell, I bless, 
 
 I thank you — from my heart I thank you, dear. 
 
 Well, you will write — this once. And have no fear 
 That I shall ever be a ghost to rise 
 And fright your image in another's eyes. 
 I say again — the past is dead. I lay 
 A stone upon that grave, and come away. 
 
MAGDALEN ON THE THRESHOLD 
 
 The rifted doorways shed 
 
 Faint lights- across the moonlit outer air, 
 Like feet of angels in a dream that tread 
 
 Adown a lighted stair. 
 And like the smile of very heaven they seem 
 
 To one who watches wearily without ; 
 And then again they gleam 
 
 Like lights to one eternally shut out. 
 
 The woman trembling stands 
 
 Beyond the threshold, gazing inwardly ; 
 Light steps approach unheeded, and now hands 
 
 Upon her shoulders lie. 
 
138 MAGDALEN ON THE THRESHOLD 
 
 A voice like a jarred harp-string when the chords 
 Sound harsh and coarse that once were sweet and 
 clear, 
 
 With amorous broken words 
 
 Salutes the startled hollow of her ear. 
 
 " Kisses, my Magdalen ! 
 
 Kisses, and lights, and scents, and sounds, and 
 songs ! 
 The moon is broken over all the glen. 
 
 And night to love belongs. 
 Come, love ; " he pressed her arm ; from far below 
 
 Up rose the sound of some stringed instrument. 
 She said, " I cannot go,'' 
 
 And all her soul into her sighing sent. 
 
 IV 
 
 " The night is at the flood ; 
 
 The feast is forth; behold;'' and "come," he 
 cried. 
 
MAGDALEN ON THE THRESHOLD 139 
 
 But she his dear caresses all withstood 
 
 And shuddered from his side. 
 He with his amorous arms would draw her near, 
 
 Muttering of love, and pressed her yielded mouth ; 
 He felt her shake with fear, 
 
 And her lips hot as deserts of the South. 
 
 He called upon her name ; 
 
 She did not hearken ; nay, although he spake 
 Of festal joys, fair feasting and sweet shame. 
 
 She saw the long rays shake. 
 Her lover piped his erewhile-heeded charms ; 
 
 Vainly he piped ; and vainly spread for her 
 The warm nest of his arms : 
 
 Her face was as an open sepulchre. 
 
 VI 
 
 Lost in amaze he drew 
 
 Backward, and she on faltering feet crept up 
 To where the light was shed the doorway through 
 
 Like wine out of a cup. 
 
140 MAGDALEN ON THE THRESHOLD 
 
 One face of all the faces thronged within 
 
 Her eyes perceived ; she started forward fast ; 
 
 Then smote herself for sin, 
 
 And tottered back into the guilty past. 
 
 VII 
 
 Her eyeballs inly turned 
 
 Saw in her soul such utter shamefulness, 
 That like her cheeks with aching fire they burned 
 
 Of desolate distress. 
 Flowered gardens with a ruin of wormed buds, 
 
 Leaves on the pathways, red leaves on the ground. 
 Watered with bitter floods ; 
 
 These in the confines of her soul she found. 
 
 She turned away her eyes. 
 
 Lest she should grow quite wild with seeing it ; 
 Her soul the witness of her soul denies ; 
 
 Her thoughts like swallows flit. 
 This flies and cries at gates of summer hours, 
 
 That moans upon a pool of festered green ; 
 
MAGDALEN ON THE THRESHOLD 141 
 
 This beats on banks of flowers, 
 
 That breathes the poisonous herbs that grow unseen. 
 
 And now her lover stept 
 
 Closer, and whispered low the one word, " Love." 
 Her strained eyes grew moist, she bowed and wept. 
 
 He, knowing nought thereof, 
 Shouted a song, and thought she would have gone. 
 
 But she, with streaming eyes, her fallen hair 
 About her, staggered on 
 
 Across the threshold out of the cool air. 
 
 The Face before her glows ; 
 
 She sees no other ; past are fear and doubt ; 
 She pours the lingering floodtide of her woes 
 
 In tears and kisses out. 
 It is His feet she kisses ; these, her tears 
 
 Shall lave, her lips caress, and shall not cease, 
 Until His voice she hears. 
 
 Saying, " Thy faith hath saved thee, go in peace." 
 
A WOMAN 
 
 Her beauty wrought the hours a wrong, 
 
 Which gained, for all they gave her, nought ; 
 
 Her very silence was a song 
 
 Sweeter than music to the thought : 
 God had no part in her he wrought. 
 
 The living crown upon her brows, 
 
 Red-golden, sealed her queen of earth ; 
 
 Her eyes, brown-golden, in a drowse 
 Of vivid quiet, watched their worth. 
 Too indolently calm for mirth. 
 
A WOMAN 143 
 
 III 
 
 They watched the hearts of men, and held 
 Princes and lovers with a look, 
 
 And stirred the paUid blood of eld, 
 And smote the virtuous with rebuke, 
 And spoils of realms and peoples took. 
 
 They, without labour, bought and sold 
 Heart's faith, a precious merchandise, 
 
 With tears for silver, blood for gold. 
 And bargainings of costly sighs 
 For the rich treasuries of those eyes. 
 
 Dowered with all beauty bodily. 
 
 Her soul she meshed in her own snare ; 
 Beyond herself she might not see, 
 
 Infantine-idly unaware 
 
 Of any end but being fair. 
 
144 A WOMAN 
 
 VI 
 
 Therefore being dead she is but dust, 
 And being but dust she shall not rise 
 
 With souls the grave hath kept in trust. 
 Soulless, her body, dying, dies. 
 Cast out of hell and paradise. 
 
A RONDEAU OF LOVE IN SPRING 
 
 We played at love when Spring was gay 
 And hearts were blithe as lovers' May 
 And skies were fair, a year ago. 
 Ah Juhet, and your Romeo 
 Remembers nought of it to-day ! 
 
 We loved awhile, then went our way. 
 And tears were all our hearts could say. 
 We loved ? You smile. Forgive me ! No, 
 We played at love. 
 
 And now we meet, and skies are gray, 
 And our two hearts no more than they 
 Keep trace of last year's fleeting glow. 
 Ah, which were best ? I know not, though 
 (Like children, serious when they play) 
 We played at love. 
 
 L 
 
POSTHUMOUS COQUETRY 
 
 (from the FRENCH OF TH^OPHILE GAUTIER) 
 
 Let some one lay, when I am dead, 
 Before the cofEn-nails are nigh, 
 Upon my cheek a little red, 
 A little black about the eye. 
 
 For I in my close bier would fain. 
 Even as the night his vows were made, 
 Rose-red eternally remain, 
 With khol beneath my blue eye laid. 
 
 No cerements of fine linen lay, 
 But drape me in my robe aright. 
 
POSTHUMOUS COQUETRY 147 
 
 The muslin robe I wore that day, 
 With thirteen flounces, fair and white. 
 
 This shall go with me when I go : 
 I wore it when I won his heart. 
 His first look hallowed it, and so, 
 For him, I laid the robe apart. 
 
 No immortelles, no broidered grace 
 Of tears upon my cushion be ; 
 Lay me on my own pillow's lace. 
 My hair across it, like a sea. 
 
 That pillow, those mad nights of old, 
 Has seen our slumbering brows unite, 
 And 'neath the gondola's black fold 
 Has counted kisses infinite. 
 
 Between my hands of ivory. 
 Together set for prayer and rest. 
 Place then the opal rosary 
 The holy Pope at Rome hath blest. 
 
148 POSTHUMOUS COQUETRY 
 
 I will lie down then on that bed 
 And sleep the sleep that shall not cease ; 
 His mouth upon my mouth hath said 
 Pater and Ave for my peace. 
 
THE FISHER'S WIDOW 
 
 The boats go out and the boats come in 
 
 Under the wintry sky ; 
 And the rain and foam are white in the wind, 
 
 And the white gulls cry. 
 
 She sees the sea when the wind is wild 
 
 Swept by the windy rain ; 
 And her heart's a-weary of sea and land 
 
 As the long days wane. 
 
 She sees the torn sails fly in the foam, 
 
 Broad on the sky-line gray; 
 And the boats go out and the boats come in, 
 
 But there's one away. 
 
BY AN EMPTY GRATE 
 
 She crouches huddled by an empty grate, 
 
 An old worn wrinkled woman. Slow the day 
 Dies in the garret window-panes to gray ; 
 
 And her hope dies, and leaves her desolate. 
 
 She feels the hand of Death upon her laid 
 
 And shudders in the shade. 
 
 She lies upon the floor a quivering heap, 
 
 Tight little sobs break through her strained gray lips. 
 She heaves as water heaves the shuddering ships. 
 
 Her lids are leaden that she should not weep. 
 
 She struggles hard with Death ; she feels him near. 
 
 And flies upon her fear. 
 
BY AN EMPTY GRATE iji 
 
 III 
 
 And who is she that she should so love life ? 
 
 The grave is full of worms, she feels them crawl. 
 
 There is a hell, she fancies, after all. 
 She clings to earth, and strives a fearful strife ; 
 All left her yet of soul and body fight 
 Against the coming night. 
 
 IV 
 
 'Tis Death ; she feels 'tis Death has gripped her fast ; 
 Weak, she grows weaker ; all her being drinks 
 The drenching grave-dews ; and worn out she sinks 
 
 Into a heavy wakefulness at last. 
 
 Her strife perforce subsides ; her brain lives on. 
 
 Though nigh all life is gone. 
 
 Then, as she lies delirious, well-nigh dead. 
 
 There comes, as through some long-unopened door, 
 A memory of the days that went before 
 
152 BY AN EMPTY GRATE 
 
 Those days wherein she earned her bitter bread. 
 And she is once again a child, and sees 
 The country and the trees ; 
 
 VI 
 
 Her father's mill, the great wheel turning round ; 
 
 The garden, and the roses up the walls ; 
 
 She hears a voice, it is her mother calls : 
 A child, she scampers at the joyful sound. 
 And clings about her apron-strings, and hears 
 The dear voice in her ears. 
 
 The little room she sees, so pure and white. 
 Wherein she slept a child, and woke at morn 
 To the clear rustle of the gold-white corn : 
 
 Now in her dream she hears it through the night ; 
 
 The honeysuckle at the window pressed 
 
 Sheds peace into her breast. 
 
BY AN EMPTY GRATE 153 
 
 VIII 
 
 She folds her hands as though she were a child ; 
 
 Old thoughts come back, and pain gives place to 
 peace ; 
 
 She sinks into her childhood's dreamless ease ; 
 She smiles, who for so long has never smiled. 
 I know not if God quieted her eyes ; 
 Like a tired child she dies. 
 
A LOVER'S PROGRESS 
 
 Odi et amo : quare id faciam, fortasse requiris. 
 Nescio, sed fieri sentio et excrucior. 
 
 I WILL arise, and leave these haggard realms. 
 
 The nether fire's breath spots the rusty grass. 
 The insatiate hunger of the blight o'erwhelms 
 
 The lean year's barren promise. Let me pass, 
 O woman, from the hold of hell and thee ! 
 
 What have I done that thou should'st hold me so ? 
 In Love's name, loosen me and set me free ; 
 
 If not for love, in pity let me go. 
 Why should I linger ? for the land is bare. 
 
 And wings of famine labour up the wind. 
 Already I have wasted all my share 
 
 Of living bread : the husks remain behind. 
 Husks that the swine do eat And must I wait, 
 Weary and famished, fallen and desolate ? 
 
A lover's progress 155 
 
 A drop of sweetness in a bitter cup 
 
 Renders the loathed draught loathlier ; and an hour 
 Of unexpected happiness stirs up 
 
 The dregs that make my daily portion sour. 
 She calls me to her in a crowd of men. 
 
 I do her bidding ; all her smiles are mine. 
 Her looks upon my bosom beat like rain 
 
 That flooded all my heart of old like wine. 
 Yet do I taste some joy, a joy half grief 
 
 In having, and sheer torment being had. 
 O, is it for my sadness a relief 
 
 That I have power to make another sad ? 
 I marked the vexed brows wrinkled at me. This, 
 O fallen soul, thy consolation is ! 
 
156 A LOVER'S PROGRESS 
 
 Let me remember, ere the innocent sense 
 
 Of memory turn to anguish, those old days 
 Of youth, of early love, of innocence : 
 
 Sweet saints, about whose head the nimbus plays ! 
 These draughts of memory are medicinal. 
 
 I take them as they drink of laudanum 
 Who fain would summon to their waking call 
 
 The sleep that laughs far ofif and will not come. 
 Drug me with sleep, and give me peace in dreams ; 
 
 Teach me, O Memory, teach me to forget ; 
 Thou feed'st my hungering soul with food that seems 
 
 The very manna. If but Vain Regret, 
 My sorrow's servant and her memory's lord, 
 Drew not the vacant chair to the spread board ! 
 
A lover's progress 157 
 
 IV 
 
 What has my soul to do with dreams ? It scorns 
 
 The ignoble folly of the dreamer's lot. 
 Shall I, because my ground is choked with thorns, 
 
 Bask in a visionary garden-plot ? 
 Even if I do not turn with duteous toil 
 
 To weed the thorns and sow the seed aright, 
 Even if I do but curse the barren soil. 
 
 Nor blame the evil gardener but the blight, 
 God knows I would be honest with my soul. 
 
 O woeful weeds, O garden ruinous ! 
 I, even I alone, have done the whole ; 
 
 I, even I, have wrought the ruin thus. 
 Ruin I will not water with my tears. 
 Nor will I ask for pardon of the years. 
 
158 A LOVER'S PROGRESS 
 
 I am not self-deceived, I know my folly ; 
 
 I place my own neck in the fatal noose. 
 I do not woo my tragic melancholy 
 
 To pose and posture for its self-abuse. 
 Were I not weak, why, what were strength in her ? 
 
 Could I possess my soul, what power had she ? 
 Thus Folly, turned its own interpreter, 
 
 Draws verbal wisdom from fatuity. 
 I take the glass, I view my cap and bells. 
 
 Own all the sneers of cynic common-sense. 
 Admit the world's derisive parallels, 
 
 Drop the last rag of politic pretence : 
 But what of all this if I know my fate. 
 Yet choose to stand the beggar at her gate ? 
 
A LOVER'S PROGRESS 
 
 VI 
 
 O dearly loved and neither won nor lost 
 
 Woman, for whom my birthright I have sold, 
 Whom I have followed, counting not the cost, 
 
 (A price past counting, being more than gold) 
 Shall there be then no guerdon, no reward ? 
 
 I may grow restive : humour me a little. 
 Remember, slaves have risen against their lord ; 
 
 Remember, lovers' chains are somewhat brittle. 
 Come, the caprice has seized me : come, a smile ; 
 
 Give me one word, a look : you will not ? no ? 
 Am I beneath the flattery of your guile ? 
 
 For your sake, dear, you should not scorn me s( 
 Patience may tire of waiting : I might find 
 Your image growing fainter in my mind. 
 
i6o A LOVER'S PROGRESS 
 
 She does not love me : did she ever love me ? 
 
 Did she not leave that other for my sake ? 
 Whose was the fault, that she should weary of me ? 
 
 If any blame is mine, I would not take 
 A coward's refuge in accusing breath. 
 
 Perhaps she never loved : then all was play. 
 And dicing unawares at life and death 
 
 I lost a heart she did but throw away. 
 It cannot be she never loved me ! Then 
 
 The very heavens are but an ancient lie ; 
 There is no truth, no virtue, among men, 
 
 There is no God and no eternity. 
 Ah no ! Love built our Eden-bower, and in it 
 Our naked souls were unashamed one minute. 
 
A lover's progress i6i 
 
 VIII 
 
 It was an August day of throbbing heat. 
 
 We sought the woods ; their leafy shadows lay 
 Motionless on the grass : the air was sweet, 
 
 Heavy and languorous ; the golden day 
 Poured all its perfume on us, satiating 
 
 Our senses sick with heat. You leaned to me. 
 Speechless ; bees flitted on a humming wing, 
 
 The drowsy voice of summer ; save the bee 
 No living thing had voice. 'Twas Love's still hour : 
 
 Love spoke in both our hearts. Love filled our eyes. 
 That endless moment was Life's final flower ; 
 
 God has no more to give in Paradise. 
 I clasped you, dearest (has He more than this.?) 
 And our souls met in an immortal kiss. 
 
1 62 A LOVER'S PROGRESS 
 
 O fatal folly, folly infinite, 
 
 That roots me deeper in dishonoured quiet ! 
 Better it were to scare the ear of night 
 
 With song and laughter of whole-hearted riot. 
 Better, if I must sell my soul, to take 
 
 The price that pays me, and live out my days- 
 Better than drowsing dully half-awake 
 
 Upon the edge of twilight. If no praise 
 Awaits me, I at least would purchase blame, 
 
 Do something, speak in action, for I rust. 
 The acid of a dim inglorious shame 
 
 Eats out my honour. God, if ere the dust 
 Become my final portion, I might stir. 
 Shake off my chains, one moment vanquish her ! 
 
A lover's progress 163 
 
 Can any woman love but once, but one ? 
 
 Why, what is love, if love be variable ? 
 A dial pointing counter to the sun, 
 
 A barter, luck, commodity to sell, 
 Leavings, a dish rkhauffi : who in these 
 
 Perceives divinity ? yet Love's divine : 
 First Love then, Love too young for memories. 
 
 O mockery of logic, what of mine ? 
 Did she not love that other ? have not I 
 
 Entered the kingdom that another ruled ? 
 Was it not love then ? Love, yea surely. Why } 
 
 Indeed I know not. Am I therefore fooled ? 
 Nay, words are words and prove words : that is all. 
 Nature and man are nowise logical. 
 
i64 A LOVER'S PROGRESS 
 
 Terrible creature ! you have no disguise. 
 
 Well, is not Truth of all disguises best ? 
 Believe me, Lady, you are subtly wise : 
 
 Not craft, but cynic candour, serves you best.. 
 Last night one sang the praise of constancy ; 
 
 " Nay," cried she, " 'tis a homely love that waits. 
 Subserving some ideal he or she, 
 
 Closed in the prison of its palace-gates. 
 Give me a love that lives; to live means change : 
 
 Live change is better than a stagnant peace. 
 Give Love his pilgrim's scrip, and let him range, 
 
 Not rent his Eden on a lifelong lease." 
 Terrible creature ! you unmask, we see, 
 Discern, distrust you, hate you — never flee. 
 
A LOVER'S PROGRESS 165 
 
 XII 
 
 Is it her beauty ? She is beautiful : 
 
 A moonlight beauty full of mysteries, 
 Of magic changes and enchantments full, 
 
 Capricious as the ever-shifting seas. 
 Her eyes and lips are Leonardo's, smiling 
 
 In subtly meditative irony ; 
 Her power is an elusive charm, beguiling 
 
 By delicately-tuned variety. 
 She can be all things unto all men, still 
 
 Herself, the self that holds the scale of hearts ; 
 She plays upon her instrument at will 
 
 An endless fugue of interchanging parts. 
 Let ages yet to come declare she was 
 The epitome of Woman, Beauty's glass. 
 
i66 A lover's progress 
 
 XIII 
 
 And yet I know her heartless, volatile, 
 
 Inevitably inconstant ; yet I know 
 The cruelty that lurks within her smile. 
 
 The vanity that basks upon her brow. 
 All this I know, but is not this, even this. 
 
 Part of the very charm that holds me bound ? 
 Come, let me summon cool analysis. 
 
 And probe and weigh until the truth be found. 
 Who does not long to capture, long to tame, 
 
 The beautiful sleek tiger, full of death ? 
 The unctuous cat (her cousin, all the same) 
 
 Exerts in vain her fond melodious breath. 
 And, woman whom I love — oh heavens ! if you 
 Were faithful, should not I be faithless too ? 
 
A lover's progress 167 
 
 EPILOGUE 
 (in memoriam amoris) 
 
 It is all over ; nothing any more 
 
 Can give me joy or sorrow : she is dead. 
 My life is past, the years have nought in store, 
 
 Nothing is left me to be done or said. 
 Memory alone is mine, and all in vain. 
 
 And more than half a sorrow. O forgive. 
 Dearest and lost for ever, all the pain 
 
 I gave you when it was your lot to live ! 
 I have forgotten all but love and you. 
 
 I did not love you as I might, and now 
 You will not ever love me. I am true, 
 
 I shall be always bondsman to my vow. 
 My life is with you, and my love shall be 
 Embalmed with you in Death's eternity. 
 
CONFESSION 
 
 (from the FRENCH OF VILLIERS DE l'ISLE-ADAM) 
 
 I HAVE lost the wild wood's whispering 
 And the fresh Aprils loved of yore . . . 
 Give me thy lips : their breath shall bring 
 The very wood's breath back once more. 
 
 I have lost the stern sea's melody, 
 The mirth and mourning of his caves; 
 Tell me, I care not what it be : 
 Thy voice shall be the voice of waves. 
 
 Weary of woe without avail, 
 
 I turn where vanished suns take flight . . . 
 
 O hide me in thy bosom pale, 
 
 And that shall be the peace of night ! 
 
OF A WINNOWER OF WHEAT TO THE 
 
 WINDS 
 
 (from JOACHIM DU BELLAY) 
 
 To you, light troop, I bring, — 
 You, who with wandering wing 
 Over the wide world pass. 
 And, when your murmurings wake, 
 So sweetly trouble and shake 
 The shadow-shaken grass, — 
 
 I bring these violets, 
 Lilies and flowerets, 
 I bring these roses too ; 
 These roses rosy-red 
 Are freshly gathered ; 
 These pinks I bring for you. 
 
170 A WINNOWER OF WHEAT TO THE WINDS 
 
 With your cool breath and sweet 
 This plain a-stir with heat 
 In passing fan, I pray : 
 The while I labour sore 
 At my wheat-winnowing floor 
 About the heat of day. 
 
REGRETS 
 
 TO JULIET 
 
 Ah, Juliet, I am sad and old, 
 My withered roses all are shed ; 
 
 The dying leaves that strew the mould 
 Are hastening to the dead. 
 
 Too late for dawn's reviving dews, 
 No love, no youth, be mine, Juliet ! 
 
 Only let these faint leaves diffuse 
 A memory and regret. 
 
172 REGRETS 
 
 RISPETTO 
 
 We went into the woods the first of May, 
 And all the birds were singing on the trees ; 
 
 Together did we go the livelong day, 
 
 We two and Love, and plighted promises. 
 
 Ah wellaway ! here's Spring, and here are we, 
 And in the woods two walking joylessly ; 
 Ah wellaway ! the birds still sing above. 
 And we're together still : but where is Love ? 
 
AN ALTAR-PIECE OF MASTER STEPHAN 
 
 Children, I know indeed it cannot be, 
 
 And it may be I sin in thinking it 
 
 (God willing otherwise) yet all my soul, 
 
 Feeling the earth so slip away and leave 
 
 A dim waste set for me to travel on 
 
 (Dim, strange, ah me !) reaches forth in one wish — 
 
 Not to earth, no, but to the little church 
 
 (Ye know, my children) where above the shrine 
 
 Hangs Master Stephan's picture plain to see : 
 
 If I could see it once before I die ! 
 
 God knows I cannot turn upon the bed. 
 
 Nor stir one foot, nor scarcely hear my voice : 
 
 How could I cross the street, and cross the bridge. 
 
 And climb the little hill, and find the church, 
 
 And enter ? — for a weary way it was 
 
 This many a year for old folks such as me. 
 
174 AN ALTAR-PIECE OF MASTER STEPHAN 
 
 I could not ever do it — no — that is, 
 
 Unless the good God pleased to send a Saint 
 
 To do it — work a little miracle, 
 
 And let me walk so far as just the church, 
 
 Enter, and look one last look at the piece ; 
 
 Then crawl back somehow, and lie down and die. 
 
 That might be ; but I do not think of late 
 
 So many miracles have been. Maybe, 
 
 The dear Saints do not care to come to earth, 
 
 Finding the earth so wicked. So they stay 
 
 And praise God, and God lets them, and we lose 
 
 The ministry that used to be so good. 
 
 No, there will not be any wonder worked 
 
 For my sake ; and I would not have it so : 
 
 The blessed Saints to do the like for me ! 
 
 I am a poor old woman, children — see, 
 
 And just a-dying; and I served, I hope. 
 
 The blessed Mother as a poor soul could : — 
 
 Alack, but if I could have seen it now ! 
 
 There was the Saint, Saint Catherine, stood i' the 
 
 midst, 
 And there was the wheel broken under her. 
 
AN ALTAR-PIECE OF MASTER STEPHAN 175 
 
 She Standing, looking out so calm and sweet 
 
 With her blue eyes ; and under her the wheel, 
 
 All broken, though she died, it must have been. 
 
 That way, by that same ugly broken wheel. 
 
 Who could have thought they would have killed 
 
 her so ? 
 Ah, but folks too are wicked nowadays : 
 There was the thing that Master Martin said — 
 What was it ? . . . but I cannot think. Aennchen ! 
 My head is not clear, Aennchen, what is it ? 
 Oh, ay, Saint Catherine, Master Stephan's piece ! 
 She with the wheel, and looking up to heaven — 
 Was she not looking up to heaven ? and there 
 On each side of her stood the two great Saints — 
 Saint Matthew and Saint John. I know the piece ! 
 Saint John is holding up between his hands 
 A cup, and there's a bird about his feet — 
 An eagle — Master Gotthard told me so. 
 And with Saint Matthew is an angel : he 
 Holds up a book he wrote, they read in church. 
 One told me, but being Latin I knew not. 
 And Master Stephan made them plain and clear — 
 
176 AN ALTAR-PIECE OF MASTER STEPHAN 
 
 This is Saint Matthew, that one is Saint John — 
 So that poor simple people may find out, 
 And pray, and give them honour, each for each. 
 I used to do it ! Aennchen, Klaus, I went 
 (Ye know it) every day, and all the year, 
 Across the street, across the bridge, and climbed 
 The little hill, and found the church, and knelt 
 There, there before the altar, there before 
 The picture, and I prayed, and used to love 
 To see the dear Saint's face above my face. 
 Across the little lamp, that flared at times, 
 Calm and so beautiful and heavenly. Ah, 
 The Saint, I thought, although she cannot give 
 An answer (though so good) will take the prayer. 
 And tell the Blessed Mother, and look so 
 Out of her eyes : she cannot say her nay. 
 She cannot say her nay, — I never could 
 If any woman with her eyes should come 
 And ask a favour : never ! Ah, my head ! 
 I know not what I say : I sin, maybe, 
 To speak so of a Saint : the blessed soul 
 Forgive me ! And I shall not ever now 
 
AN ALTAR-PIECE OF MASTER STEPHAN 177 
 
 See her again, unless, please God, I see 
 
 The beautiful white heaven with gates of gold. 
 
 Oh, what is this ? I see a light . . . Good-bye . . . 
 
 I see a light, and in it comes and comes 
 
 An angel ; and I see . . . Good-bye, good-bye, . . . 
 
 God's good and gracious angel beckons me. 
 
 Children, across the darkness : God is good : 
 
 His angel hath a clear and shining face 
 
 And lights me in the dark : wide wastes of dark 
 
 Stand, and the light falls on them, — so ; I see 
 
 The angel, and the path to tread with him. 
 
THE PILGRIMAGE TO KEVLAAR 
 (from Heine) 
 
 At the window stood the mother, 
 In bed the sick son lay ; 
 
 " Will you not get up, Wilhelm, 
 To see them pass this way ? " 
 
 " I am so sick, O mother, 
 
 I cannot hear or see ; 
 I think of my own dead Gretchen 
 
 And my heart is sad in me." 
 
 "Get up, we will to Kevlaar, 
 Take book and rosary ; 
 
 The Mother of God will heal thee 
 Thy heart so sad in thee." 
 
THE PILGRIMAGE TO KEVLAAR 179 
 
 They flutter the holy banners, 
 
 They sing the holy song ; 
 'Tis at Koln upon the Rhine-bank 
 
 The pilgrims pass along. 
 
 The mother follows the people, 
 
 She leads him tenderly ; 
 Both of them join in the chorus : 
 
 " Praise, Mary, be to thee ! " 
 
 The Mother of God at Kevlaar 
 Is drest in her best array ; 
 
 To-day she has much to be doing, 
 For the sick folk come to-day. 
 
 The sick folk all of them bring her. 
 As thanksgiving most meet. 
 
 Wax limbs cunningly moulded. 
 Waxen hands and feet. 
 
i8o THE PILGRIMAGE TO KEVLAAR 
 
 And he who a wax hand offers, 
 His hand is healed of its pain ; 
 
 And he who a wax foot offers 
 Can walk on his feet again. 
 
 To Kevlaar went many on crutches 
 Who now on the tight-rope bound ; 
 
 And many now play the bass-viol 
 Who had not a finger sound. 
 
 The mother takes a waxlight 
 And fashions thereof a heart : 
 
 " Take that to God's dear Mother, 
 And she will heal thy smart.'' 
 
 The son took, sighing, the wax heart, 
 Went sighing to Our Lady so ; 
 
 The tears from his eyes are flowing. 
 The words from his heart outflow : 
 
 " Thou blessfed among women. 
 Thou Maid of God most high, 
 
THE PILGRIMAGE TO KEVLAAR i8i 
 
 To thee, O Queen of Heaven, 
 To thee I make my cry. 
 
 " I lived alone with my mother 
 
 At Koln in the city afar, 
 The city where many hundreds 
 
 Of chapels and churches are. 
 
 " And near to us lived Gretchen, 
 
 But she, alas, is dead — 
 Mary, I bring thee a wax heart. 
 
 Heal thou my heart instead ! 
 
 " Heal thou my heart of its sorrow. 
 
 And ever its song shall be. 
 Early and late unceasing : 
 
 ' Praise, Mary, be to thee ! ' " 
 
 III 
 
 The sick son and the mother 
 In the little chamber slept : 
 
i82 THE PILGRIMAGE TO KEVLAAR 
 
 The Mother of God came to them, 
 All silently she stept. 
 
 She stooped her over the sick one, 
 And her hand it lightly lay 
 
 Upon the troubled heart-beats ; 
 And she smiled and passed away. 
 
 The mother sees all in her dreaming. 
 And more she has seen, I trow ; 
 
 She waked from out of her slumber, 
 The dogs were barking so. 
 
 There lay outstretched beside her 
 Her son, and he was dead. 
 
 On the paUid cheeks there flickered 
 The light of the morning-red. 
 
 She folded her hands together, 
 She wist not how it might be ; 
 
 Devoutly sang she and softly : 
 " Praise, Mary, be to thee ! " 
 
HELENA AND FAUSTUS 
 
 Helena 
 
 What ! Do I taste again the light of air, 
 Again behold the day ? I see the wheels 
 Of darkness vanish, and the night departs. 
 
 Faustus 
 
 Look on me, my beloved. Look on me. 
 Day is awake and sings against the sun. 
 Put forth the light of thine awakening eyes, 
 Beloved, chase the shadow from my soul. 
 
 Helena 
 
 Ah ! I drink in this light, of me how long 
 Unseen in shadowy places. Earth and heaven, 
 
i84 HELENA AND FAUSTUS 
 
 My mother and the oldest of my gods, 
 Mine eyes that tasted death have looked on light, 
 Light, and the broad land underneath the day. 
 Shall not my heart rejoice ? 
 
 . . . But who is this ? 
 Stranger, the bearing of thy brow is strange. 
 
 Faustus 
 Helena, I am Faustus. 
 
 Helena 
 
 And of whom 
 Begotten ? and thy deeds I pray thee tell. 
 And wherefore hither thou hast come to me. 
 
 Faustus 
 
 Helena, my beloved, I am one 
 
 Who would give earth and heaven, and feast on hell. 
 
 For one look of thine eyes— for one light sigh 
 
 Of a soul set a little on that love 
 
 Wherewith I burn in fire unquenchable. 
 
HELENA AND FAUSTUS 185 
 
 Day is the daughter of thy glance ; all music 
 Falls a monotonous murmur at thy voice ; 
 Thou art more beautiful than stars, thy brow 
 Is a white curlfed moon that clouds float over. 
 Wherewithal shall I praise thee, earth's delight ? 
 Look — thou hast power — into my naked soul : 
 Therein are palaces, built at the breath 
 Melodious of my shaping will : in each 
 A fair white angel carven of sleep and night 
 Fhts through the arches ; in her every motion 
 Music, and on her brow the light that shines 
 Across the sleeping world out of clear heaven. 
 And the stars worship her, and the winds fall 
 Before her feet and sigh their breath away 
 Odorously, and all things worship her. 
 Helena, my beloved, thou art she I 
 
 Helena 
 
 A voice accosts mine ear with alien words, 
 I cannot understand the speech of them. 
 There was no such speech in Hades. 
 
i86 HELENA AND FAUSTUS 
 
 Faustus 
 
 O my goddess, 
 Mine angel of the dusky palaces, 
 There is no such speech in Hades. In my heart 
 Love sits and sings, Love buds and blossoms 
 
 forth 
 ■ In fiery flowers earth's meadows never knew 
 Ere Eros flew above them. Never yet 
 Hath Hades hearkened to the speech of Love, 
 Nor never more shall hearken unto Love, 
 Until the last days come and Love is fallen 
 From heaven into the darkness. Hearken then. 
 Thou art a woman ; thou hast loved. Let Death 
 Die in thy heart : live. Look across the paths 
 Of silence where the ghosts walk lingeringly 
 Beside the dusky river, heeding Uttle 
 The sighs that cannot come unto an end ; 
 Look past the paths of silence to that hour 
 When Paris into the beaked ships set forth 
 And thou and he together passed away. 
 Then let thy heart remember love. 
 
HELENA AND FAUSTUS 187 
 
 Helena 
 
 Paris ! Paris ! 
 O Paris, Paris, O my lover Paris ! 
 Ah me, the ships, the voices, and the fires ! 
 
 Faustus 
 
 Nay, my beloved, nay, think not of him ; 
 It is I that am thy lover ; but remember 
 Love. 
 
 Helena 
 
 Paris ! Paris ! Oh the fires of Troy ! 
 
 Faustus 
 
 Nay, but forget the Trojan towers, forget 
 All that is past, but only think on love 
 And love me, my beloved ; and remember 
 The alien speech that Hades echoes not. 
 Shall Aphrodite hearken, as I say it ? 
 Or wilt thou hearken, O my Helena ? 
 
HELENA AND FAUSTUS 
 
 Helena 
 
 Thy voice, stranger, is sweet, and Aphrodite 
 Swayeth indeed the land and sea with love. 
 
 Faustus 
 
 Helena, I am wise, wiser than men. 
 
 I have the keys of knowledge, I have seen 
 
 The workings of the world, Plato but dreamed of ; 
 
 The courses of the stars, the birth of worlds, 
 
 The secret things of Fate, those counsels held 
 
 In the brain of God that none hath looked into 
 
 Before me, all the yea and nay of life. 
 
 And all the little nothings that make up 
 
 The dusty way of man, down to the worms ; 
 
 All beautiful and abominable things 
 
 That live between the day and night, and crowd 
 
 The common air and sunlight ; all close writs 
 
 And secret sayings, and all, wise men have lived 
 
 To threescore years and ten and died unknowing ; 
 
 Goodness and evil, God and man : all this 
 
 I have seen, and all this at thy white feet, lo. 
 
HELENA AND FAUSTUS 189 
 
 I lay it, less than dust and vanity ! 
 Love me ; O Helena, I am thine for ever, 
 For ever and ever, and if thy keeper calls 
 Summoning thy steps beneath, I too will go 
 Together with thee to Hades, and we twain 
 Shall clasp and cling together on those banks, 
 Sunless, beside the unlighted river, flowing 
 Darkly to hell. 
 
 Helena 
 
 But do not speak of it. 
 Let me drink in this air, and bless the gods. 
 Thy voice is sweet, but not when so thou sayest. 
 I know not of thy knowledge ; life is simple : 
 Thy speech hath not the largeness of my sires'. 
 
 Faustus 
 
 Helena, since thy feet have pressed the sod. 
 There hath been change, and dwindling down of might. 
 And lessening of the largeness, and a new 
 Dimness, and haze, and nought is simple now. 
 The earth grows old ; new wrinkles every day 
 Furrow her brow ; and she is old and wise 
 
190 HELENA AND FAUSTUS 
 
 And cannot comprehend her own devices. 
 
 But Love, Love, Love lives yet ; and thine and mine 
 
 Shall Love be, and the old world shall be young. 
 
 Helena 
 Friend, is Love still upon the aged earth ? 
 
 Faustus 
 
 Look on me, my beloved, look on me ! 
 Surely I serve Love — and his speech is laid 
 Upon my lips ; hearken, for this thou hearest 
 Shall be his very voice, even as a shell 
 Holds in its heart the speech of all the sea. 
 
 Love hath tribute of all kings. 
 Gold and incense, gems and rings, 
 Myrrh and store of treasured spice 
 Of the winds of paradise. 
 Sighs of hearts that knew no sighs. 
 
 Love hath gifts of all poor men, 
 Joys of hearts that knew but pain. 
 
HELENA AND FAUSTUS 191 
 
 Precious fruits of sterile trees, 
 Labour-laden argosies, 
 Pearls of divers in deep seas. 
 
 All the wide world lieth low 
 At Love's feet that come and go. 
 Hear us, help us. Love, for we 
 Evermore thy servants be ; 
 Hear and help and answer me ! 
 
 So would I pray to Love, and so I sing 
 
 Love's sovereignty. Though the earth age till 
 
 wrinkles 
 Crowd all the corners of her narrowing face. 
 And though the gods of the young ages fade, 
 And though the very name of Eros fail 
 And Aphrodite pass with Zeus away. 
 Love liveth. O I sing of him, I sing. 
 But let me speak to thee, close in thine ear. 
 And tell thee all the love I love thee with. 
 How can I tell thee ? Smile, and I will pay thee 
 The praise we pay the sun ; speak, and I'll say 
 
192 HELENA AND FAUSTUS 
 
 'Tis music such as rises up the air 
 Out of a bird-filled grove ; make me thy slave, 
 Do with rrie what thou wilt, slay me, but say 
 " I love thee," say " I love thee," Helena ! 
 
 Helena 
 Faustus, I love thee. 
 
 Helena 
 
 We have known love together ; but an end 
 Cometh to all things ; and to all things sweet 
 Sooner than to things bitter. I perceive 
 Our day is drawing to a twilight. Come, 
 This is the twilight, and night bringeth Hades. 
 
 Faustus 
 
 Hades ? Hush. Hades ? I believe, Helena, 
 That we shall be immortal. There's no Hades, 
 
HELENA AND FAUSTUS 193 
 
 No Paris, no Achilles, no Menelaus, 
 Nothing but Helena and Faustus. Else 
 We should have greater sorrow than 'tis possible 
 Our natures can endure. Drink of the wine 
 Of our bright-blooded love, and sing to the sun ; 
 Here, here's a flower : there are a thousand flowers 
 For the picking ; I will pick them, Helena, 
 And weave a garland, thou shalt wear it, love, 
 And we'll be glad together. Come, no talk 
 Of twilight : there's a sun in heaven yet. 
 
 Helena 
 A sun that clouds encompass round about. 
 
 Faustus 
 Clouds, ay the clouds, but through the clouds the sun. 
 
 Helena 
 
 Yea, for a little, for a little, Faustus, 
 But for a little. I am sad. I feel 
 The night. Thereafter shall no morning be. 
 Nor shall I ever look on thee again, 
 o 
 
194 HELENA AND FAUSTUS 
 
 Faustus 
 Helena, I am thine for ever. 
 
 Helena 
 
 Nay, 
 Thyself hast said, in Hades never Love 
 Hath winged above the melancholy stream. 
 
 Faustus 
 
 But I deny it, Helena. Love shall follow 
 Thy steps into the darkness ; thou shalt move 
 Love-lighted through the sighing multitude, 
 And surely I shall be beside thee there. 
 
 Helena 
 
 Listen. If thou hast thought within thee thus. 
 Listen, and know the manner of those halls. 
 Darkness is on them, sighing filleth them. 
 The sighing of the ghosts that come and go. 
 Disconsolate, in no sweet companionship. 
 
HELENA AND FAUSTUS 195 
 
 About the throne whereon Persephone 
 Reigneth. No laughter is there ; song nor dance 
 Breaks the eternal current of that calm ; 
 Nor come there any tidings from the coasts 
 That break into the light upon earth's sea. 
 There is no greater sadness than this is — 
 Ah, save the memory whereby we remember 
 That we indeed have lived, and are now dead. 
 The fires, the fires of Troy, ever the fires, 
 Paris, across the red glare of the fires, 
 And Menelaus immemorially, 
 The Trojan women wailing, wailing, crying 
 Their hungry curses on my head, for hate. 
 And all the widowed wives among the Greeks 
 Wailing and crying curses, and Athene 
 And Here, that have hated me for his sake. 
 Pass, in the passing of a swallow's flight, 
 Before my vision : I shall see again 
 Their faces when I tread those halls again. 
 Never thy face, my Faustus ; night is coming. 
 And with the night hath Hades hold on me. 
 
196 HELENA AND FAUSTUS 
 
 Faustus 
 
 To-morrow and to-morrow and to-morrow : 
 Shall we have no to-morrows then ? no more ? 
 
 we are careless reapers of our joys, 
 
 And who shall glean them after us ? We have 
 let, 
 
 1 fear, so many precious moments slip. 
 
 So many that might well have been filled up 
 
 With crowded pleasures, and we let them go 
 
 For very plenty of them ; now they seem 
 
 So precious and so little plentiful. 
 
 Canst thou not? . . . no, thou canst not now 
 
 forget, 
 Helena, that the little minutes fly 
 And many little minutes shall make up 
 The beggarly remnant left us. 'Tis too soon. 
 Too soon ; I cannot think of it, Helena, 
 Now that it comes so close, and shadows us 
 Already with its coming. How the air 
 Grows on to twilight. Day is blotted out. 
 There will be stars soon. How I hate the stars ! 
 
HELENA AND FAUSTUS 197 
 
 Broad day, broad day ! Helena, all my wisdom 
 
 Cannot eke out this one day of all days 
 
 By a few flakes of sunshine, not so much 
 
 As add one natural moment, no, nor stay 
 
 A single star that comes before the night. 
 
 Helena, all my wisdom would I give. 
 
 Twice over, ten times over, for one hour. 
 
 One hour to add to our too-little hours ; 
 
 And cannot ! What's the worth of wisdom, 
 
 then? 
 Kiss me, there's more of wisdom in a kiss 
 Than in ten thousand arguments. O Helena, 
 I die before thy time in dreaming it ; 
 Then let us die together. Who can live 
 When his very heart is plucked out of his body ? 
 Thou art my heart, and Hades plucks thee out. 
 
 Helena 
 
 Live thou on earth, and let me live my life 
 Among the ghosts in Hades. I shall still 
 Remember, thou wilt still remember me. 
 
HELENA- AND FAUSTUS 
 
 Faustus 
 
 Helena, are there any gods above, 
 
 One God or many, that my voice may reach ? 
 
 I will cry unto them with strong crying. 
 
 Spare her ! Spare her ! Spare her ! or take us both 
 
 And give unto us dear companionship, 
 
 Where other quiet shadows walk and weep 
 
 Solitarily sighing. 
 
 Helena 
 
 It is vain. 
 There is no pity in the heart of gods ; 
 Likewise the will of Fate is more than they. 
 Meet is it I prepare me to descend, 
 For now star after star, like to a flock 
 One after one across the meadows going. 
 One after one climbs the incKne of sky. 
 The night descends ; I too descend with it, 
 No more to see thee, Faustus — now the hour. 
 The appointed hour draws nigh to claim my coming. 
 No more to see thee, Faustus. I have been, 
 
HELENA AND FAUSTUS 199 
 
 Too happy, and the wise gods thus appoint 
 An ending, lest we mortals mete with them. 
 
 Faustus 
 
 Helena, I would give my life to keep thee. 
 All is not over ? We have not filled out 
 Our moment, our one moment that I won ? 
 I won that moment with my soul ; what, what 
 Have I to pay God more ? One soul, one soul. . . . 
 I would I had ten souls, that I might pay them. 
 That I might spend ten times my time in hell, 
 And keep my Helena ! O, and I am wasting 
 My minutes, seconds, and I lose her, lose her, 
 And cannot keep and cannot comfort her ! 
 Helena ! She is not passing from me ? Helena ! 
 O, O, she fades, fades, melts away ; she fades . . . 
 Helena ! I scarce can see thee, O my own ! 
 Still she fades. . . . Silent ? . . . fades . . . God, 
 
 God ! she fades 
 Into the night, and I shall never see her 
 For ever any more upon the earth. 
 
VENUS OF MELOS 
 
 The inaccessible Gods of old, 
 Regarding from a peak of sky 
 
 A little seething world outroUed 
 Beneath their calm infinity, 
 
 Loomed always, in men's asking eyes. 
 
 Larger and vaguer than their skies. 
 
 They reaped the corn of prayers and vows, 
 They drank the nectar of men's tears, 
 
 Men's incense filled the heavenly house, 
 Men's sighing sang into their ears, 
 
 Yet never up from earth there went 
 
 The love whose service is content. 
 
 Man's soul desired to see and know 
 The visible music of her dreams. 
 
 Some earthly shape ordained to show 
 That perfect beauty, whereof gleams, 
 
VENUS OF MELOS 201 
 
 Half lost, yet never quite forgot, 
 
 Flashed through the darkness of her thought. 
 
 A near horizon held her in : 
 
 Beyond ! — who knoweth what wonder there ? 
 She heeded not, but sought within 
 
 The bounded compass of her care. 
 The world's ideal did she seek : 
 And lo the Goddess of the Greek ! 
 
 Goddess, upon thy placid brows 
 The crown of all her homage lay — 
 
 The laurel of her sacred boughs, 
 
 The coronal of her conquering bay ; 
 
 And still we pour our costliest wine 
 
 Before thy marble form divine. 
 
 Thou, Goddess of the actual earth, 
 First-born and last of dreams that are 
 
 The seed of an immortal birth, 
 The message of a morn afar, — 
 
VENUS OF MELOS 
 
 Thou art alike the guide and goal, 
 Art's oriflamme and aureole. 
 
 The centuries shower their storms in vain 
 
 On thy serene eternity ; 
 Thou smilest on man's busy pain, 
 
 And his small dust of memory 
 Strewn to oblivion — thou who see'st 
 The end of prophet, king and priest. 
 
 All passes : — sceptre, sword and throne, 
 Laws and the might whereby they swayed, 
 
 And creeds and conquests. Art alone. 
 Changeless among the changing made, 
 
 Lasts ever, and her workmen build 
 
 On sites that fallen temples filled. 
 
 THE END 
 
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