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The Poems of 
 Digby Mackworth Dolben 
 
 Li; 
 
 Edited by ROBERT BRIDGES 
 
 OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS, AMERICAN BRANCH 
 35 West 32nd Street, New York 
 
 Price, $5.00 Net 
 
The Poems of 
 Digby Mackworth Dolben 
 
 Edited by 
 
 ROBERT BRIDGES 
 
 OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS 
 
 AMERICAN BRANCH 
 New York: 35 West 32nd Street 
 

 
 Copyright, 191 1, by 
 OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS 
 
 AMERICAN BRANCH 
 
 V 
 
 Set up and printed^ September,- 1911, by 
 
 EATON & MAINS 
 
 New York, U. S. A. 
 
 Price, i^S-oo net 
 ©C1.A297341 
 
POEMS 
 
 1 
 
 HOMO FACTU8 EST 
 
 Come to me. Beloved, 
 Babe of Bethlehem ; 
 
 Lay aside Thy Sceptre 
 And Thy Diadem. 
 
 Come to me, Beloved; 
 
 Light and healing bring : 
 Hide my sin and sorrow 
 
 Underneath Thy wing. 
 
 Bid all fear and doubting 
 From my soul depart. 
 
 As I feel the beating 
 Of Thy Human Heart. 
 
 Look upon me sweetly 
 With Thy Human Eyes ; 
 
 With Thy Human Finger 
 Point me to the skies. 
 
 Safe from earthly scandal 
 My poor spirit hide 
 
 In the utter stillness 
 Of Thy wounded Side. 
 
POEMS 
 
 Guide me, ever guide me, 
 With Thy pierced Hand, 
 
 Till I reach the borders 
 Of the pleasant land. 
 
 Then, my own Beloved, 
 Take me home to rest; 
 
 "Whisper words of comfort; 
 Lay me on Thy Breast. 
 
 Show me not the Grlory 
 Eound about Thy Throne ; 
 
 Show me not the flashes 
 Of Thy jewelled Crown. 
 
 Hide me from the pity 
 Of the Angels' Band, 
 
 Who ever sing Thy praises, 
 And before Thee stand. 
 
 Hide me from the glances 
 
 Of the Seraphin, — 
 They, so pure and spotless, 
 
 I, so stained with sin. 
 
 Hide me from S. Michael 
 With his flaming sword : — 
 
 Thou can'st understand me, 
 my Human Lord ! 
 
 Jesu, my Beloved, 
 
 Come to me alone; 
 In Thy sweet embraces 
 
 Make me all Thine own. 
 
POEMS 
 
 By the quiet waters. 
 
 Sweetest Jesu, lead; 
 'Mid the virgin lilies. 
 
 Purest Jesu, feed. 
 
 Only Thee, Beloved, 
 
 Only Thee, I seek. 
 Thou, the Man Christ Jesus, 
 
 Strength in flesh made weak. 
 
 FROM THE CLOISTER 
 
 Brother Jerome seated in the cloister 
 
 TO have wandered in the days that were. 
 
 Through the sweet groves of green Academ^ — 
 
 Or, shrouded in a night of olive boughs. 
 
 Have watched their starry clusters overhead 
 
 Twinkle and quiver in the perfumed breeze — 
 
 That breeze which softly wafted from afar. 
 
 Mingled with rustling leaves and fountain's splash. 
 
 The boyish laughter and the paean songs ; 
 
 Or, couched among the beds of pale-pink thyme 
 
 That fringe Cephissus with his purple pools. 
 
 Have idly listened while low voices sang 
 
 Of all those ancient victories of love. 
 
 That never weary and that never die, — 
 
 Of Sappho's leap, Leander's nightly swim. 
 
 Of wandering Echo, and the Trojan maid 
 
 For whom all ages shed their pitying tears ; — 
 
 Or that fair legend, dearest of them all. 
 
 That tells us how the hyacinth was born ; 
 
 Or to have mingled in the eager crowd 
 
POEMS 
 
 That questioning circled some philosopher, 
 
 Young eyes that glistened and young cheeks that 
 
 glowed 
 For love of Truth, the great. Indefinite — 
 Truth beautiful as are the distant hills 
 Veiled in soft purple, crags whereon is found 
 No tender plant in the uncreviced rock. 
 But clinging lichen, and black shrivelled moss; — 
 So should day pass, till, from the western skies. 
 Behind the marble shrines and palaces, 
 The big sun sunk, reddening the Aegean Sea. 
 So should life pass, as flows the clear-brown stream 
 And scarcely moves the water-lily's leaves. 
 This sluggish life is like some dead canal. 
 Dull, measured, muddy, washing flowerless banks. 
 
 sunny Athens, home of life and love. 
 Free joyous life that 1 may never live. 
 Warm glowing love that I may never know, — 
 Home of Apollo, god of poetry. 
 
 Dear bright-haired god, in whom I half believe. 
 Come to me as thou cam'st to Semele, 
 Trailing across the hills thy saffron robe. 
 And catch me heavenward, wrapt in golden mists. 
 
 1 weary of this squalid holiness, 
 
 I weary of these hot black draperies, 
 
 I weary of the incense-thickened air. 
 
 The chiming of the inevitable bells. 
 
 My boyhood — hurried over, but once gone 
 
 For ever mourned, — return for one short hour ; 
 
 Friends of past days, light up these cloister walls 
 
 With your bright presences and starry eyes. 
 
 And make the cold grey vaulting ring again 
 
 With tinkling laughter. — Ah! they coine, they come; 
 
 I shut my eyes and fancy that I hear 
 
 The sun-lit ripples kiss the willow-boughs. . . . 
 
POEMS 5 
 
 So soon forgotten that all lovely things 
 
 Which this vile earth affords — trees, mountains, 
 
 streams, 
 The regal faces, and the godlike eyes 
 We see, — the tender voices that we hear, 
 Are but mere shadows? — the reality 
 A cloud-veiled Face, a voice that 's lost in air. 
 Or drowned in music more intelligible? 
 From every carven niche the stony Saints 
 Stretch out their wasted hands in mute reproach. 
 And from the Crucifix the great wan Christ 
 Shows me His thorny Crown and gaping Wounds. 
 Then hark! I hear from many a lonely grave. 
 From blood-stained sands of amphitheatres. 
 From loathsome dungeon, and from blackened stake 
 They cry, the Martyrs cry, ^Behold the Man !' 
 Is there no place in all the universe 
 To hide me in? no little island girt 
 With waves, to drown the echo of that cry : 
 'Behold the Man, the Man of Calvary !' 
 
 Brother Francis, crossing the cloister, sings 
 
 As pants the hart for forest-streams 
 
 When wandering wearily 
 Across the burning desert sand. 
 
 So pant I, Lord, for Thee ! 
 Sweetest Jesu ! Thou art He 
 
 To whom my soul aspires; 
 Sweetest Jesu ! Thou art He, 
 
 Whom my whole heart desires. 
 
 To love Thee, Oh the ecstasy. 
 
 The rapture, and the joy ! 
 All earthly loves shall pass away. 
 
 All earthly pleasures cloy; 
 
POEMS 
 
 But whoso loves the Son of God 
 
 Of Love shall never tire; 
 But through and through shall burn and glow 
 
 With Love's undying Fire. 
 
 He enters the chapeL 
 
 AMOREM 8ENSU8 
 
 Translation 
 
 Author of pardon, Jesu Christ, 
 Extend Thy love to us, and deign 
 To show Thy mercy upon us. 
 And cleanse our hearts from every stain. 
 
 Most tender and most gracious Lord, 
 Thou knowest whereof man is made; 
 Thou knowest whereunto he falls. 
 If thou withdraw thy saving aid. 
 
 My every thought to Thee is clear. 
 My inmost soul unveiled to Thee; — 
 Disperse and drive away the dreams 
 Of worldliness and vanity. 
 
 We wander exiled here below. 
 Through this sad vale of sin and strife; 
 lead us to the Holy Mount, 
 The home of everlasting Life. 
 
 Thou Who for us becamest poor. 
 Thou Who for us wast crucified. 
 Wash out the past in that dear Stream 
 That floweth from Thy pierced Side. 
 
POEMS 
 
 Thrice blessed Love that satisfies 
 Its thirst in Thee, Fount of Grace : 
 Thrice blessed eyes that through all time 
 Shall see Thy Glory face to face. 
 
 Thy Glory, Lord, surpasses thought, 
 And yet Thy Love is infinite ; — 
 That Love to taste, that Glory see. 
 My heart to Thee has winged her flight. 
 
 Sis licet felix ubicunque mavis 
 Et memor nostri . . . vivas 
 
 On river banks my love was born. 
 
 And cradled 'neath a budding thorn, 
 
 Whose flowers never more shall kiss 
 
 Lips half so sweet and red as his. 
 
 Beneath him lily-islands spread 
 
 With broad cool leaves a floating bed : 
 
 Around, to meet his opening eyes. 
 
 The ripples danced in glad surprise. 
 
 I found him there when spring was new. 
 
 When winds were soft and skies were blue ; 
 
 I marvelled not, although he drew 
 
 My whole soul to him, for I knew 
 
 That he was bom to be my king, 
 
 And I was only born to sing 
 
 With faded lips and feeble lays 
 
 His love and beauty all my days. 
 
 Therefore I pushed the flowers aside 
 
 And humbly knelt me by his side. 
 
 And then I stooped, and whispered — * Come, 
 
 * Long-desired, to your Home ; 
 
POEMS 
 
 ' How much desired none can know, 
 ^ But those who wander to and fro 
 
 * Through unknown groups and careless faces, 
 ' And seek in vain for friendship's graces, 
 
 * Until the earth's rich beauties seem 
 
 * The bitter mockery of a dream : 
 
 ' Nor shall they wake, nor shall they see 
 ' This life's most sweet reality, 
 'Until before them there arise 
 ' A loving, answering pair of eyes. — 
 ^ So had I wandered, till you came ; 
 
 * Spring, summer, autumn were the same ; 
 
 * For winter ever held the skies 
 
 ' Clouded with earth's sad mysteries ; 
 ' And on my heart the chilly hand 
 
 * Of grief I could not understand. 
 
 * Those looks, those words of scorn I felt, — 
 ' Never was frost so hard to melt : — 
 
 * Yet, as from gardens far below, 
 
 ' Sweet breezes through a sick room blow, 
 ' So from the Future that should be, 
 
 * Faint hopes were always wafted me ; 
 
 * Till all my heart and soul were full 
 ' Of longing undefinable. 
 
 ' You came — you came. 
 
 ' No lilies can I offer you, 
 ' Nor gentian, nor violets blue : 
 
 * The only flower that I own 
 
 ' Is, \\'as and shall be, yours alone, — 
 
 * A flower of such a glowing red 
 
 * It seems as if each leaf had bled.' 
 
 He took my flower ; I saw it pressed 
 With loving care against his breast. 
 But on that robe it left a stain. 
 Which never phall come out as^^iin. 
 
POEMS 
 
 He heeded not, but clasped my hand 
 And led me through enchanted land. 
 On we went — the flowers springing. 
 Turtle- voices ever singing; 
 On we went — I understood 
 Lake and mountain, rock and wood, 
 Hidden meanings, hidden duties. 
 Hidden loves, and hidden beauties; 
 On we went — the ceaseless chorus 
 Of all nature chanted o'er us ; 
 On we went — the scented breeze 
 From the bright Hesperian seas 
 Striking ever on our faces. 
 Bringing from those blessed places 
 A foretaste of the spirit's rest 
 Among the Islands of the blest; 
 Till the griefs of life's old story 
 Faded in a mist of glory. 
 Came there with that glorious vision 
 Throbbing notes of songs Elysian, 
 Echoing now as deep and loud 
 As the thunder in the cloud ; 
 Then again the music sank 
 Soft as ripples on the bank ; 
 And the angels, as they passed, 
 Whispered to me ^ Loved at last.' 
 
 Gone — gone — never nevermore, 
 Standing upon the willowy shore, 
 Shall it be mine to watch his face 
 Uplifted westward, all ablaze 
 With sunset glory, and his eyes 
 Catching the splendour of the skies. 
 Then softly downward turned on mine, 
 As stars in turbid waters shine. 
 
10 POEMS 
 
 I cannot think, I cannot weep, — 
 But as one walking in his sleep, 
 I wander back through well-known ways. 
 As once with him through summer days. 
 Again I see the rushes shiver. 
 And lines on dying sunlight quiver 
 Across the waters cold and brown, 
 O'er which our boat glides slowly down. 
 Again, again I see him stand 
 With red June roses in his hand; 
 Again, again within those walls 
 We loved so well, the sunlight falls 
 From blazoned windows on his head. 
 In streams of purple and of red. 
 Gone — gone. — 
 
 So take my flowers, dear river Thames, 
 And snap, oh snap the lily stems. 
 I throw my heart among those flowers 
 You gave to me in bo}dsh hours: 
 Spare it and them nor storm nor mire ; 
 But sink them lower, toss them higher, 
 I care not, — for I know that pain 
 Alone can purify their stain. 
 So only, only may I win 
 Some pardon for my youthful sin, — 
 Vain hopes, false peace, untrustful fears, 
 Three wasted, dreamy, happy years; — 
 So only may I stand with him. 
 When suns have sunk and moons grown dim, 
 And see him shining in the light 
 Of the new Heaven's sunless white. 
 
POEMS 11 
 
 Beloved, take my little song: 
 The river, as he rolls along. 
 Will sing it clearer far than I ; 
 And possibly your memory, 
 When looking back on what has been, 
 Will tell you what these verses mean. 
 
 5 
 
 A SEA SONG 
 
 In the days before the high tide 
 Swept away the towers of sand 
 
 Built with so much care and labour 
 By the children of the land. 
 
 Pale, upon the pallid beaches. 
 Thirsting, on the thirsty sands, 
 
 Ever cried I to the Distance, 
 Ever seaward spread my hands. 
 
 See, they come, they come, the ripples, 
 Singing, singing fast and low. 
 
 Meet the longing of the sea-shores. 
 Clasp them, kiss them once, and go. 
 
 *Stay, sweet Ocean, satisfying 
 
 All desires into rest — ' 
 Not a word the Ocean answered. 
 
 Rolling sunward down the west. 
 
 Then I wept : 'Oh, who will give me 
 
 To behold the stable sea. 
 On whose tideless shores for ever 
 
 Sounds of many waters be?' 
 
13 POEMS 
 
 GOOD NIGHT 
 
 The sun has set. 
 
 The western light 
 
 And after that 
 
 The starlit night 
 
 Still tell of Him, 
 
 Who, far away, 
 
 Is Lord of night 
 
 As well as day. 
 
 Now do you wonder. 
 
 Dear, that I 
 
 Wished you *^Good night' 
 
 And not 'Good-bye'? 
 
 A POEM WITHOUT A NAME 
 
 I 
 
 Surely before the time my Sun has set: 
 
 The evening had not come, it was but noon, 
 
 The gladness passed from all my Pleasant Land ; 
 
 And, through the night that knows nor star nor moon. 
 
 Among clean souls who all but Heaven forget, 
 
 Alone remembering I wander on. 
 
 They sing of triumph, and a Mighty Hand 
 
 Locked fast in theirs through sorrow's Mystery; 
 
 They sing of glimpses of another Land, 
 
 Whose purples gleam through all their agony. 
 
 But I — I did not choose like them, I chose 
 
 The summer roses, and the red, red wine, 
 
 The juice of earth's wild grapes, to drink with those 
 
 Whose glories yet thro' saddest memories shine. 
 
POEMS 13 
 
 I will not tell of them, of him who came ; 
 I will not tell you what men call my land. 
 They speak half -choked in fogs of scorn and sin, 
 I turn from all their pitiless human din 
 To voices that can feel and understand. 
 
 ever-laughing rivers, sing his name 
 To all your lilies — tell it out, chime, 
 In hourly four-fold voices; — western breeze 
 Among the avenues of scented lime 
 Murmur it softly to the summer night; — 
 O sunlight, water, music, flowers and trees. 
 Heart-beats of nature's infinite delight. 
 Love him for ever, all things beautiful ! 
 A little while it was he stayed with me. 
 And taught me knowledge sweet and wonderful, 
 And satisfied my soul with poetry : 
 But soon, too soon, there sounded from above 
 Innumerable clapping of white hands, 
 And countless laughing voices sang of love, 
 And called my friend away to other lands. 
 Well — I am very glad they were so fair, 
 For whom the lightening east and morning skies; 
 For me the sunset of his golden hair, 
 Fading among the hills of Paradise. 
 
 Weed-grown is all my garden of delight; — 
 Most tired, most cold without the Eden-gate, 
 With eyes still good for ache, tho' not for sight. 
 Among the briers and thorns I weep and wait. 
 Now first I catch the meaning of a strife, 
 A great soul-battle fought for death or life, 
 bearing me come the rumours of a war. 
 And blood and dust sweep cloudy from afar, 
 And, surging round, the sobbing of the sea 
 Choked with the weepings of humanity. 
 
 Alas! no armour have I fashioned me. 
 
14 POEMS 
 
 And, having lived on honey in the past, 
 
 Have gained no strength. From the unfathomed sea 
 
 I draw no food, for all the nets I cast. 
 
 I am not strong enough to fight beneath, 
 
 I am not clean enough to mount above ; 
 
 Oh let me dream, although to dream is death. 
 
 Beside the hills where last I saw my Love. 
 
 8 
 IN THE GARDEN 
 
 There is a garden, which I think He loves 
 
 Who loveth all things fair ; 
 And once the Master of the flowers came 
 
 To teach love-lessons there. 
 
 He touched my eyes, and in the open sun 
 
 They walked, the Holy Dead, 
 Trailing their washen robes across the turf, 
 
 An aureole round each head. 
 
 One said, with wisdom in his infant eyes, — 
 
 *The world I never knew; 
 ^But, love the Holy Child of Bethlehem, 
 
 *And He will love you too.' 
 
 One said — 'The victory is hard to win, 
 
 ^But love shall conquer death. 
 *The world is sweet, but He is sweeter far, 
 
 'The Boy of Nazareth.' 
 
 One said — 'My life was twilight from the first; 
 
 'But on my Calvary, 
 'Beside my cross, another Cross was raised 
 
 'In utter love for me.' 
 
POEMS 15 
 
 One said — ^The wine-vat it was hard to tread, 
 
 ^It stained my weary feet; 
 *But One from Bozra trod with me in love, 
 
 ^And made my vintage sweet/ 
 
 One said — ^^My human loves were pure and fair, 
 
 ^He would not have them cease; 
 *But, knit to His, I bore them in my heart 
 
 ^Into the land of peace.' 
 
 One came, who in the groves of Paradise 
 
 Had latest cut his palm ; 
 He only said — 'The floods lift up their voice, 
 
 'But love can make them calm,' 
 
 I heard a step — I had been long alone, 
 I thought they might have missed me — 
 
 It was my mother coming o'er the grass ; 
 I turned — ^and so she kissed me. 
 
 AFTER READING AESCHYLUS 
 
 I WILL not sing my little puny songs. 
 It is more blessed for the rippling pool 
 To be absorbed in the great ocean-wave 
 Than even to kiss the sea-weeds on its breast. 
 Therefore in passiveness I will lie still. 
 And let the multitudinous music of the Greek 
 Pass into me, till T am musical. 
 
16 POEMS 
 
 10 
 
 AFTER READING HOMER 
 
 Happy the man, who on the mountain-side 
 Bending o'er fern and flowers his basket fills : 
 Yet he will never know the outline-power, 
 The awful Whole of the Eternal Hills. 
 
 So some there are, who never feel the strength 
 In thy blind eyes, majestic and complete. 
 Which conquers those, who motionlessly sit, 
 dear divine old Giant, at thy feet. 
 
 11 
 
 There was one who walked in shadow, 
 There was one who walked in light: 
 
 But once their way together lay. 
 Where sun and shade unite. 
 
 In the meadow of the lotus. 
 
 In the meadow of the rose. 
 Where fair with youth and clear with truth 
 
 The Living Eiver flows. 
 
 Scarcely summer stillness breaking, 
 Questions, answers, soft and low — 
 
 The words they said, the vows they made, 
 Xone but the willows know. 
 
 Both have passed away for ever 
 From the meadow and the stream; 
 
 Past their waking, past their breaking 
 The sweetness of that dream. 
 
POEMS 17 
 
 One along the dusty highway 
 
 Toiling counts the weary hours, 
 And one among its shining throng 
 
 The world has crowned with flowers. 
 
 Sometimes 2:>erhaps amid the gardens, 
 
 Where the noble have their part. 
 Though noon 's o'erhead, a dew-drop 's shed 
 
 Into a lily's heart. 
 
 This I know, till one heart reaches 
 
 Labour's sum, the restful grave. 
 Will still be seen the willow-green, 
 
 And heard the rippling wave. 
 
 12 
 
 What is good for a bootless bene? 
 The Falconer to the lady said. 
 
 From the great Poet's lips I thought to take 
 Some drops of honey for my parched mouth, 
 
 And draw from out his depths of purple lake 
 Some rill to murmur Peace thro* summer drouth. 
 
 Hail, sweet sad story ! Noble lady, hail ! — 
 Who, sorrowing wisely, sorrowed not in vain, 
 
 When Love and Death did strive, but Ijove prevail 
 To turn thy loss to Everlasting gain. 
 
 But what of Love, whose crown is not of bay. 
 Whose yellow locks with asphodel are twined ? 
 
 And what of him, who in the battle-day 
 Dare not look forward, for the foes behind ? 
 
18 POEMS 
 
 13 
 
 GOOD FRIDAY 
 
 Was it a dream — the outline of that Face, 
 Which seemed to lighten from the Holy Place, 
 Meeting all want, fulfilling all desire? 
 A dream — the music of that Voice most sweet. 
 Which seemed to rise above the chanting choir? 
 A dream — the treadings of those wounded Feet, 
 Pacing about the Altar still and slow? 
 Illusion — all I thought to love and know? 
 
 Strong Sorrow-wrestler of Mount Calvary, 
 Speak through the blackness of Thine Agony, 
 Say, have I ever known Thee ? answer me \ 
 Speak, Merciful and Mighty, lifted up 
 To draw those to Thee who have power to will 
 The roseate Baptism, and the bitter Cup, 
 The Royal Graces of the Cross-crowned Hill. 
 
 Terrible Grolgotha — among the bones 
 Which whiten thee, as thick as splintered stones 
 Where headlong rocks have crushed themselves away, 
 1 stumble on — Is it too dark to pray ? 
 
 14 
 ANACREONTIC 
 
 On the tender myrtle-branches. 
 
 In the meadow lotus-grassed. 
 While the wearied sunlight softly 
 
 To the Happy Islands passed, — 
 Reddest lips the reddest vintage 
 
 Of the bright Aegean quaffing. 
 There I saw them lie, the evening 
 
 Hazes rippled with their laughing. 
 
POEMS 
 
 Round them boys, with hair as golden 
 
 As Queen Cytherea's own is, 
 Sang to lyres wreathed with ivy 
 
 Of the beautiful Adonis — 
 (Of Adonis the Desired, 
 
 He has perished on the mountain,) 
 While their voices, rising, falling, 
 
 As the murmur of a fountain. 
 Glittered upwards at the mention 
 
 Of his beauty unavailing; 
 Scattered into rainbowed teardrops 
 
 To the S,i ai of the wailing. 
 
 19 
 
 15 
 "Epw? "l^epog re. 
 
 I SAID to my heart,— 'I am tired, 
 
 Am tired of loving in vain ; 
 Since the beauty of the Desired 
 
 Shall not be unveiled again.' 
 
 So we laid our Longing to rest. 
 
 To sleep through the endless hours, 
 
 And called to a breeze of the west 
 To kiss the acacia flowers ; 
 
 To kiss them until they break 
 
 And hide him beneath their bloom. 
 
 That our Longing for Love's sweet sake 
 Be shrouded fair in the tomb. 
 
 But the Memories arose in light, 
 From meadow and wharf and wave. 
 
 And sang through the gathering night, 
 As we turned to leave the grave. 
 
^0 POEMS 
 
 Of Longing they sang, son of Love, 
 Love patient as earth beneath, 
 
 As the heavens immortal above. 
 And mightier than time or death. 
 
 They sang till they woke him at morn; 
 
 Arisen he stood by my bed. 
 In his face the glory of dawn. 
 
 The gold and purple and red. 
 
 He is mine thro^ the depth of pain. 
 Is mine through the length of ways ; 
 
 But a death awaits him again. 
 In the Triumph of Patient Days. 
 
 16 
 
 Strange^ all-absorbing Love, Avho gatherest 
 Unto Thy glowing all my pleasant dew. 
 Then delicately my garden waterest. 
 Drawing the old, to pour it back anew : 
 
 In the dim glitter of the dawning hours 
 ^Not so,^ I said, ^but still these drops of light, 
 'Heart-shrined among the petals of my flowers, 
 ^Shall hold the memory of the starry night. 
 
 ^So fresh, no need of showers shall there be.' — 
 Ah, senseless gardener! must it come to pass 
 That neath the glaring noon thou shouldest see 
 Thine earth become as iron. His heavens as brass ? 
 
 Nay rather, my Sun, I will be wise, 
 
 Believe in Love which may not yet be seen, 
 
 Yield Thee my earth-drops, call Thee from the skies. 
 
 In soft return, to keep my bedding green. 
 
POEMS 21 
 
 So when the bells at Vesper- tide shall sound. 
 And the dead ocean o'er my garden flows, 
 Upon the Golden Altar may be found 
 Some scarlet berries and a Christmas rose. 
 
 17 
 FROM SAPPHO 
 
 Thou liest dead, — lie on: of thee 
 ]^o sweet remembrances shall be, 
 Who never plucked Pierian rose. 
 Who never chanced on Anteros. 
 Unknown, unnoticed, there below 
 Through Aides' houses shalt thou go 
 Alone, — for never a flitting ghost 
 Shall find in thee a lover lost. 
 
 18 
 
 Osculo oris sui osculetur me. 
 
 Christ, for whose only Love I keep me clean 
 Among the palaces of Babylon, 
 I would not Thou should'st reckon me with them 
 Who miserly would count each golden stone 
 That flags the street of Thy Jerusalem — 
 Who, having touched and tasted, heard and seen, 
 
 Half-drunken yet from earthly revelries. 
 
 Would wipe with flower-wreathed hair Thy bleeding 
 
 Feet, 
 Jostling about Thee but to stay the heat 
 Of pale parched lips in Thy cool chalices. 
 
22 POEMS 
 
 'Our cups are emptiness — how long? how long 
 'Before that Thou wilt pour us of Thy wine, 
 'Thy sweet new wine, that we may thirst no more? 
 'Our lamps are darkness, — open day of Thine, 
 'Surely is light to spare behind that door, 
 'Where God is Sun, and Saints a starry throng.' 
 
 But I, how little profit were to me 
 Tho' mine the twelve foundations of the skies. 
 With this green world of love an age below : — 
 The soft remembrance of those human eyes 
 Would pale the everlasting jewel-glow; 
 And o'er the perfect passionless minstrelsy. 
 
 A voice would sound the decachords above. 
 Deadening the music of the Living Land— 
 Thou madest. Thou knowest, Thou wilt understand, 
 And stay me with the Apples of Thy love. 
 
 My Christ, remember that betrothal day; 
 Blessed be He that cometh was the song: - 
 Glad as the Hebrew boys who cried Hosanna, 
 O'er hearts thick-strewn as palms they passed along. 
 To reap in might the fields of heavenly manna — 
 These were the bridesmen in their white array. 
 
 Soon hearts and eyes were lifted up to Thee : 
 Deep in dim glories of the Sanctuary, 
 Between the thunderous Alleluia-praise, 
 Through incense-hazes that encompassed Thee, 
 I saw the priestly hands Thyself upraise — 
 Heaven sank to earth — earth leapt to heaven for me. 
 
 Eise, Peter, rise; He standeth on the shore. 
 The thrice-denied of Pilate's Judgement Hall : 
 His hand is o'er the shingle lest thou fall; 
 He wipes thy bitter tears for evermore. 
 
POEMS ^'^ 
 
 *Lovest thou?' My beloved, answer me. 
 
 Of Thine all-knowledge show me only this— 
 
 Tarrieth the answer? Lo, the House of Bread; 
 
 Lo, God and man made one in Mary's kiss 
 
 Bending in rapture o'er the manger bed. 
 
 I with the holy kings will go and see. 
 
 19 
 
 ON THE PICTURE OF AN ANGEL BY FRA 
 ANGELICO 
 
 Press each on each, sweet wings, and roof me in 
 Some closed cell to hold my weariness, 
 
 Desired — as from unshadowed plains to win 
 The palmy gloaming of the oases : 
 
 Glad wings, that floated ere the suns arose 
 Down pillared lines of ever-fruited trees. 
 
 Where thro' the many-gladed leafage flows 
 The uncreated noon of Paradise: 
 
 Soft wings, in contemplation oftentime 
 
 Stretched on the ocean-depths that drown desire. 
 
 Where lightening tides in never-falling chime 
 Ring round the angel isles in glass and fire : 
 
 From meadow-lands that sleep beyond the stars. 
 From lilied woods and waves the blessed see. 
 
 Pass, bird of God, ah pass the golden bars. 
 And in thy fair compassion pity me. 
 
24: POEMS 
 
 for the garden city of the Flower, 
 Of jewelled Italy the chosen gem, 
 
 Where angels and Giotto dreamed a tower 
 In beauty as of New Jerusalem: 
 
 For there, when roseate as a winged cloud 
 Upon the saffron of the paling east — 
 
 A glowing pillar in the House of Grod — 
 That tower was born, the Very Loveliest, 
 
 Then shaking wings, and voices then that sang, 
 Passed up and down the chased jasper wall, 
 
 And through the crystal traceries outrang. 
 As when from deep to deep the seraphs call. 
 
 for the valley slopes which Arno cleaves 
 AVith arrowy heads of gold unceasingly. 
 
 Parting the twilight of the grey-green leaves 
 As shafted sungleam on a rain-cloud sky : 
 
 For there, more white than mists of bloom above 
 When sunset kindles Luni's vineyard height. 
 
 Strange Presences have paced the olive grove, 
 And dazed the cypress cloister into light. 
 
 But not for me the angel-haunted South: 
 I spread my hands across the unlovely plain, 
 
 1 faint for beauty in the daily drouth 
 
 Of beauty, as the fields for August rain. 
 
 Yet hope is mine against some Eastern dawn, 
 
 Not in a vision but reality. 
 To see thy wings, and in thine arms upborne, 
 
 To rest me in a fairer Italy. 
 
POEMS 
 
 20 
 BEQUESTS 
 
 I ASKED for Peace — 
 My sins arose, 
 And bound me close, 
 
 I conld not find release. 
 
 I asked for Truth— 
 My doubts came in, 
 And with their din 
 
 They wearied all my youth. 
 
 I asked for Love — 
 My lovers failed. 
 And griefs assailed 
 
 Around, beneath, above. 
 
 I asked for Thee — 
 And Thou didst come 
 To take me home 
 
 Within Thy Heart to be. 
 
 21 
 
 Beautiful, oh beautiful — 
 
 In all the mountain passes 
 The plenteous dowers of April showers, 
 
 Which every spring amasses. 
 To bring about thro' summer drought 
 
 The blossoming of the grasses. 
 
 Beautiful, oh beautiful — 
 
 The April of the ages. 
 Which sweetly brought its showers of thought 
 
 To poets and to sages, 
 Now stored away our thirst to stay 
 
 In ever-dewy pages. 
 
26 P E M S 
 
 22 
 THE ETERNAL CALVARY 
 
 The clouded hill attend thou still, 
 
 And him that went within, \ q^qugh 
 
 Not so indeed shall be our creed, — 
 
 The Man whom we rely on 
 Has brought us thro' from old to new, 
 
 From Sinai to Zion, 
 For us He scaled the hill of myrrh, 
 
 The summits of His Passion, 
 And is set down upon the throne 
 
 Of infinite Compassion. 
 
 He passed within the cloud that veiled 
 
 The Mount of our Salvation, 
 In utter darkness swallowed up 
 
 Until the Consummation. 
 The clouds are burst, the shades dispersed; 
 
 Descending from above 
 With wounded hands our Prophet stands, 
 
 And bears the Law of Love. 
 
 Keceive it then, believe it then. 
 
 As childlike spirits can; 
 Keceive, believe, and thoi^ shalt live. 
 
 And thou shalt Love, man ! 
 
 Not so indeed shall be our creed, — 
 
 To wait a new commission. 
 As if again revealed to men 
 
 Could be the heavenly Vision; 
 The priceless thing He died to bring 
 
 From out the veil, to miss. 
 While Host and Cup are lifted up 
 
 On countless Calvarys. 
 
POEMS 27 
 
 'Among the dead/ an angel said, 
 
 ^Seek not the living Christ.' 
 The type is done, the real begun, 
 
 Behold the Eucharist! 
 Tlie curse is spent, the veil is rent, 
 
 And face to face we meet Him, 
 With chanting choirs and incense fires 
 
 On every altar greet Him. 
 
 Eeceive it then, believe it then. 
 
 As childlike spirits can; 
 Eeceive, believe, and thou shalt live. 
 
 And thou shalt Love, man ! 
 
 23 
 
 We hurry on, nor passing note 
 The rounded hedges white with May; 
 For golden clouds before us float 
 To lead our dazzled sight astray. 
 We say, ^they shall indeed be sweet 
 *The summer days that are to be' — 
 The ages murmur at our feet 
 The everlasting mystery. 
 
 We seek for Love to make our own. 
 
 But clasp him not for all our care 
 
 Of outspread arms ; we gain alone 
 
 The flicker of his yellow hair 
 
 Caught now and then through glancing vine, 
 
 How rare, how fair, we dare not tell ; 
 
 We know those sunny locks entwine 
 
 With ruddy-fruited asphodel. 
 
38 POEMS 
 
 A little life, a little love. 
 
 Young men rejoicing in their youth, 
 
 A doubtful twilight from above, 
 
 A glimpse of Beauty and of Truth,— 
 
 And then, no doubt, spring-loveliness 
 
 Expressed in hawthorns white and red, 
 
 The sprouting of the meadow grass. 
 
 But churchyard weeds about our head. 
 
 24 
 
 THE PILGRIM AND THE KNIGHT 
 
 Here in the flats that encompass the hills called Beautiful, 
 lying, 
 
 Beloved, behold a Pilgrim who fain would be sleeping, 
 
 Did not at times the snows that diadem summits above him i 
 
 Break on his dreams, and scatter the slumberous mists | 
 from his eyelids. 
 
 Flashing the consciousness back, by weariness half over- 
 powered, ! 
 
 Of journeying unfulfilled and feet that have toiled but j 
 attained not. ! 
 
 Then, in a sudden trance, (as the man whose eyes were 
 opened 
 
 But for a little while, then closed to night everlasting,) 
 
 TT* T 
 
 High on the slopes of the terraced hills a goodly procession : 
 White are the horses and white are the plumes and white 
 
 are the vestures, 
 : White is the heaven above with pearls that the dawning is 
 \ scattering, 
 
 White beneath the flowerless fields that are hedged with the 
 
 snowdrift. 
 These are the Knights of the Lord, who fight with the 
 Beast and the Prophet. 
 
POEMS 29 
 
 Ho for the Knight that rides in the splendour of opening 
 
 manhood. 
 Calm as Michael, when, out from the Beatifical Vision, 
 Bearing the might of the Lord, he passed to conquer the 
 
 Dragon. 
 Yet, in those passionless eyes, if hitherward turned for a 
 
 moment. 
 Might not some memory waken of him whom he loved in 
 
 the Distance, 
 Ere from Holy Land the voice of the trumpet had 
 
 sounded — 
 '0 Beloved' — Enough; the words unechoed, unanswered, 
 Fade with the vision away on the slopes of the Beautiful 
 
 Mountains. 
 
 Yet — remember me, Thou Captain of Israel's Knighthood, 
 Thou to John made known in the Revelation of Patmos. 
 
 26 
 
 BREVI TEMPORE MAGNUM PERFECIT OPUS 
 
 I 
 
 Twas not in shady cloister that God set His chosen one, 
 But in the van of battle and the streets of Babylon : 
 There he in patience served the days of his captivity, 
 Until the King made known to him the City of the Free. 
 
 There One who watched in Salem once beside the Treasury, 
 And reckoned up the riches of the widow's penury. 
 Received the offering of him who counted not the cost, 
 But burnt his soul and body in a living holocaust. 
 
3U POEMS 
 
 His life was in the Sanctuary and like a fountain sealed; 
 He to the Master's eyes alone its height and depth revealed ; 
 Of that which every motion spoke he seldom told in word, 
 But on his face was written up the secret of the Lord. 
 
 H 
 
 Through many fiery places in innocence he trod; 
 We almost saw beside him one like the Son of God: 
 Where'er he went a perfume about his presence hung, 
 As tho' within that shrine of flesh a mystic censer swung. 
 
 We never heard him laugh aloud, we know he often wept: 
 We think the Bridegroom sometimes stood beside him as 
 
 he slept. 
 And set upon those virgin lips the signet of His love, 
 That any other touch but His they never should approve. 
 
 He gi-ew in grace and stature, he felt and understood 
 Tlie stirring of the passions and the movement of the 
 
 blood. 
 And clung with deepening tenderness about the wounded 
 
 Feet, 
 And nestled in the Master's Breast with rapture new and 
 
 sweet. 
 
 He stayed till seventeen Aprils here had budded into May, 
 Along the pleasant hedgerows that he knew not far away : 
 But scarcely seventeen summers yet the lily-beds had 
 
 blown. 
 Before the angels carried him to gardens of their own. 
 
 II 
 
 They set the window open as the sun was going down: 
 Beneath went on the hurry and roar of London town. 
 But in the narrow room above the rush of life was done, 
 In silence, once for ever, the victory was won. 
 
POEMS 31 
 
 He came, the Strong, the Terrible, whose face the strongest 
 
 fear, 
 (0 world, behold thy Spoiler spoiled, the Stronger Man 
 
 is here) 
 He came, the Loved, the Loveliest, whose Face the Saints 
 
 desire. 
 To be his Fellow-pilgrim thro' the water and the fire. 
 
 Henceforth no more beneath the veils, Viaticum no more, 
 But Eest and Consummation upon the other Shore. 
 The bell was ringing Complin, the night began to fall ; 
 They laid him in the ashes and waited for the call. 
 
 X'Ome up, come up from Lebanon,' he heard the Bride- 
 groom sa}^, 
 
 *Come up, my Love, my sister, for the shadows flee away.' 
 
 And as upon his face they caught the breaking of that 
 morn 
 
 They spread his arms to fashion the Cmss that he had 
 borne. 
 
 A smile, a whispered ^Jesus', then the fulness of the day : 
 Made perfect in a little while his spirit passed away; 
 And leaning on the Bridegroom's arm he scaled the golden 
 
 stair 
 Through all the baffled legions of the powers of the air. 
 
 Beneath the secret Altar now he tarrieth the End. 
 From earth he hears the pleadings of holy Mass ascend. 
 From heaven the voice of Jesus, Who bids the angels haste 
 To gather in the chosen to the Marriage and the Feast. 
 
32 POEMS 
 
 26 
 
 A PRAYER 
 
 From falsehood and error. 
 From darkness and terror, 
 From all that is evil. 
 From the power of the devil. 
 From the fire and the doom, 
 From the judgement to come — 
 Sweet Jesu^ deliver 
 Thv servants for ever. 
 
 27 
 THE LILY 
 
 Once, on the river banks we knew, 
 A child, who laughing ran to choose 
 A lily there, essayed to tread 
 The lawn of leaves that outward spread 
 To where the very fairest blew, 
 And slipped from love and life and light, 
 Into the shiny deptli beneath; 
 While through the tangle and the ooze 
 Up bubbled all his little breath. 
 Above, the lilies calmly white 
 Were floating still at eventide. 
 When, as it chanced, a boat went down 
 Eeturning to the royal town, 
 Wherein a noble lady lay 
 Among the cushions dreamily. 
 Who leant above the gilded side 
 And plucked the flower carelessly, 
 And wore it at the ball that night. 
 
POEMS 33 
 
 A LETTER 
 
 My Love, and once again my Love, 
 
 And then no more until the end. 
 
 Until the waters cease to move. 
 
 Until we rest within the Ark, 
 
 And all is light which now is dark, 
 
 And loves can never more descend. 
 
 And yet— and yet be just to me 
 
 At least for manhood ; for the whole 
 
 Love-current of a human soul. 
 
 Though bent and rolled through fruitless ways, 
 
 Tho' marred with slime and choked with weed, 
 
 (Long lost the silver ripple-song, 
 
 Long past the sprouting water-mead,) 
 
 Is something awful, broad and strong. 
 
 Remember that this utterly. 
 
 With all its waves of passion, set 
 
 To you ; that all the water store, 
 
 No second April shall restore. 
 
 Was so to broken cisterns poured. 
 
 And lost, or else long since had met 
 
 The ocean-love of Christ the Lord. 
 
 My Brother, hear me; for the Name 
 
 Which is as fire in my bones 
 
 Has burned away the former shame; 
 
 Held I my peace, the very stones 
 
 Would cry against me ; hear me then, 
 
 Who will not bid you hear again. 
 
 Hear what I saw, and why I fled. 
 
 And how I lost and how I won, 
 
 I, who between the quick and dead. 
 
 Once chose corrupkion for my own. 
 
34 POEMS 
 
 I saw, where heaven's arches meet. 
 One stand in awfnlness alone, 
 With folded robe and gleaming feet 
 And eyes that looked not up nor down. 
 It was the archangel, drawing breath 
 To blow for life, to blow for death. 
 The glow and soft reality 
 Of love and life grew cold and grey, 
 And died before the Eternity 
 That compasseth the Judgement day. 
 I said, 'My sin is full and ended' ; 
 While down the garden that we tended, 
 As in a heavy dream, I turned 
 Thro' lilied glades that once were sweet, 
 Trampling the buds that kissed my feet. 
 Until the sword above me burned. 
 My hair was shrivelled to my head. 
 My heart as ashes scorched, and dead 
 As his who ere its beating died. 
 The life imprisoned in my brain 
 Burst to my eyes in throbs of pain. 
 And all their tender springs were dried. 
 For miles and miles the wilds I trod. 
 Drunk with the angry wine of God ; 
 Until the nets of anguish broke. 
 Until the prisoner found release. 
 
 I mused awhile in quietness 
 Upon that strangest liberty : 
 I'hen other fires intolerably 
 Were kindled in me — and I spoke : 
 And so attained the hidden Peace, 
 The land of Wells beyond the fire, 
 The Face of loveliness unmarred. 
 The Consummation of desire. 
 
 vesper-light! night thick-starred! 
 
POEMS 35 
 
 five-fold springs, that upward burst 
 And radiate from Calvary 
 To stay the weary nations^ thirst, 
 And hide a world's impurity! — 
 How one drew near with soiled feet, 
 Through all the Marah overflow. 
 And how the waters were made sweet 
 That night Thou knowest, — only Thou. 
 
 Eepent with me, for judgement waits. 
 Repent with me, for Jesus hung 
 Three hours upon the nails for you. 
 Rise, bid the angels sing anew 
 At every one of Sion's gates 
 The song which then for me they sung. 
 
 39 
 THE ANNUNCIATION 
 
 On the silent ages breaking 
 
 Comes the sweet Annunciation : 
 
 The eternal Ave waking. 
 
 Changes Eva's condemnation. 
 
 How at Nazareth the Archangel 
 Hailed the dear predestined maiden 
 
 Read from out the Great Evangel 
 We, the sin and sorrow-laden. 
 
 For to-day the Church rejoices 
 
 In the angelic salutation, 
 And to-day ten thousand voices 
 
 Hail the Mother of salvation. 
 
36 POEMS 
 
 Hail, amid the shades descending 
 
 Round our humble oratory ! 
 Hail, amid the light unending 
 
 Of the beatific Glory ! 
 
 Hail, in city Galilean 
 
 To the maid of lowly station I 
 
 Hail, in city empyrean 
 To the Queen of all creation! 
 
 Hail, Mother of compassion I 
 Hail, Mother of fair love ! 
 
 Hail, our Lady of the Passion ! 
 Hail beneath and hail above f 
 
 Where she stands, our mother Mary, 
 
 In her human majesty, 
 Nearest to the sanctuary 
 
 Of the awful Trinity. 
 
 May she prove once more a Mother, 
 Plead that He, her dearest Son, 
 
 Who through her became our Brother, 
 Would His sinful brethren own. 
 
 With the Father and the Spirit, 
 Son of Mary, Thee we praise; 
 
 By Thine Incarnation's merit 
 Turn on us a Brother's face! 
 
 Amen. 
 
POEMS 37 
 
 30 
 SISTER DEATH 
 
 My sister Death! I pray thee come to me 
 
 Of thy sweet charity. 
 And be my nurse but for a little while; 
 
 I will indeed lie still, 
 And not detain thee long, when once is spread. 
 
 Beneath the yew, my bed : 
 I will not ask for lilies or for roses ; 
 
 But when the evening closes, 
 Just take from any brook a single knot 
 
 Of pale Forget-me-not, 
 And lay them in my hand, until I wake. 
 
 For his dear sake ; 
 (For should he ever pass and by me stand. 
 
 He yet might understand — ) 
 Then heal the passion and the fever 
 
 With one cool kiss, for ever. 
 
 31 
 
 CAVE OF SOMNUS 
 
 Translation 
 
 jSTear the Cimmerian land, deep-caverned, lies 
 A hollow mount, the home of sluggish Sleep ; 
 Where never ray from morn or evening skies 
 Can enter, but where blackening vapours creep. 
 And doubtful gloom unbroken sway doth keep. 
 
 There never crested bird evokes the dawn, 
 Nor watchful dogs disturb the silence deep, 
 Nor wandering beast, nor forest tempest-torn, 
 Nor harsher sound of human passions born. 
 
38 POEMS 
 
 Mute quiet reigns; — but from the lowest cave 
 
 A spring Lethean rising evermore 
 
 Pours through the murmuring rocks a slumberous \\ 
 
 The plenteous poppy blossoms at the door, 
 
 And countless herbs, of night the drowsy store. 
 
 32 
 
 DIANAE MUNUSCULUM 
 
 After Catullus 
 
 Hear the choir of boy and maid, 
 Mighty child of mightiest Jove, 
 Thou whom royal mother laid 
 In the Delian olive grove — 
 
 That thou mightest be the lady 
 Of all woods that bud in spring, 
 Of all glades remote and shady, 
 Of all rivers echoing. 
 
 Thou wert cradled mid the seas. 
 Guarded was thine infant state 
 With the glistening Cyclades, 
 With the wave inviolate — 
 
 That thou mightest be the warden 
 Of all holy loves and pure, 
 When, as in a fenced garden. 
 Chaste affections bloom secure. 
 
 Hear the choir of boy and maid, 
 Mighty child of mightiest Jove : 
 Take the wreath before thee laid. 
 Take the incense of our love. 
 
P E M S 39 
 
 33 
 ANACREONTIC 
 
 Translation 
 
 Drink, in the glory of youth ; 
 
 love, crowned with roses of summer : 
 So be it only with me 
 
 be mad, be wise as thou listest. 
 
 34 
 
 FROM MARTIAL 
 
 Translation 
 
 In vain you count his virtues up. 
 His soberness commend; 
 
 I like a steady servant, 
 But not a steady friend. 
 
 35 
 
 POPPIES 
 
 Lilies, lilies not for me. 
 Flowers of the pure and saintly- 
 I have seen in holy places 
 Where the incense rises faintly. 
 And the priest the chalice raises, 
 Lilies in the altar vases, 
 Not for me. 
 
40 POEMS 
 
 Leave untouched each garden tree, 
 Kings and queens of flower-land. 
 When the summer evening closes, 
 Lovers may-be hand in hand 
 There will seek for crimson roses. 
 There will bind their wreaths and posies 
 Merrily. 
 
 From the corn-fields where we met 
 Pluck me poppies white and red ; 
 Bind them round my weary brain, 
 Strew them on my narrow bed, 
 Numbing all the ache and pain, — 
 I shall sleep nor wake again. 
 But forget. 
 
 BEYOND 
 
 Beyond the calumny and wrong. 
 Beyond the clamour and the throng. 
 Beyond the praise and triumph-song 
 
 He passed. 
 Beyond the scandal and the doubt. 
 The fear within, the fight without. 
 The turmoil and the battle-shout 
 
 He sleeps. 
 
 The world for him was not so sweet 
 That he should grieve to stay his feet 
 Where youth and manhood's highways meet. 
 And die. 
 
POEMS 41 
 
 For every child a mother's breast, 
 For every bird a guarded nest; 
 For him alone was found no rest 
 But this. 
 
 Beneath the flight of happy hours, 
 Beneath the withering of the flowers 
 In folds of peace more sure than ours 
 
 He lies. 
 A night no glaring dawn shall break, 
 A sleep no cruel voice shall wake. 
 An heritage that none can take 
 
 Are his. 
 
 37 
 
 TO — 
 
 I SAID — 'Tis very late we meet; 
 
 * A guest long since has filled each seat 
 
 ' About my hearth; yet rest 
 ' A little while beside the door ; 
 ^ Although the east shall glow no more, 
 
 * Some light is in the west, 
 
 'And gathers round the wayside inn, 
 
 * Whence all the mountain paths begin : 
 
 ' Pause, ere you onward go, 
 ' And sing, while gazing up the height, 
 
 * The guarded valley of delight 
 
 ' We both have left below.' 
 
 Was it not somewhat thus, my friend ? — 
 But now your rest has reached its end, 
 And upwards yt>u must strive. 
 
4,^ P E MS 
 
 Ah now I thank you that you stayed, 
 That you so royally repaid 
 All that I had to give. 
 
 For the svv^eet temperance of your youth, 
 Unconscious chivalry and truth, 
 
 And simple courtesies; 
 A soul as clear as southern lake. 
 Yet strong as any cliffs that break 
 
 Tlie might of northern seas; 
 
 For these I loved you well, — and yet 
 Could neither you nor I forget, 
 
 But spent we soberly 
 The autumn days, that lay between 
 The skirts of glory that had been, 
 
 Of glory that should be. 
 
 Unlike the month of snowy flowers, 
 Unlike my April's rainbowed showers. 
 
 My consummate July 
 Those autumn days ; and 3^et they wept 
 Tears soft not sad, for all they kept 
 
 Of summer's greenery. 
 
 We loved the tarn with rocky shore, 
 We loved to tread the windy moor, 
 
 And many a berried lane; 
 But most where, swollen with rains and rills, 
 The waters of a hundred hills 
 
 Go hurrying down the plain ; 
 
 Where plenteous apples wax and fall, 
 And stud o'er many a leafy hall 
 The vaults with fiery gems; 
 
POEMS ^-^ 
 
 But often tlirough their golden gleams 
 Flowod-in the river of my dreams, 
 The lilied river Thames. 
 
 Then on another arm 1 leant. 
 
 And then once more with him I went 
 
 Thro' field and wharf and town ; 
 And love caught up the flying hours, 
 And eyes that were not calm as yours 
 
 Were imaged in my own. 
 
 A grave good-bye I bid you now ; 
 ]^ot lightly, but as those who know 
 
 Fair hospitality. 
 loyal heart, be loyal still, 
 And happy, happy where you will, 
 
 x\nd sometimes think of me. 
 
 38 
 PRO CA8TITATE 
 
 Virgin born of Virgin, 
 To Thy shelter take me: 
 
 Purest, holiest Jesu, 
 
 Chaste and holy make me. 
 
 Wisdom, power and beauty, 
 These are not for me ; 
 
 Give me, give me only 
 Perfect Cha&tity. 
 
U POEMS 
 
 By Thy Flagellation, 
 Flesh immaculate — 
 
 By Thine endless glory. 
 Manhood consummate — 
 
 By Thy Mother Mary, 
 By Thine Angel-host, 
 
 By the Monks and Maidens 
 Who have loved Thee most. 
 
 Keep my flesh and spirit, 
 Eyes and ears and speech, 
 
 Taste and touch and feeling. 
 Sanctify them each. 
 
 Through the fiery furnace 
 Walk, Love, beside me; 
 
 In the provocation 
 
 From the tempter hide me. 
 
 When they come about me, 
 Dreams of earthly passion. 
 
 Drive drive them from me. 
 Of Thy sweet compassion: 
 
 For to feed beside Thee 
 With the Virgin choir, 
 
 In the vale of lilies. 
 Is my one desire. 
 
 Not for might and glory 
 
 Do I ask above. 
 Seeking of Thee only 
 
 Love and love and love. 
 
POEMS 45 
 
 39 
 FLOWERS FOR THE ALTAR 
 
 Tell us, tell us, holy shepherds, 
 What at Bethlehem you saw. — 
 
 ' Very God of Very God 
 ' Asleep amid the straw.' 
 
 Tell us, tell us, all ye faithful, 
 
 What this morning came to pass 
 At the awful elevation 
 
 In the Canon of the Mass. — 
 ' Very God of Very God, 
 
 ^ By whom the worlds were made, 
 * In silence and in helplessness 
 
 * Upon the altar laid.' 
 
 Tell us, tell us, wondrous Jesu, 
 What has drawn Thee from above 
 
 To the manger and the altar. — 
 All the silence answers — Love. 
 
 II 
 
 Through the roaring streets of London 
 Thou art passing, hidden Lord, 
 
 Uncreated, Consubstantial, 
 In the seventh heaven adored. 
 
 As of old the ever- Virgin 
 
 Through unconscious Bethlehem 
 
 Bore Thee, not in glad procession, 
 Jewelled robe and diadem; 
 
POEMS 
 
 Not in pomp and not in power. 
 
 Onward to Nativity, 
 Shrined but in the tabernacle 
 
 Of her sweet Virginity. 
 
 Still Thou goest by in silence, 
 Still the world cannot receive. 
 
 Still the poor and weak and weary 
 Only, worship and believe. 
 
 40 
 
 A POEM WITHOUT A NAME 
 
 II 
 
 r pray you this my song to take 
 Not scornfully, for Boyhood's sake; 
 It is the last, until the day 
 When your kind eyes shall hid me say 
 Take, Archie, not of mine hut me. 
 And he mine only Poetry. 
 
 THE PAST 
 
 Methought the sun in terror made his bed, 
 
 The gentle stars in angry lightning fell, 
 
 And shuddering winds thro' all the woodland fled. 
 
 Pulling in every tree a passing bell. 
 
 That night, on all the glory and the grace 
 
 There rolled a numbing mist, and wrapped from sight 
 
 The greening fields of my delightsome land. 
 
 Mildewing every tender bud to blight, — 
 
 x^s the grey change o'er spreads a dying face — 
 
POEMS 47 
 
 Till, corpse-like, stretched beneath a pall of skies. 
 Earth stared at heaven with open sightless eyes; 
 Then in the hush went forth the soul of life, 
 Drawn through the darkness by a gleaming hand : 
 The strength of agony awoke, and strove 
 Awhile for mastery to hold it back. 
 But comet-like, beyond the laws of love, 
 Branding the blackness with a fiery track 
 It passed to space; and, wearied of the strife, 
 In the great after calm, I passed to sleep. 
 
 Did they not call ambrosial the night 
 And holy once? when (from the feet of God 
 Set on the height where circles round and full 
 The rainbow of perfection) starry troops 
 Came floating, aureoled in dreamy light. 
 And gracious dews distilling, as they trod 
 The poppied plains of slumber. — Ah too dull 
 My sense, such visions for my aid to call. 
 My sleep too dry with fever, for the fall 
 Of those strange dews, which quicken withered hopes. 
 
 THE PRESENT 
 
 And yet why strive to syllable my loss 
 In chilly metaphors of night and sleep ? 
 Leap in, Love, Flame divine, yea leap 
 Upon them, shrivel them like paper ; so. 
 In that refining fire, the encircling dross 
 Of words shall melt away; then will I keep, 
 Stored in a silent Treasury I know. 
 The pure reality, that in the spring — 
 The resurrection of all loveliness — 
 For me a star shall pierce the eastern cloud, 
 And western breezes bear the tender rain; 
 For me a crocus flower shall burst its shroud, 
 My Love,, my buried Love, shall rise again. 
 
48 POEMS 
 
 Blow, winds, and make the fields a wilderness ; 
 Eoar, hurrying rivers to the weary sea; 
 Fall, cruel veils of snow, as desolate 
 As human hearts, when passion fires have burnt 
 To greyest ash ; — I shall nor hear nor see. 
 
 Within that Treasure-house of mine I wait, 
 I wait, with Eros glowing at my side ; 
 From him, the mighty artist, I have learned 
 How memories to brushes may be tied ; 
 And tho' I moistened all my paints with tears. 
 Yet on my walls as joyous imagery. 
 With golden hopes inframed, now appears 
 As e'er of old was dreamed to vivify 
 Ionian porticoes, when Greece was young, 
 And wreathed with glancing vine Anacreon sung. 
 Here, on the granite headland he is set. 
 Like Michael in his triumph, and the waves 
 In wild desire have tossed about his feet 
 Their choicest pearls ; — and, here, he softly laves 
 Limbs delicate, where beechen boughs are wet 
 With jewelled drops and all is young and sweet ;- 
 And here, a stranded lily on the beach. 
 My Hylas, coronalled with curly gold, 
 He lies beyond the water^s longing reach 
 Him once again essaying to enfold ; — 
 Here, face uplifted to the twinkling sky 
 He walks, like Agathon the vasth^-loved, 
 Till with the dear Athenian I cry, 
 'My Star of stars, would I might heaven be, 
 Night-long, with many eyes, to gaze on thee !' — 
 And here, like Hyacinthus, as he moved 
 Among the flowers, ere flower-like he sank 
 Too soon to fade on green Eurotas' bank. 
 
 But it is profanation now to speak 
 Of thoughtless Hellene boys, or to compare 
 
POEMS 49 
 
 The majesty and spiritual grace 
 Of that design which consummates the whole. 
 It is himself, as I have watched him, where 
 The mighty organ's great Teutonic soul 
 Passed into him and lightened in his face, 
 And throbbed in every nerve and fired his cheek. 
 
 See, Love, I sing not of thee now alone. 
 But am become a painter all thine own. 
 
 THE FUTURE 
 
 Ah now in truth how shall we, can we meet? 
 Or wilt thou come to me through careless eyes, 
 Loveliest 'mid the unlovely, in the street? 
 Or will thy voice be there, to harmonize 
 The clanging and the clamour, where beneath 
 The panting engines draw their burning breath? 
 Or shall I have to seek thee in a throng 
 Of noble comrades round thee ? — have to pass 
 The low luxurious laugh, or merry song, 
 The piled golden fruit, and flashing glass ? 
 J care not much ; however it may be, 
 Eyes, ears and heart will compass only thee. 
 Yet could I choose, then surely would I fix 
 On that half-light, whose very name is sweet, 
 Tlie gloaming, when the sun and moonbeams mix. 
 And light and darkness on each other rest 
 Like lovers' lips, uncertain, tremulous; 
 And the All-mother's heart is loth to beat 
 And break their union: then, T think, 'twere best 
 To find thee pacing 'neath the sprouting boughs 
 Of lime, alone — for so I saw thee first, 
 When scarce my rose's crimson life had burst 
 In blushes, from its calix to the sun. 
 Alone — throughout my love has been apart; 
 When seen, then misconceived so utterly, 
 
50 POEMS 
 
 I liken it (forgive ttie vanity) 
 
 To those vermilion shades since light begun 
 
 Existing, but which Turner only drew, 
 
 While pointing critics had their little say. 
 
 And all the world cried out, of course they knew 
 
 Much better than the sun, could tell the way 
 
 To colour him and his by proper rules. 
 
 And Claude was great, great, great in all the schools 
 
 As once Ephesian Dian. — Matters it 
 
 To him, or you, or me? While truth is truth. 
 
 And love is love, you'll answer — Not a whit. 
 
 FOR EVER 
 
 Enough, the yearning is unsatisfied, 
 
 Eesolved again into a plea for faith. 
 
 Believe the true elixir is within. 
 
 Although I sought to draw from that full tide 
 
 Some crystal drops of evidence, to win 
 
 A little vapour only — yet believe. 
 
 Believe the essence of a perfect love 
 
 Is there, and worthy. Not a tinge of shame 
 
 My words can colour. Of thine own receive. 
 
 Yes, of thy very being. It shall prove 
 
 Indeed a poem, though without a name. 
 
 41 
 THE SHRINE 
 
 There is a shrine whose golden gate 
 Was opened by the Hand of God ; 
 
 It stands serene, inviolate. 
 
 Though millions have its pavement trod ; 
 
 As fresh, as when the first sunrise 
 
 Awoke the lark in Paradise. 
 
POEMS 51 
 
 'Tis compassed with the dust and toil 
 Of common days, yet should there fall 
 
 A single speck, a single soil 
 
 Fpon the whiteness of its wall. 
 
 The angels' tears in tender rain 
 
 Would make the temple theirs again. 
 
 Without, the world is tired and old, 
 But, once within the enchanted door. 
 
 The mists of time are backward rolled. 
 And creeds and ages are no more; 
 
 But all the human-hearted meet 
 
 In one communion vast and sweet 
 
 I enter — all is simply fair, 
 
 Xor incense-clouds, nor carven throne; 
 But in the fragrant morning air 
 
 A gentle lady sits alone; 
 My mother — ah ! whom should I see 
 Within, save ever only thee? 
 
 42 
 
 (1) 
 
 One night I dreamt that in a gleaming hall 
 You played, and overhead the air was sweet 
 With waving kerchiefs ; then a sudden fall 
 Of flowers; and jewels clashed about your feet. 
 Around you glittering forms, a starry ring. 
 In echo sang of youth and golden ease : 
 You leant to me a moment, crying — 'Sing, 
 'If, as you say, you love me, sing with these/ — 
 
52 POEMS 
 
 In vain my lips were opened, for my throat 
 Was choked somewhence, my tongue was sore and dry. 
 And in my soul alone the answering note ; 
 Till, in a piercing discord, one shrill cry, 
 As of a hunted creature, from me broke. 
 You laughed, and in great bitterness I woke. 
 
 (8) 
 
 I THANK thee. Love, that thou hast overthrown 
 The tyranny of Self ; I would not now 
 Even in desire, possess thee mine alone 
 In land-locked anchorage : nay rather go, 
 Eide the high seas, the fruitless human seas. 
 Where white-winged ships are set for barren shores. 
 Though freighted all, those lovely argosies. 
 And laden with a wealth of rarest stores. 
 
 Go, draw them after thee, and lead them on 
 With thine own music, to the ideal west. 
 Where, in the youth of ages, vaguely shone 
 The term of all, the Islands of the Blest. 
 
 I too dare steer, for once-loved haven's sake. 
 My tiny skiff along thy glorious wake. 
 
 (8) 
 
 A BOYISH friendship ! No, respond the chimes. 
 The years of chimes fulfilled since we parted. 
 Since 'au revoir' you said among the limes. 
 And passed away in silence tender-hearted. 
 I hold it cleared by time that not of heat. 
 Or sudden passion my great Love was bom : 
 I hold that years the calumny defeat 
 That it would fade as freshness off the morn. 
 
 That it was fathered not by mean desire 
 Of eye and ear, doth cruel distance prove. — 
 
POEMS 
 
 My life is cleft to steps that lift it higher, 
 And with my growing manhood grows my Love. 
 
 Then come and tread the fruits of disconnection 
 To the sweet vintage of yonr own perfection. 
 
 (4) 
 
 COME, my king, and fill the palaces 
 
 Where sceptred Loss too long hath held her state. 
 With courts of Joyaunce, and a laughing breeze 
 Of voices. — If thou wiliest, come; — I wait 
 Unquestioning, no servant, but thy slave. 
 
 1 plead no merit, and no claim for wages. 
 Not that sweet favour which my sovereign gave 
 In other days, of his own grace : but pages 
 
 Are privileged to linger at the door 
 With longing eyes, while nobles kiss the hand 
 Of him the noblest, though elect no more 
 To touch the train, or at the throne to stand. 
 
 But come, content me with the lowest place. 
 So be it that I see thy royal face. 
 
 43 
 
 DUM AQONIZATUR ANIMA, ORENT 
 
 ASSISTENTES 
 
 Think, hind Jesu, my salvation 
 Caused Thy wondrous Incarnation, 
 Leave me not to reprobation. 
 
 Faint and weary Thou hast sought me. 
 On the Cross of anguish bought me; 
 Shall such grace be vainly brought mef 
 
 Behold me will-less, witless in the night; 
 With hands that feel the illimitable dark 
 
54 POEMS 
 
 1 walk, untouched, untouching; every face 
 
 Is senseless as a mask, save when I cry 
 
 '0 little children turn away your eyes.' — 
 
 This for the day; but when the hush is spread 
 
 Wherein Thou givest Thy beloved sleep, 
 
 I call Thee to my witness — though I sin, 
 
 I suffer : I confess, do all we can 
 
 Thou art not mocked, nor dost Thou mock at us. 
 
 Who laughs to scorn the anger of a babe ? 
 
 Or who despises infants, if they play 
 
 At building houses ? so we storm and toil, 
 
 And squander all our passion and our thought. 
 
 And Thou regardest not; for on us lies 
 
 The weight of everlasting nothingness. 
 
 War with the angels ; neither war nor peace 
 
 With us, who flutter willing to our doom. 
 
 And need no sword to drive from Paradise. 
 
 See, I believe more fully than the Saint 
 
 Who trod the waters in the might of love. 
 
 See, I believe, and own him for the fool 
 
 Who saith 'there is no God', and therefore sins. 
 
 Believe — what profit in it ? I have loved : — 
 
 Ay, once I strained and stretched thro' haze of doubt. 
 
 If haply I might catch with passionate hand 
 
 The garment-hem of Thee : I half believed. 
 
 But wholly loved; once (Thou rememberest) prayed, 
 
 'I love Thee, love Thee ; only give me light. 
 
 And I will follow Thee where'er Thou goest.' 
 
 *I will' I said and knew not; now I know 
 
 And will not, cannot will. 
 
 What ? Is a way cleft thro' the stony floors. 
 And dost Thou stand Thyself above the stair. 
 In Thine old sweetness and benignity. 
 Spreading Thy wounded hands, and saying 'Son, 
 
POEMS 55 
 
 Thou sinnest, I have suffered. Mount and see 
 The fulness of my Passion : though these steps 
 Be hard to flesh and blood, remember this. 
 That along all intolerable paths 
 The benediction of my feet hath passed. 
 
 To gentleness so inexpressible, 
 
 To love so far beyond imagining 
 
 I answer not ; but in my soul fill up 
 
 The faint conception of the artist monk. 
 
 Who soared with Paul into the seventh heaven, 
 
 But could not paint the anger of the Lamb. 
 
 I seem to lie for ever in some porch. 
 
 While down the nave there creeps the awful dir^ 
 
 And writhes about the pillars — whispering 
 
 The uttermost extremity of man: 
 
 Till the low music ceases ; and a scream 
 
 Breaks shuddering from the choir, *Let me not 
 
 Be burnt in fires undying.' * * * 
 
 And some are there unscathed of flame or sword. 
 
 Yet on their brows the seal of suffering. 
 
 And in their hands the rose of martyrdom, 
 
 (Have pity upon me, ye that were my friends) 
 
 With arms about each other, — aureoles 
 
 That mingle into one triumphant star ; 
 
 A fount of wonder in their pensive eyes. 
 
 Sprung from the thought that pain is consummate 
 
 'To him that overcometh' — half forgotten 
 
 The victory, so long the battle was. 
 
 Begun when manhood was a thing to be: 
 
 Not as they send the boyish sailor out, 
 
 A father's lingering hand amid his hair, 
 
 A mother's kisses warm upon his cheek. 
 
56 POEMS 
 
 And in his heart the unspoken consciousness 
 That though upon his grave no gentle fingers 
 Shall set the crocus, yet in the old home 
 There shall be aye a murmur of the sea, 
 A fair remembrance and a tender pride. 
 Not so for these the dawn of battle rose. 
 
 So one by one the knights were panoplied. 
 
 But now they enter in where never voice 
 
 Of clamorous Babylon shall vex them more, 
 
 To Syon the undivided, to the peace. 
 
 The given peace earth neither makes nor mars, 
 
 Beyond the angels, and the angels' Queen, 
 
 Beyond the avenues of saints, where rests. 
 
 Deep in the Beatifical Idea, 
 
 The sum of peace, the Human Heart of God. 
 
 * * * * 4e * * 
 
 Ah ! whose is that red rose that only lies 
 Unclaimed * * 
 
 Five knots of snowdrops on the garden bank 
 Beneath the hill — how satisfied they seem 
 Against the barren hedge, wherein by this 
 The pleasant saps and Juices are astir 
 To work the greening snowdrops do not see. 
 I leaning from my window am in doubt 
 If summer brings a flower so loveable, 
 Of such a meditative restfulness 
 As this, with all her roses and carnations. 
 The morning hardly stirs their noiseless bells ; 
 Yet could I fancy that they whispered 'Home', 
 
POEMS 57 
 
 For all things gentle all things beautiful 
 I hold, my mother, for a part of thee. 
 
 ******* 
 
 As watered grass beyond the glaring street, 
 
 As drop of evening on a fighting field. 
 
 As convent bells that chime for complin-tide 
 
 Heard in the gas-light of the theatre. 
 
 So unto me the image of a face, 
 
 A certain face that all the angels know. 
 
 ******* 
 
 Bright are the diadems of all pure loves. 
 But none so bright as that whereon are set 
 The mingled names of Father and of Mother. 
 Dear are tnie friends, and sweet is gratitude 
 For grateful deeds; but what the sum of all 
 To that perennial love we hardly thank 
 More than the sun for shining while 'tis day. 
 Or at the dusk the cheerful candlelight? 
 
 How wholly fair is all without my soul. 
 The evershifting lights upon the hills, 
 The eastern flush upon the beechen stems, 
 And the green network of ascending paths 
 Wherein again the spring shall bid us ride. 
 With all the blood aglow along our veins, 
 And every mountain be '^delectable'. 
 And every plain a pleasant land of Beulah. 
 
 Suppose it but a fancy that it groaned, 
 This dear creation, — rather let it sing 
 In an exuberance and excess of gladness. 
 
 Suppose a kindly mother-influence. 
 
58 POEMS 
 
 And sin alone a transitory fever, 
 For which in some mysterious Avilon 
 Beyond the years, some consummate Hereafter, 
 A fount of healing springs for all alike. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 No, Love ! Love ! Love ! Thou knowest that I cannot, 
 I cannot live without Thee. Yet this way — 
 Is there no other road to Calvary 
 Than the one way of sorrows? * * 
 
 ******* 
 
 1 thought I lay at home and watched the glow 
 The ruddy fire-light cast about my bed; 
 Upon me undefinable the sense 
 Of something dreadful, till I slept and dreamed. 
 
 The Dream. 
 
 I stood amid the lights that never die. 
 The only stars the dawning passes by. 
 Beneath the whisper of the central dome 
 That holds and hides the mystic heart of Rome. 
 
 But in mine eyes the light of other times. 
 And in mine ears the sound of English chimes ; 
 I smelled again the freshness of the mom, 
 The primal incense of the daisied lawn. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 4t * * * 
 
 * * * I said 
 'And have I come so very far indeed?' 
 
 The everlasting murmur echoes Tar 
 As from green earth is set the furthest star 
 Men have not named. A journey none retrace 
 Is thine, and steps the seas could not efface.' 
 
POEMS 59 
 
 *How cold and pitiless is the voice of Truth/ 
 I cried ; 'Ah ! who will give me my lost youth ? 
 Ah ! who restore the years the locust ate, 
 Hard to remember, harder to forget?' 
 
 A multitude of voices sweet and grave, 
 A long procession up the sounding nave. 
 
 *The Lion of the tribe of Judah, He 
 Has conquered, but in Wounds and Agony. 
 The ensign of His triumph is the Rood, 
 His royal robe is purple, but with Blood. 
 
 And we who follow in His Martyr-train 
 Have access only thro' the courts of pain. 
 Yet on the Via dolorosa He 
 Precedes us in His sweet humanity. 
 
 A Man shall be a covert from the heat. 
 Whereon in vain the sandy noon shall beat: 
 A Man shall be a perfect summer sun. 
 When all the western lights are paled and gone. 
 
 A Man shall be a Father, Brother, Spouse, 
 A land, a city and perpetual House : 
 A Man shall lift us to the Angels' shore : 
 A Man shall be our Grod for evermore.' 
 
 Christ, God, or rather Jesu, it is true. 
 True the old story of Gethsemane. 
 Remember then the unfathomed agony 
 That touched upon the caverns of despair. 
 Whence never diver hath regain'd the sun. — 
 
60 POEMS 
 
 Thou knowest, but I know not; save me then 
 From beating the impenetrable rock. 
 By that Thine hour -of weakness be my Strength, 
 And I will follow Thee where'er Thou goest. 
 
 44 
 A SONG OF EIGHTEEN 
 
 Strain them, winds, the sails of the years, 
 
 Outspread on the mystic sea; 
 Faster and faster, for laughter or tears, 
 
 bear my story to me ! 
 Waft it, Love, on thy purple wings. 
 
 The dawn is breaking to pass : 
 Strike it, Life, from thy deeper strings. 
 
 And drown the music that was. 
 
 Yet lovely the tremulous haze 
 That curtained the dreamful afar, 
 Thro' the which some face, like a star, 
 AYould lighten, too sudden for praise. 
 And white were our loves on their way 
 As mom on the hills of the south; 
 The kisses that rounded their mouth 
 As fresh as the grasses in May. 
 They passed ; but the silvery pain 
 Of our tears was easily told, — 
 For the day but an hour was old. 
 At noon we should meet them again. 
 Weary am I of ideal and of mist. 
 
 The shroud of life that is dead ; — 
 And, as the passionate sculptor who kissed 
 
 The lips of marble to red. 
 
POEMS 61 
 
 Ask 1 a breath that is part of my own, 
 
 Yet drawn from a sonl more sweet;- — 
 Or, as the shaft that upsoareth alone 
 
 Undiademed, incomplete, 
 Claim I the glory predestined to me 
 
 In the Mother Builder's will. 
 Portion and place in the Temple to be 
 
 Till the age her times fulfil. 
 
 45 
 LAST WORDS 
 From the Italian 
 
 I, LIVING^ drew thee from the vale 
 Parnassus' height to climb with me. 
 
 I, dying, bid thee turn, and scale 
 Alone the hill of Calvary. 
 
 46 
 A SONG 
 
 The world is young today: 
 Forget the gods are old, 
 Forget the 3'ears of gold 
 
 When all the months were May. 
 
 A little flower of Love 
 Is ours, without a root, 
 Without the end of fruit. 
 
 Yet — take the scent thereof. 
 
 There may be hope above. 
 There may be rest beneath ; 
 We see them not, but Death 
 
 Is palpable — and Love. 
 
63 POEMS 
 
 47 
 ENOUGH 
 
 When all my words were said. 
 When all my songs were sung, 
 I thought to pass among 
 
 The unforgotten dead, 
 
 A Queen of ruth to reign 
 
 With her, who gathereth tears 
 From all the lands and years. 
 
 The Lesbian maid of pain; 
 
 That lovers, when they wove. 
 The double myrtle-wreath. 
 Should sigh with mingled breath 
 
 Beneath the wings of Love : 
 
 *How piteous were her wrongs. 
 Her words were falling dew, 
 All pleasant verse she knew. 
 
 But not the Song of songs/ 
 
 Yet now, Love, that you 
 Have kissed my forehead, I 
 Have sung indeed, can die. 
 
 And be forgotten too. 
 
 48 
 
 O, a moon face 
 
 In a shadowy place. 
 
 Lean over me — ah so, — let fall 
 About my face and neck the shroud 
 That thrills me as a thunder-cloud 
 
 Full of strange lights, electrical. 
 
POEMS 63 
 
 Sweet moon, with pain and passion wan, 
 
 Eain from thy loneliness of light 
 
 The primal kisses of the night 
 Upon a new Endymion ; 
 
 The boy who, wrapped from moil and moan, 
 With cheeks for ever round and fair. 
 Is dreaming of the nights that were 
 
 When lips immortal touched his own. 
 
 I marked an old man yesterday. 
 
 His body many-fingered grief 
 
 Distorted as a frozen leaf ; 
 He fell, and cursed the rosy way. 
 
 better than a century 
 
 Of heavy years that trail the feet. 
 
 More full of being, more complete 
 A stroke of time with youth and thee. 
 
 49 
 
 HE WOULD HAVE HIS LADY SING 
 
 Sing me the men ere this 
 Who, to the gate that is 
 A cloven pearl uprapt. 
 The big white bars between 
 With dying eyes have seen 
 The sea of jasper, lapt 
 About with crystal sheen ; 
 
 And all the far pleasance 
 Where linked Angels dance. 
 With scarlet wings that fall 
 
64 POEMS 
 
 Magnifical, or spread 
 Most sweetly over-head. 
 In fashion musical. 
 Of cadenced lutes instead. 
 
 Sing me the town they saw 
 Withouten fleck or flaw. 
 Aflame, more fine than glass 
 Of fair Abbayes the boast, 
 More glad than wax of cost 
 Doth make at Candlemas 
 The Lifting of the Host: 
 
 Where many Knights and Dames, 
 
 With new and wondrous names, 
 
 One great Laudate Psalm 
 
 Go singing down the street; — 
 
 Tis peace upon their feet, 
 
 In hand 'tis pilgrim palm 
 
 Of Goddes Land so sweet: — 
 
 Where Mother Mary walks 
 In silver lily stalks. 
 Star-tired, moon-bedight ; 
 Where Cecily is seen. 
 With Dorothy in green. 
 And Magdalen all white. 
 The maidens of the Queen. 
 
 Sing on — the Steps untrod, 
 The Temple that is God, 
 Where incense doth ascend, 
 Where mount the cries and tears 
 Of all the dolorous years. 
 With moan that ladies send 
 Of durance and sore fears r — 
 
POEMS 65 
 
 And Him who sitteth there. 
 The Christ of purple hair. 
 And great eyes deep with ruth, 
 Who is of all things fair 
 That shall be, or that were, 
 The sum, and very truth. 
 Then add a little prayer, 
 
 That since all these be so, 
 Our Liege, who doth us know, 
 Would fend from Sathanas, 
 And bring us, of His grace, 
 To that His joyous place : 
 So we the Doom may pass. 
 And see Him in the Face. 
 
 50 
 
 CORE 
 
 Where in dawnward Sicily 
 Gentle rivers wed the sea. 
 Bitter life was given me. 
 
 Gods that are most desolate 
 For their loveliness and state 
 Being made the mock of fate. 
 
 Mingling wine with ruddy fire 
 And the passion of the lyre, 
 Filled my veins with all desire. 
 
 Twain the robes they fashioned me, 
 Dainty, delicate to see, 
 Girt about with mockery : 
 
e6 POEMS 
 
 Dowers twain for me they planned, 
 Holding in their other hand 
 All my times, an hour's sand ; — 
 
 Love, the mystic rose of life. 
 Grafted with a sanguine knife 
 On the thorns of sin and strife; 
 
 Poetry, the hand that wrings 
 (Bruised albeit at the strings) 
 Music from the soul of things. 
 
 But to either gift a mate 
 
 Added they in subtle hate — 
 
 This the trick they learned of Fate;- 
 
 Shame, to draw the tender blood 
 From the palm of maidenhood, 
 Leaving it a yellow rod ; 
 
 Weariness of all that is, 
 Tired sorrow, tired bliss, — 
 Nothing is more sore than this. 
 
 Therefore turn thy eyes on me, 
 Thou Praise of Sicily, 
 Honey-sweet Persephone, 
 
 Who, beyond all ban and bale. 
 With supreme compassion pale, 
 Spreadest quiet for a veil. 
 
 In the soft Catanian hills. 
 Gleaming by the gleaming rills 
 Yet are blown thy daffodils; 
 
POEMS 67 
 
 See, I bear them as is meet. 
 Lay them on thy pallid feet. 
 Where in marble thou art sweet. 
 
 Hear the story of my wrong. 
 Thou to whom all perished song 
 And departed loves belong. 
 
 Even as the maiden grass, 
 Recreating all that pass. 
 Mine exceeding beauty was. 
 
 Men, who heard me singing, said 
 'Bays are heavy on thy head; 
 *Take a myrtle leaf instead'. 
 
 *How shall Eros' call be still'— 
 Ever answered I — 'until 
 'Anteros the song fulfil?' 
 
 Once at vesper-tide I sat 
 In a bower of pomegranate. 
 Where it was my use to wait, 
 
 Till the hour of phantasies 
 Bade my soul's desire arise 
 Veiled, against the blinded skies : 
 
 But unveiled he came to me. 
 With the passion of the sea. 
 That night, by the scarlet tree. 
 
 Lightly from the boat he leapt; 
 Snowy surge the shingle swept; 
 Whiter were his feet that stepped 
 
68 POEMS 
 
 Up tlie jewelled beach; — and on 
 As a pillared flame he shone. 
 Clear, and glad to look upon. 
 
 Was he one whom years alloy. 
 Or the god of ageless joy, 
 Dionysos, or a boy? 
 
 Never was such hair, I wist, 
 
 Lighted as a water-mist. 
 
 In the noons of amethyst; — 
 
 Eyes, of colour only seen 
 
 Where the far waves' palest green 
 
 Faints into the azure sheen. 
 
 There his eyes were full on me 
 With the passion of the sea. 
 That night, by the scarlet tree. 
 
 ' Lily of the amber west, 
 ^ Whither over ocean's breast 
 ' Suns and heroes drop to rest, 
 
 ' From the morning lands I come, 
 
 ' Laughing through the laughing foam, 
 
 ^ Seeking Love in Vesper's home. 
 
 ^ Sudden as the falling star, 
 ' Winged as the victor car, 
 
 * Nears the doom to blight and mar. 
 
 * Full desire, and faint delight, 
 
 ' Words that leap, and lips that bite 
 ' With the panther lithe and light, — 
 
POEMS 69 
 
 ' These — whiJe bJushes bud and blow, 
 
 * While life's purple torrents flow — 
 
 * If we know not, shall we know? 
 
 * Are they hid beyond the hours ? 
 
 * Shall they feed on lotus-flowers ? 
 ' Warm us in the sunless bowers ? 
 
 * Thou art beautiful, and I 
 
 ' Beautiful ; I know not why, 
 ' Save to love before we die.' 
 
 But a day — a year is sped 
 
 Since these words were sung or said, 
 
 Since he loved me — he is dead. 
 
 51 
 
 Far above the shaken trees, 
 In the pale blue palaces. 
 Laugh the high gods at their ease : 
 We with tossed incense woo them. 
 We witli all abasement sue them, 
 But shall never climb unto them. 
 Nor see their faces. 
 
 Sweet my sister, Queen of Hades, 
 Where the quiet and the shade is, 
 Of the cruel deathless ladies 
 Thou art pitiful alone. 
 Unto thee I make my moan. 
 Who the ways of earth hast known 
 And her green places. 
 
70 POEMS 
 
 Feed me with thy lotus-flowers. 
 Lay me in thy sunless bowers. 
 Whither shall the heavy hours 
 Never trail their hated feet, 
 Making bitter all things sweet; 
 Nevermore shall creep to meet 
 The perished dead. 
 
 There mid shades innumerable. 
 There in meads of asphodel. 
 Sleeping ever, sleeping well. 
 They who toiled and who aspired. 
 They, the lovely and desired. 
 With the nations of the tired 
 Have made their bed. 
 
 There is neither fast nor feast. 
 None is greatest, none is least ; 
 Times and orders all have ceased. 
 There the bay-leaf is not seen ; 
 Clean is foul and foul is clean; 
 Shame and glory, these have been 
 But shall not be. 
 
 When we pass away in fire. 
 What is found beyond the pyre ? 
 Sleep, the end of all desire. 
 Lo, for this the heroes fought ; 
 This the gem the merchant bought. 
 This the seal of laboured thought 
 And subtilty. 
 
POEMS n 
 
 52 
 
 S{C ^ ^ n^ H* *f* V 
 
 Unto the central height of purple Eome, — 
 
 The crown of martyrdom. 
 Set as a heart within the passionate plain 
 
 Of triumph and of pain. 
 Where common roses in their blow and bud 
 
 Speak empire and show blood — 
 From colourless flowers and from breasts that burn. 
 
 Mother ! to thee we turn. 
 The phantom light before thee flees and faints, 
 
 City of the Saints! 
 In whom, with palms and wounds, there tarrieth 
 
 The unconquerable faith; 
 Where, as on Carmel, our Elijah stands 
 
 Above the faithless lands ; 
 But conscious of earth's evening, not of them. 
 
 Lifts toward Jerusalem, 
 Where is the altar of High Sacrifice, 
 
 His full prophetic eyes. , . . 
 
 53 
 
 Methought, through many years and lands, 
 
 I sped along an arrowy flood. 
 That leapt and lapt my face and hands, 
 
 I knew not were it fire or blood. 
 
 I saw no sun in any place ; 
 
 A ghastly glow about me spread. 
 Unlike the light of nights and days. 
 
 From out the depth where writhe the dead. 
 
72 POEMS 
 
 1 passed — their fleshless arms uprose 
 To draw me to the depths beneath : 
 
 My eyes forgot the power to close. 
 As other men's, in sleep or death. 
 
 I saw the end of every sin ; 
 
 I weighed the profit and the cost ; 
 I felt Eternity begin. 
 
 And all the ages of the lost. 
 
 The Crucifix was on my breast; 
 
 I pressed the nails against my side ; 
 And unto Him, Who knew no rest 
 
 For thirty years, I turned and cried : 
 
 'Sweet Lord ! I say not, give me ease ; 
 
 Do what Thou wilt. Thou doest good ; 
 And all Thy saints went up to peace. 
 
 In crowns of fire or robes of blood.' 
 
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