PS 3501 H Y L A S And Other Poems Edwin Preston Dargan Class Book AilUil Copyright }J"___Z:^^ COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT H YIv A S AND OTHER POEMS EDWIN PRESTON DARGAN BOSTON RICHARD G. BADGER THE GORHAM PRESS 19IO Copyright 1909 by Edwin P. Dargan All Rights Reserved The Gorham Press, Boston, U. S. A GLA2533G7 DEDICATION A celle dont la voix ravine falUgresse, A celle dont la main sail efleurer le coeur Sans blesser, pour guerir; a la chere Princesse Lointaine de fAzur, du Reves, du bonheur! CONTENTS Hylas: An Elegy. ,..,....., 9 Lyrics IVings of Sunset 19 There is a Garden 21 A Friend 23 Out of the Past 24 ^'Siint Lachrymae Rerum'^ 25 Paragot to Joanna 26 Lindor to Enriqueta 28 Pellegrini D' A more. 29 A Day of Love 30 Schweigen Im Walde 31 Meditations. Whom the Gods Love 35 A Blind Man Speaks 36 Ocean 37 In the Ragged Mountains 39 Hoc Exiguum 42 A Creed 43 Weltgeist 44 Sonnets Keats 51 Landor 52 '' Sonnets From the Portugese^' 53 Morning Glories 54 5 CONTENTS Violets 55 Roses 56 *'A Alonhenfs Ornament^' 57 Rosemary for Remembrance 58 A I Amor Dei Lumhre 59 Dream of a Tryst 60 Finis 61 Lux Oceano 62 Alone 64 To a Portrait by Shannon 65 ''The Golden Rose'' 66 A Singer at a Matinee 67 Casaiibon to Dorothea 68 Nebulous 69 HYLAS: AN ELEGY *^For, sparing of his sacred strength, not often Among lis darkling here the lord of light Makes manifest his music and his might In hearts that open and in lips that soften With the soft flame and heat of songs that shine. Thy lips indeed he touched with bitter wine, And nourished them indeed with bitter bread; Yet surely from his hand thy soul's food came^ The fire that scarred thy spirit at his flame Was lighted, and thine hungering heart he fed Who feeds our hearts zvith fame/' HYLAS: AN ELEGY {In Memory of Algernon Charles Swinburne ^ died April lo, 1909.) Thy winds have walled it and thy seas have borne The throbbing word : our latest minstrel leaves His jewel-isle whose lone Urania grieves. Thy winds have wailed it and thy seas shall mourn ! The monarchs are no more — as thou hast willed; And England's robe is torn By desperate hands, her heart has turned and thrilled, Her lordliest lion dies, the race of lions is ful- filled. That dark and lovely crypt spreads not her gates For one whose brows no ruler's laurel crowned ; Scorner of laws and kingdoms, no set ground Hallowed by all thy brethren supplicates Thy dust; no boyhood's angel-seeming choir For one who fronted Fates, Singer of Hertha and stark Life's desire. No wreaths save those of Proserpine, no re- quiem but a lyre ! 9 Nay, they have found an ampler place for thee, Where hollows of great billows in each fold Take sunset-robes of laminated gold. Thy fathers' church-yard and thy Mother- Sea Shall give their child an airier sweeter rest. If any rest may be For feet that trod the mad eternal quest. For him who once hath known that luring Cytherean breast. Thou canst not rest ! Thou canst not sink and share Earth's random immortality, be a bed For flowers that nodding seawards o'er thy head Make thee to yearn and stir; for men de- clare Thy churchyard swiftly crumbles to the wave, Thy leaping heart shall fare Forth to remembered tempests; and thy grave Shall shudder from thee. Who shall uplift thee then, and who shall save? lO Around thee silver tresses oi the storm Weave perilous spells, and thou shalt be the joy . 1 1 J Of lithe and twining naiads that decoy To the hush'd halls below; as once the warm , >» •, j Dark Ephydatia and the April-eyed Nycheia stole the form Whose bending beauty they had well des- Above the pale stream's edge, full-mooned, while Mysian shepherds cried : "O Hylas, Hylas, Hylas!" Then the Chi an Cliifs were dismayed with wrath ot IrLer- akles And ArgJ's men on farther toiling seas Heard their lost hero call, a stricken lion, -O Hylas, Hylas!", in the sad night, alone. And now what nymphs of Dian Shall greet their coming lord, while the slow tone i i „ Of grave winds' diapason wakes the loves that thou hast known? II 0*er brightest waves their gleaming net Is spread — Fellse and Fragoletta and Faustlne — The newer darlings, mutable of mien, Our fear, our vision ! Back from the ban- ished dead Come Mary, queen, and Sappho who had burned To clasp so dear a head; Behold thy panther-mistress, whose body turned Shark-wise and leapt upon thee for the prey she took and spumed! Comes Messalina In her gilded shame, And all the queens of quivering honeyed breath, Planting red love upon the lips of Death. Fair names and strange we know, but not the Name Compact of precious hope and tremulous woe That ravish and reclaim ! — Heard only when our chosen star hangs low, Breathed only when our aching arms yearn for the sunset-glow. 12 Through bright and bitter waves they bear thee on — Sad hard Dolores and wan, Proserpine, Tin speeds a maid whose argent shoulders shine And lift thee nearer holiest Avalon. This Is the glitter of flashing limbs that dart From lofty Calydon ! This Is thine Atalanta, pure of heart, Who quells the darker passionate hordes and leads thee far apart. O dazzling ramparts broldered by the wave! O radiant saintly City of the Sun ! O Avalon, blest Isle ! Since time begun Here Is the bourne our vaster longings crave ; Here farthest Deity calls out, "Aspire!" And chosen spirits lave Their crimes by splendors of performed desire, A Paradise for those alone whose souls have stormed the fire ! 13 The ramparts gird about an Ivory Tower, Around which slowly climbs a spiral stair Trodden by panting heroes that upbear To cloudy heights, to chasm, throne or bower Lamps of undying flames that soar and scorch — A Pentecost of power ! Whether from maiden shrine or Stoic porch Above some unknown burning God draws and inspires the torch. I see thy brothers of the olden faith, The beauty-blest, the martyrs then as now. Each haunted poet on whose pallid brow The Tongue descended; cloud-clad as a wraith Great Hugo hurls the thunderbolts of yore, And child-like Shelley saith : "Ah, leave me, Tennyson, I can no more! Hylas, take up the torch which once my Adonais bore." H For here thy living fingers seized a brand Lit by mad Villon in a dungeon's gloom Long since. As once o'er kindling heather and broom Swift runners sped their flame from hand to hand, This shalt thou grasp and sweep aloft, till pain Of failing arms demand Proud Landor and Mazzini to sustain, And ravening vikings that proclaim Equali- ty's slow reign. Alas, I cannot sing their Freedom's song! I cannot cherish all their brotherhood : For ever in Time's widening courts the good Of all is pleaded by a few; the wrong Of multitudes bedims the golden right. And shall the blinded throng Of tame democracy bear down and blight To dull unloveliness the chosen children of the light? IK Yet with this hope I leave thee — there shall spring, Even while the kindred of our Hylas mourn, A bearer for the torch that must be borne, A wiser lover, strong to work and sing ! And startled cities from mean sleep arise To praise the poet, king. Enchanter, whose white wand shall hu- manize Dear Beauty, child of God, our waiting sister of the skies. 16 LYRICS WINGS OF SUNSET O jewel-star, deriding all desire, Deride not mine ! Instil In me the golden guarding fire That twines a shrine — And press from me the hot praise flaming higher Of vine and wine ! Or else, so nobly lonely In thy birth, Clear evening star, Imbue In me the mellow dewy mirth That bore me far, Then when my heart had felt no mould of earth, Nor knew a scar. Out from the radiant flame that redly gems The waste of air, Two crimson pageants wave, that sorrow stems Or still despair; And these were kings adorned with diadems, And those were fair ! Two foremost shapes that seem the same to me Uplift their hands. Two voices name the throbbing Name to me That breaks and brands All alien loves that laughing came to me In alien lands. 19 The frailer figure spoke, a shattered rose, And stained with rain : *'My name is Abnegation; men my foes My wit disdain; They hasten where my taller comrade goes — My master, Pain." The sun forsakes the phantoms as they hover Adown the sky. The swift rain smites them never to recover — The Gleams that die ! A cold blast lashes every wishful lover, He knows not why. Before they go the kings have sworn together Beyond return, No reborn love shall laugh in April weather, Howe'er we yearn — No ashes shall revive their whitened feather Within the urn. They pass, they vanish into realms of Doubt, Save where there flows Some vapor streamer floating round about; As once there rose Excalibur, that carved a kingdom out, Ere knighthood's close. 20 "THERE IS A GARDEN" There is a garden by the summer sea, Where roses riot all the livelong year, Where vivid suns retint incessantly Crimson and green regalias, fresh or sere. Set in the burning storied South of old, There is a garden on this Coast of Gold! Stark aloes rise and glistening palms that spring And spread their tops exultant; and I know Where scent-packed feathery mimosas cling To passionate oleander-buds aglow. Where dust-clad leaves droop from the olive- tree. There is a garden by the summer sea. The terraces and marble balustrades. The pebbled walks, the bowers cool and soft Are made for dreaming; and the stealing shades. The night-winds and the fierce mistral how oft Have found me yonder where I long to be — There is a garden by the summer sea ! Beyond the wall the azure waters lie, Held by the azure hills. The Esterelles Faint in the sapphire of a cloudless sky; And one white boat, a fleeting swallow, tells Of happy song and vision — Italy! There is a garden by the summer sea. 2X But when the moonlight seeks the Coast of Gold And drives a quivering ruddy serpent's trail Within the ripples — when the wind grows cold, Comes to the garden one who shall not fail, Black-robed, in witching dance, alert and free ! . . . There is a garden by the summer sea. Oh, let my words blow with the breezes there, And let her shielding pinions close enfold Warm Memory's body from this wintry air! There is a garden on the Coast of Gold, Hinting of heaven — there is a place for me — There is a garden by the summer sea ! 22 A FRIEND He who'll accuse me, Fairly abuse me, Make me or mend — Prosper and drink with me. Close eyes and sink with me. That is a friend. Knowing my failing, Spite of my railing Never to bend ; Loving the best of me, Nursing the rest of me: That is a friend. He who will share with me. Fare with me, bear with me, Up to the end ; Willing to lie for me. All to defy for me, Asking to die for me — That is my friend! 23 OUT OF THE PAST I know a song whose words are made of tears, Shadowy, solemn, sweet; Borne from the glory of the golden years Whose tale is now complete. I know a voice that fills me with its sadness. So mournfully it seems Unceasingly to wake the buried madness Of long-forgotten dreams. I know a soul which shares with that of mine The pain of darksome ways. Which craves and crowns the vanished joy di- vine Of happier, saintlier days. O voice of sympathy, O song of sorrow, O brave enduring soul, Somewhere before us in the mystic morrow A faith shall make us whole. 24 "SUNT LACHRYMAE RERUM . . ." You sang, and the words were rounded pearls — You ceased, and the night was lead. The dark crawled in. The Moment was Captured and smothered and dead. Oh, melody ! Is there a farthest star To hold the tears where the wonders are? "Immortal, I bide my Judgment Bar," The perishing Moment said. We kissed, and that was the soonest done. And little left to do. Shadow and silence stole across The face, the flower of You. Was it the wisest? They alone Who saw First Void below the throne And leapt remember — and ii-e have known What falling angels knew. I swear those pitiful moments die Like babes, of the after-cold! They shine like a sudden lantern-flash On hidden heaps of gold. The light departs; does the gold remain? Have you been as Gods? Be as Gods again! And the pitiful beautiful moments slain Shall live as of old, of old! 25 PARAGOT TO JOANNA Did you weep to find me wandered from the garden, When the sun was slumbering low? Did you wholly scorn me then or did you pardon Long ago? Have you wistfully forgiven me, my lover, That rival Muse (you said!) — But the frosts of years have never sought to cover Your dear head ! Did you fear that fancy's random spark would perish. As you knew my wayward heart ? For I never deemed that household warmth could cherish Singer's art! But oh, my dear, the doubt had fled forever, When first I worshipped you; And long before I swore your trust had ever Kept me true. Ah, had I come and spoken in the gloaming, Made you believe I cared. Had I only sped my fancy in her roaming. Had I dared !— We should never think it now a thousand pities That the light has left our sky, We should never dwell apart in stranger cit- ies. You and I . . . 26 If I only could have found you in the gar- den ! Long ago — I would ne'er have feared your scorn nor needed pardon, When the sun was slumbering low. 27 LINDOR TO ENRIQUETA A lying smile and a wayward glance, A sinner's heart led out for a dance By the hand of Our Sovereign Lady, Chance — Rose-colored the morn. And so with a laugh the Devil was born. Sweet Love, God-given, we called him then, The keeper of treasure for famished men. Light kisses for arrows, Heart's-chamber his den — This the carol we sung. You and I in the days when the Devil was young. The depths of darkness where all men go. Bitter soul-sorrow which none must know, And the poisoned fountain's rancorous flow — Hope lay so cold In the weary years when the Devil was old. A flash of light making all things plain, A blinding flash in a desert of pain — Life and the kind old world again! "Delivered!" I cried. For then in his frenzy the Devil had died. 28 PELLEGRINI D'AMORE When we turned, As we burned, From the silly city and the black-clad men ; When we started Throbbing-hearted For we knew not what — some splendor glimpsed again — The stars, tear-seen, shook lances all above Our last, fleet Mad, sweet Adventure in forsaken fields of love. And the way, As by day, Seemed surely to lead out — no matter where I But the peace Of release Made us forget (forewarning of despair) The satin pall now brooding close above Our last, mad. Breathless, bad Adventure on the hardy hills of love. Then we stopped. And I dropped Your hand, the proper pathway to attain; Through the dire Mist and mire Came shivering loneliness that cut like rain ! Far-seeing gods applauded from above This mad, last. Grey, aghast Adventure in the frozen fields of love. 29 A DAY OF LOVE The might of a fierce endeavor, The pulse of a passion new-born, The need to do — now or never! The clasping of hands in the morn. Ah, sweet! The clasping of hands in the morn. A song with glad voices unbroken. The leaping of hearts in tune. Love-words, whispered, unspoken, The touch of the lips at noon. Ah, sweet! The touch of the lips at noon. The wasting of flame into ashes, (Cold ashes, and who would grieve?) The downward droop of the lashes. And the falling of tears at eve. Ah, sweet! The falling of tears at eve. 30 SCHWEIGEN LM WALDE The world has yet her wonder-spells : The eyes that are all trust may see That whispering Dryad hidden In her tree; Dead Laura In Elysium dwells, And Helen sleeps on asphodels, But some one lives for me And the dear shy violet never tells What she says to me — what she says to me. The world has yet her wonder-maids : Where calm grey beeches stand like towers. And slender anemones soothe the hours, There dance the leaves In flickering shades, And sun with shade the soft charm braids, And some one waits for me ! In the light that never fades, She waits for me — she waits for me. Swiftly before the high hills gloom, Bun^ the buds In a small moist tomb. Where the yellowing leaves with madden- ing whirl Dance to the wild winds' skreigh and skirl ! For the powers of outer darkness loom. The shadows fall — we flee . Shall I never touch that fluttering curl So near to me — so near to me? 31 MEDITATIONS WHOM THE GODS LOVE Gone with the secret closed upon their lips, Gone are the best, the beautiful ! They saw No glory where the sullen shadow slips. They found no pleasure in imperfect law; Leaving to us the puzzle and the hate. The compromise that cloaks itself as kind And human fellowship; ours is the Fate That would be constant, were she not so blind. But they — do you not feel their nearness now? Do voices hover in the noiseless air? Those eyes, that saintly smile, that stately brow. They speak, they strive to tell us what and where. They know ! . . . How tense it is ! Have you not heard, Echoing from the everlasting hills, Some whisper? Oh! for one time-shattering word, Cross it our purposes, mar it our wills, It would outweigh all volumes and all minds In all the world ! We are heavy-fated then. Each panting soul goes forward till it finds. And they went farther, found — and heed not men. 35 A BLIND MAN SPEAKS I squandered light when light was meant for doing; Now light has left me, and my days are blank. What recompense is granted for my rueing? What spirit still the guileless gods to thank? The darkened days flit by in swift pursuing, Bright days and fair for those who still may mend — The young on pleasure bent or petty wooing, The elders, mindful of their latter end. And those between, who coldly chose ambi- tion And those who simply linger in the sun — All, all can see the flower or its fruition. The strong, rejoicing in a race begun. While T — but still there's waiting, wisdom, learning. Ears and three senses more ! Then, or I rust, Throw out the coin, and while 'tis in the turn- ing, I choose for Contemplation — since I must. 36 OCEAN Over a great sea never rent by rudders, On opal waves whose light withdraws and shudders, A single star hangs heavy from the sky — Of heaven the one unknown, unwinking eye. What was the star? Why bends it vacant gaze On that green waste eternal nights of days? Here comes no mariner, nor king, nor craven; The endless waters never touch a haven; The sad star never wept for trust betrayed, Nor friendship lost, nor beauty-blighted maid. Ah, who can tell what Builder nailed it there. To brood alone on waves and empty air ! Here comes no priest, nor any step of lovers, No voice of God in all that stillness hovers, No voice of man, nor beam of fulsome sun, And gulls above and fish beneath are none . . . No laughter and no murmur and no toil. No human soul the Nature-soul to soil. Yet somewhere in that all-unchartered space The foaming waters angrily give place For a steep rock that rises rough and jagged. Coated with mosses, dismal, black and ragged ; And round its edge the green waves run more whitely, Lacing a garment for that crag unsightly. 37 That lonely rock, that faint and stricken star, Whose gleam unanswered beckons from afar, The wandering graves beneath, that line of white — And Solitude — and Murder — and grey Fright — lonely rock, O luring stricken star, 1 fear to whisper what your portents are ! 38 IN THE RAGGED MOUNTAINS No more of Ocean — evil sea of Hate! The foam that on thy dreadful winds is carried Comes from pale lips of those whom thou hast harried, And severed hearts moan of a foolish fate Through all thy minstrelsy; in myriad cries Thy slain sepultured legions clamor to the skies. But yonder with the silences that dwell Augustly on the snows that close encumber Eternal mountains in eternal slumber, Bowed to deep rest by some world-wizard's spell — There shall I roam with wistful heart and free, A shy and virgin Muse my viewless company. The mountains! Oh, the mountains! They are mine! Their peaks of azure and of amethyst Shatter and quell the low and worldly mist; Aloft their lordly ramparts dare and shine ! My sleeping greyhounds guard the gates wherein Enter ethereal joys and passion purged of sin. 39 Some seek you in your pure communion white; And some, under full-robed waving boughs of green Which merry sun-flecks steal and dance be- tween, Lie in soft haze, forgetful of the fight, And mindful only that the month is June — Far-off, love may be sweet — but sweeter here to swoon. And others enter only in the Spring, Simple and primal souls, friends of Illusion, Content with colored joy and frank profu- sion. What life abroad, what hands that rise and cling! What incense-blooms flush and suffuse the air, Fragile and holy-born, as is a maiden's prayer! For me, when old October crouches down A tawny tiger on your ample breast, Watchful of Winter — then, no thought of rest ! Strength and the sting of winds and skies that frown ! Is your house swept and bare? Has Death begun. When changeless laurel smiles beneath a brooding sun? 40 Firm fastnesses of Hope ! Enduring gods ! Courage and freedom were your ancient gifts. Give more and more to us, whose sick faith shifts From truth to dismal doubt, from souls to clods. Let the great hills render their high ac- count : '*Some stars have dwindled — yes! It is enough to mount.'' 41 HOC EXIGUUM Seemed It such a little time, Orator of old? Seems It still a lesser time, Now your bones are cold? The world is but the middle term Of one vast syllogism — Who would not choose to live a worm. If crowned with after-chrism? And all the doings of this earth Are matters of derision To him who sees a newer birth In the very newest vision. With all my heart! The world is nought; But how, most noble Pagan, Could you construct a Christian thought. While Pan still ruled, or Dagon? Full fifty years before the age Such doctrine was preferred And Plato too . . . O worthy sage. If you were disinterred; Confronted with the Fathers there. What would you have to say ? — That the aeons in the hitherwhere Still dwarf our little day. 42 A CREED Lost in a world whose burden grows And greatens with the waste of time, Bound to a mount no mortal knows, Encumbered ever as we climb — What hope for him who hears the Voice To pause, to follow and obey. If the poor heart that should rejoice Lies bleeding to the naked day ? Yet listen lit is Beauty's call. Imperious goddess, art thou near? To saint and sinner, to us all Thy worship and thy lips are dear. Ah, listen ! Though the word of faith Should blur upon the open book, Though from the past a mournful wraith Of vengeance and of fear shall look ! Somewhere the beauty made for man Shall link herself with humankind; Somehow the song that youth began Its fuller resonance shall find. 43 WELTGEIST I am the eager spirit of the Earth. Through galloping ages, I have loved to-day What I have left to-morrow — in hard play Finding all fair and finding nothing worth. I am the old authentic spirit of Pain: I was with light, with Void In her travailing; I dwelt in the Dawn-clad East and held my reign With shadowy kings that knew not name of king. Stealing upon the tides that never cease, I saw in ancient Asia sages dream — Dead eyes and body forgotten — of things that seem : I am the spirit of all-oblivious Peace. I am the spirit of far-off fluttering Hope : Between the cloud and the fire I swept the land, A beacon for that race so rare, so banned. That strayed to Canaan and paused on Si- nai's slope. And I swerved to other sleeping continents, where White isles on the lovely mother Aegean lay; I saw a new sun rise on Eleusis' bay — I am the spirit of Beauty and all things fair. 44 Where was the goddess whom I dared not greet ? I knew the whole of Helen's heavenly grace, I loved each darling ringlet round Dian's face, I followed the lure of Daphne's hurrying feet. I loosened the girdle of Aphrodite, I strove and conquered Apollo's perfect form. And roamed the flowers with Persephone, And rode with Triton in the mastering storm ! There in the shining isles what songs were sung, When only could I be the spirit of Joy, Of laughing Loves — when all old Love was young — When Cupid and Psyche were only girl and boy! Swift on the dawning came the hardy morn; Calmly I wore the cloak of Regulus, Greatly I bore the heart of Marius, And fiercely felt the imperial Roman scorn. I am the spirit of a stalwart Faith: Clasping the naked cross of Calvary, The saints have made all hate a memory — "Forgive" and "Follow me" the Spirit saith. While even as Fathers prayed the bolt was hurled, And hordes invincible stretched their hungry length Along the Alpine slopes to cleanse the world. I am the spirit of bare barbarian strength. 45 I was a Hun and drained my goblet grim. I was a Frank and tossed my flaming hair; And lo ! the darkening ages followed dim : I am the spirit of a still Despair. I was the spirit of a courtly Love, When Richard strove from Acre for the Tomb ; The crescent receded, the red cross rose above, When Rudel's yearning sails were blurred with gloom. I was reborn and heard the glad surprise Of ancient lore; I saw the glory spread That lightens in the rapt Madonnas' eyes — It shone in England round our kingliest head. I am the scoffing Spirit that Denied. Mocking the Mightiest, claiming the law of Thought, Rearing a Babel of bodies and houses wrought Only with hands — for what have ye beside? I am the spirit of late-begotten Woe, Self-fed, self-torturing, since first he wept By harsh Geneva's lake, who sent a flow Of fiery tears upon a race that slept. Long since the West to the East was calling. The East Answering follows an ever-flying West; The West for the world has spread an open feast : I am the spirit of Liberty, the blest. 46 Yet all Impatient with Progress patent and plain, So cruel and crude, I pause ; for all is One ; And I could weary of wheels that noisily run, And I could sigh for the twilight hours again. Was I not prouder than Caesar in his pride? Was I not wiser than Plato with his lore ? I could have had Zenobia for my bride, I could have turned Aspasia from my door! The kings of the earth were little things to me, Making amid the rocking stars my home; Lapped in the moon's fair fleeces, I would roam. Watching my poor world turn and shine and flee. Among slain souls of many, I alone Remember Heaven, and I alone am wise — Hearing the joy that mingles with the moan, Seeing the dead face staring toward the skies. There are many worlds and waters. And these are mine And these are ours, and I, your waiting soul. Hold fast your disinheritance divine. Knowing the part that merges in the whole. Saying, How long, O Lord? And no more wild. But humble and pleading I almost fear to speak. Ye are my brothers and sisters and I am weak. I am the spirit of a little child. 47 4 SONNETS KEATS Poet of sunny numbers or of night, Poet of starry fays and sylvan gloom, But poet ever of the fadeless bloom That crowns the brow of Beauty in her might. He knew what seizures grip us in the fight. What deadly languors bring us to the tomb — He knew that in old caverns there is room For her whose task it is to hold the light. Over those sacred pages will I pore Until for me the nightingale shall burn Her heart out with her song ! I see return Lamia, the many-hued, with Autumn's store Of finished blisses — Psyche, as of yore. Pants with the flying lovers round their Urn ! 51 LANDOR Long years before the great Olympian's altar Kneeling, you sang his praise. Your incense rose More fragrant far than all the spice that blows From Eastern isles : what cause was there to falter? What need was there with gods of gold to palter? Yours was no hand to stir the puppet-shows, Theirs was no voice to v^ex your dear repose, Your minstrelsy of ancient harp and psalter. Where is the ardent spirit that will stay Within the confines of its own domain? Eager and strong to dare you fell away Amid the tumult loud and chaos vain. Then did you know shame, sorrow, anger, strife — The many jangled, tangled chords of life. 52 -SONNETS FROM THE PORTU- GUESE" Let not the volume fall within your hands, Save fitly it may greet you — in a mood As when the weight of dark begms to brood On common objects and unlovely lands. Then all inviolate your soul's self stands. And wild Regret may munch her bitter food, And Hope resurgent flash her crimson flood Unheeded, where the voice of Peace com- mands. O hour of twilight ! Tenderest hour o^ time ! Then Fancy's form shall pause with folded wings, 1.1- Reverent to know the rapture worship brings; Then vain shall seem the play of all the arts. Before these murmurings of a love sublime — The close-Hnked flowering of perfect hearts. 53 MORNING-GLORIES Few pilgrims for your dewy purple care, O rambling gentle flower, for me always Memorial of such early blessed days ! What tender sigh, what depths of voiceless prayer Rise from your fragile campanile there ! Fashioned like ears that crimson at their praise. You shyly tremble from too rude a gaze ; And the loving earth disputes you with the air. Others are more vociferous than this: There's the hot peony blushing at her bliss, Quick pansies, whispering of a match begun; Gay Girasole spins upon the lawn. Her robes are flaunted at her gallant Sun, But yours are sparkling with the tears of Dawn. 54 VIOLETS Violets that are as buried treasure cast Into the wintry lap of forests old ! Pilgrims of dusky passion that enfold Within your maiden chalices a vast Deep sweet of youth ! Who would not stand aghast To see a rude foot crush you In the mould? To scent your soft breath lure him from the cold, Who would not turn, who would not melt at last? Flowers, endue with misty purple haze The form of one whom many eyes have scanned. The flower of all the flowers of the land! Show her the modest service of your days. Teach her to dwell content In woodland ways. Charming the few who feel and understand. S5 ROSES Roses, because your soul Is stainless white — Roses, because your warm blood runneth red In lips that will not touch them. I have fled Beyond the crimson mountains of delight, With feverish winds, towards hotter skies bedight With burning planets — hither have I sped To pluck you these, where tranquil poppies shed Far safer dreams of drowsiness and night. Petals that you have torn ! A waste of leaves ! Fast-dying fragrance of the sunnier days ! What have dead flowers to do with blank November? She who knew not before will not remember Now, when the birds no longer sing her praise, When slow sad rain drips dully from the eaves. 56 ^'A MOMENT'S ORNAMENT" That whole day In my fancy there had warred Romantic woodland longings with the great Sad thoughts of greater souls. "She will come late," They said, but woke In me no warning chord. Then suddenly upon the moonlit sward There you were dancing, singing at Joy's gate ! Was It the heel of undlscerning Fate? Was It the right hand of a pitying Lord? It shone above your pale scarf shimmering bright, The face that has been known to many men : A face of Ivory tones and dusky light, With fire-fly eyes that found me through the night. Long shall I see you as I saw you then — A sylph, an Ariel — and a Cellmene. 57 ROSEMARY FOR REMEMBRANCE Lest I forget the amber of thine eyes And cumbering years obscure thy wistful face, And sad expedients rob me of the grace To claim with candor what I fain would prize — Lest duller visions blur the smile that flies And fleets on parted lips, and would erase Thy wan charm hesitant, to furnish place For ordinary faces and their lies — I store one word, and that not made to last; One film of gold, and that shall time alloy; Yet in the night-time when the Needs are dumb. And meaner voices for a while succumb, I say the word, ignoring in my joy What waste of wrecks may strew the frozen past, AL AMOR DEL LUMBRE Never In haunts of men or hurried mart, While flaunt the banners of the garish day, Have I perceived thy presence; though I stray To calmer shades and soothe my fluttered heart, Where life-throbs pulse and urgent fancies dart, Plucked from the ugly fury of the fray — Not always then. Impatient as I pray, Wilt thou the dream of thy dear grace impart. No earthly mansion thine — but when the hour Of sleep steals sweetly o'er the baflied soul, Clasped in the sure arm of some awful power, The while the unending aeons round me roll- Then, in the rest of home, the peace of night. Thy radiant robes flesh their supernal light. 59 DREAM OF A TRYST There is a spot In the soul's country, far Exalted from the seething of the street, A place appointed where we two should meet, Where queenly hearts and kingly powers are. I dreamt I trod the way with many a scar, Sick-willed and pale, scant breath and bruised feet. Borne onward by the gleam I thought so sweet, Immutable, immortal as a star ! They only let look within the gates — I could not see your face — I turned aside. "And she not there, my wandering one!" I cried. "My path was strewn with briers by the fates, My faith was blind and still I have not quailed, But you, why have you failed, why have you failed?" 60 FINIS When you withdrew your hand, those other hands That held the lights of heaven in their place Fell all together, and through saddened space I heard that clangor, and through darkened lands. When you spoke not, my spirit in her bands Bowed down; that silence smote our earthly race : No birds would sing a dirge for our disgrace, No voice of Christ could lay his high com- mands. If nevermore your hand with steadfastness Uplift that light — If I may not believe That low and honied voice which did confess In all my dreams its love — 1 still shall bless The sun-crowned hills I saw ; though memory weave Such grieving words that even you must grieve. 6i LUX OCEANO I Drawn past the gasping dreams of Doubt and Wonder, I was admitted to a hidden bower; There stood my lady-lily like a tower; And I, forgetful of the months that sunder, Of piteous nights, of daily day-time blunder, Drew near and simply kissed her — Ah, that hour! Then certain sullen clouds began to lour And the swift surf of life swept up in thunder. Wisdom, if I could hold her fluttering hands Across the chasm of a thousand miles, Hear the low voice of her who understands. And with a sovereign kiss assail her smiles. How shall that ocean harsh dismay my rime. How shall I fear that sundering sword of time ? 62 II She lingered by that ocean's battling marge, And chose life's shell and held It to her ear. Some marvel of strange voices deep and clear She heard, a symphony subdued yet large. One voice spoke not — Life left It to my charge To flute so woolngly that she must hear A tale of how a laughing boy could steer Through sun-touched riotous waves our silver barge. "How can I tell," she questioned with a frown, "Since to both ears there comes a note of bliss, Where the true secret and the soul-joy Is — Whether the surge of life or love's renown?" Over each ear I placed a hand, drew down Her face most meet for silent ministries. 63 ALONE Give up ! There Is no way to penetrate Another's soul. Deep-gazing I divine Far in the waste of eyes I may call mine, Or in the answering body's clasp elate With joy and life, the will to share our fate — And what is mine is mine and thine is thine, And all inquiring fervor must decline. Ending in after-passion, nearer hate. Is it a friend who shares your inmost thought? Heaven pity him ! He knows the foam, the lees, The savor; as one thinks he loves the trees Because October's fading foliage caught His fancy ; best to keep our cells unsought. Our prisoner's crust, our couch of little ease. 64 TO A PORTRAIT BY SHANNON I think that In your bowed head's pensive pose Shadow and love and love and shadow meet ; I think those faint eyes ne'er were made to greet Man's eyes alight ; and yet I know the rose, The sudden carmine of your visage glows With wondering hope at sound of hurried feet, And his strong arm shall bear you from your seat, And your lax form shall start, as under blows. She seems part dove, part fawn, and all a maid; For like the one she stilly waits her love ; And like the other Is her pretty fright; O Lady, let me praise anci take delight From overseas ! Fear not, O Fawn, O Dove, My ardor too remote to make afraid. 6s "THE GOLDEN ROSE'' In ample Paradise, when all was known Save Knowledge, and the heavy hinting hours Stole with a whispered portent past the bow- ers Which the first pair had made, Eve stood alone One brooding Sabbath noon, when joy had flown, — Alone, on tiptoe, trampling on all flowers. And rosy-limbed and reaching for new Pow- ers, She plucked a Painted Apple for her own ! On lofty Monserrat, where angels' wings Swept nearer than we know, we may believe That One in samite for boys' lips held up — No Golden Rose — a lowly service-cup. No Golden Roses live with mortal things; And Perceval — did he not find his Eve? 66 A SINGER AT A MATINEE There was a flush, a flash, a golden note, A sudden hint of starlight and of eve; A roll of waters and of winds that grieve Amid strong triumph pealing from her throat ; Then you were lulled as In a faery boat On faery lakes, and you were made to leave All the old lands that lure us and deceive For lands whereof no mortal ever wrote. Beside me sat a child. This was her place, This faery lake ! Such light shone from her face That knew no world of compromise and pain. But when the last note brought the burst of cheers, The child grew up, shivered and said with tears, "Mother, why did she stop? It's day again." 67 CASAUBON TO DOROTHEA You liked the statue In the Vatican, And thought I should have looked with you ? That we — (Oh, Dorothea, had you tried to see Within the scholar's husk the struggling man !) I had my scruples: in this earthly span Each fleeting form is folly. Fide "Key." (And bitterness was all you brought to me!) They worshipped mice in Tyre and Hindoos- tan. Madam, you could not comprehend; your mind Knew neither scholar's doubt nor poet's pain. (But once I thought her tears were blessed rain To draw a budding soul — oh, lost!) I find In Pope and in Propertius mention kind Of husk that holds a living golden grain. 68 NEBULOUS Is it the mist that crushes us — the dim Restraining smoke of earth which glides and binds, Mysteriously troubling as it winds? The sun leers down, an eye without a rim, That sees too well. Shall we not question him Of trees phantasmal to our cumbered minds? Each drifting sound a dubious echo finds. Music? The frail clear laugh of seraphim! Veiled are the summits which would doom our wills; But yonder through her vestiture of trees. Blurring the subtler surer symphonies, Rushes the vision of Delight that kills — The slope of shoulders brighter than the hills, The gleam of eyes more wayward than the breeze ! 69 One copy del. to Cat. Div. DEC 21 1909 p