POEMS

ALBERT HERTER

THE SONG OF THE WHEAT

POEMS

BY
MARIE
VAN
VORST

DODD
MEAD
& COMPANY

Copyright, 1903,
By Dodd, Mead and Company

First Edition published March, 1903

UNIVERSITY PRESS · JOHN WILSON
AND SON · CAMBRIDGE, U. S. A.

I INSCRIBE MY FIRST BOOK OF VERSE
TO THE MEMORY OF
MY BROTHER
JOHN VAN VORST

Thanks are tendered to Scribner’s Magazine and to the Pall Mall Magazine for the courteous permission to reprint verses already published in these periodicals.

CONTENTS

| Page
The Song of the Wheat | 3
In the Joint of his Armour | 13
Laurens Villa | 21
The Host | 26
The Pagan | 31
LYRICS
Sing Again | 39
Forest Lovers | 41
Like to a Songless Bird | 43
Three Years | 45
The Wind upon a Summer Day | 46
On the Norman Cliffs | 47
Mid-Winter | 48
Mare Placido | 49
In the Greenwood | 50
Evening Time | 51
In the Window | 53
The Glass | 55
Three Days More | 56
Love’s Paradox | 58
Vita, Vita! | 59
The Sleep | 60
The Reward | 61
Les Revenants | 63
The Boon | 65
The Sign | 66
SONGS
The Fireside | 69
Love—Where You Go! | 70
Costanza Sings | 72
May in February | 73
Brier Rose | 74
The Sleeping Heart | 75
Absence | 76
To-morrow | 77
Old Time Melody | 78
Though All Betray | 79
Break Thy Sleep | 80
Red Roses | 81
Song | 82
Slumber Song | 83
Fantasy | 85
ROUNDELS
The Inspiration | 89
Luce Adorabile | 90
Teach My Song | 91
The Apostrophe | 92
Carrier Doves | 93
The New Friend | 94
L’Oiseau des Bois | 95
God’s is the Night | 96
Christmas | 97
Love’s Universe | 98
Summer | 99
Winter | 100
Amor in Excelsis | 101
The Rose | 102
Where are You, Dear? | 103
La Mort est Toujours Fidèle! | 104
The Watch | 105
The Year’s End | 106
Outre Mort | 107
Dead Love | 108
SONNETS
Viva! Anima Carissima | 111
Excommunicate | 115
The Confession | 116
The Kingdom | 117
Amor Victrix | 118
Saint Ouen | 119
Renunciation | 120
Envoi | 121

THE SONG OF THE WHEAT

THE SONG OF THE WHEAT

I

I sprang from the heart of the earth,

From the brown, still heart

That gives, though it pulseth not,

All things being and birth.

This vegetable mould,

Black, resisting, and cold,

Is pregnant in every part

With essence of life.

Infused with The Spark, my shell—

Pained with the mighty swell

Of being and life that woke—

Travailed: fibres broke.

Green shoots slender,

Powerful, though most tender,

Pushed upward—a crust gave way—

Earth opened ... and I saw day!

II

Myriad forms

Pure and new as a thought of God,

Rose from the sod,

Sprang into life with me,

A bending sea

Of distant, infinite blue,

From East to West, from South to North,

Bent over us. We, called forth

Up from the heart of the earth,

Shook in the east wind’s mirth,

Thrilled to the south wind’s kiss.

Rain and dew,

Storm and sun,

Blessed us, made us this,

And we grew.

III

Oh days

In early summer, when all things breathe

With delight in being! Golden haze

Covers valleys and distant heath.

The wind, these times,

Faints with its burden from Southern Climes

Of odours, subtler than balm or myrrh.

Then we stir

And surge like fair seas to and fro.

When through our green blades the light winds sweep,

Between our thin stalks straight and tall,

You may see, a-tremble, like flames that blow,

The Scarlet Flowers of Sleep.

Low down they grow,—

Fine as a film,

Red and soft as Love’s lips glow,

Red as jewels the gods let fall.

IV

Oh days,

When the sun, red through the haze,

Burns bronze to gold!

No breeze wakes,

Sleek cows stand in orchard shade;

And the little sound that ebb tide makes

At the foot of the cliffs is low and sweet

As sighs half-breathed, as lips that meet.

In this ripening time

We wait so still, that we scarce are stirred

By the flight of a startled bird

From its nest, in the furrows made.

Summer’s power

Changes our hue from royal green

To golden, hour by hour.

V

Oh days

Full of sweet noises! Songs of birds,

And gentle sound of lowing herds.

When all around—

From farther fields and orchard trees—

Comes the drowsy hum of bees.

VI

Bend the ear

To our sibilant whispering!

This is the full of the year.

The Golden Mene, when the rich earth bears

In plenty and fulness and mankind shares

In the good of her,

Oh hear, the wind wakes; and we sing!

VII

See the forms,

Big and sturdy and strong and brown!

The sinewy arms,

The naked chest, where the shirt falls down,

The blue veins swollen, the sweat of toil,

The sweat of brow and the earth-cast look,

The coarse shoes, red with the furrow’s toil,

The knotted hands....

The Field is the book

These fingers turn, and these eyes pursue.

The sudden hail, the deadly dew,

The blight of the boll and the dry, parched days

Are the lines that mark their tragedies!

These are the Workers—!

Their hands have made

The great earth fertile from sea to sea.

Silently

They bend to their labour, knowing not

What they shall reap that their hands have sown!

“Man may not live by bread alone;”

They ask but this, “and receive a stone!”

VIII

From the faint, gray dawn to the late night’s shade

The open air is their dwelling-place.

The sweetest and best that their lives have known

Is the mild, soft air in the summer-time,

When they learn the noon by the village chime

And pause to rest for an hour’s space.

IX

Misery,

Is in the hut for the worker there;

What for his eyes to see?—

Children, that dumbly ask for things

He knows not of, nor they know who plead!

More than a garment for nakedness,

Or warmth from woe that the winter brings,

Or bread—that, God! is a want indeed!

X

“Life for life,” the Prophet says,

The fulness of days shall come and the reapers reap.

The white blade seethes like a wind, and we

Tremble at death in the blade’s cold kiss.

Distant, infinite blue

From East to West, from South to North,

Bends over us.

We, called forth

Up from the heart of the earth,

Mother that gave us birth,

Lie on her heart again.

Sun and dew,

Wind and rain,

Pass over us.

XI

On the bare, brown land,

In level, close-bound sheaves, we stand;

And this is the end,

Till the fine, dry film from the blade’s unfurled

And we go forth,

From East to West, from South to North

Bread—for the world.

IN THE JOINT OF HIS ARMOUR

I

Then said the king:—“Stand here, Sir Guldemar,

Beside me, where the arras falleth close.

Now, down this marble stair the princess goes.

And thou shalt mark her, hidden here with me:—

And thou shalt tell me, on thine honour’s oath,

If any woman is as fair as she.

(Giving thy guerdon, no fear hanging loath!”)

II

“For, when thou sayest,—‘She’s more fair

Than the queen’s sister!’—straight that woman shall,

Guldemar, to thy have and hold befall.

The hour thou didst so knightly lift thy lance

To shield our life, we gave our royal word—

For Guldemar! the fairest in all France!” ...

(Guldemar stood beside his king and heard.)

III

He held his head-gear downward in his hands;

The white plume kissed along the gleaming steel

Of his gray armour, close from head to heel.

High around his throat’s column, lay the fine,

Steel, tinkling little links, that rose and fell

To mark his breath. (Nor did the king divine

The hot heart beating in the mailèd shell!)

IV

“To women he is as the heart of ice,”

The women laughed: and held it for a wage

That none could Baron Guldemar engage

In sport of love, or earnest: his straight gaze

Was like the falcon’s on the hand held high,

Above the hunter and the under-maze,

Toward a goal cloud hidden in the sky.

V

“The king” (he said) “is as God’s bread,—above

The hope of any save the lips absolved:

Yet my lips touch his garment! If involved

My heart, Sire, can I find another fair

But her I love? Even though the king’s sister

Were born of Venus? My liege lord must spare

My finding any beauty like to Her.”

VI

And the king smiled as one in kindly wise

Surprising a dear secret. “Friend,” (he said,)

“Fear not to say thy ladye’s lips are red

And her eyes heaven! We demand the truth

From a brave knight, who knows not how to lie!

He shall wed but perfection, by God’s Ruth,

Whose voice cried,—‘I, and not the king, shall die!’”

VII

(And Guldemar) “My liege,” (here his head bowed,)

“Or the king’s sister, or the fairer she,

That woman, my dear lord will give to me?” ...

“By the cross!” swore the monarch; “though she prove

Ice! Though her hate thy passion’s warmth excels.”

Said Guldemar: “And if I have her love?”

The king: “Ourself shall ring the marriage bells.”

VIII

The knight had thrown his gauntlets to the ground.

His silken sleeves clung down unto his wrists.

The foremost in the wars and in the lists

His breast blazed with the stars of victory.

He wore a signet such as nobles wear;

He wore, beneath his mail, where none could see,

A bright chain woven of his ladye’s hair!

IX

“Hark!” said the king, “the princess comes! And hark,

Those are her pages singing!” Guldemar,

His soul high lifted, trembling like a star,

Flashed his quick speech like light upon the king.

“Sire, what if my life were wholly given

To love a woman with a marriage ring?

Her hell and mine, another’s rightful heaven!”

X

“The holy cross,” the king said, “and our word

Are linkèd promise! This same night shall stir

A great host for the holy sepulchre.

The man who keeps thy souls and loves apart,—

As a cursed spirit, banished from a shrine,

Must bind the crusade cross upon his heart,

And wind a pilgrim way from thee and thine.”

XI

Guldemar heard. There went a tinkling

Like little heavenly bells, and soft singing,

A pleasant smell like violet-woods in spring

Was wafted from the princess’ silks astir.

First came the mincing pages, finely dressed,

Then walking all alone the king’s sister,

And in her beauty one forgot the rest.

XII

And every knight and every troubadour

Had given to Isobel great beauty’s palm.

Only the queen her sister, pale and calm,

Could claim a beauty near to Isobel’s.

She came entrancing down the marble stair,

Her glad wide eyes as blue as asphodels,

And the imprisoned sunlight in her hair.

XIII

The king and knight the arras held apart.

“Now by God’s rood,” the king cried, “if there is

A fairer woman in my court than this,

To-night thine arms clasp her,—or Isobel!”

Guldemar bent his bright bold look serene,

Upon his liege—and held his body well—

“Sire,” he said, “one is more fair—the queen.”

XIV

The monarch dropped the arras and stood close,

His eyes on Guldemar’s, and pride, and hate,—

Sudden for love and gifts,—rode hot, elate.

Guldemar’s sword and gloves lay on the floor.

The king snapped his own sword in two, then pale

Cursed Guldemar, ... who felt the chain he wore

Prick him to fire beneath his coat of mail.

XV

Without, the stony courts rang with the feet

Of steel-shod men, and horses’ clanging shoe.

And yellow torches flashed their brilliance through

Dim corridor, and winding way remote.

High in the belfry rang a faint peal sweet,

As silver bells spelt out a marriage note.

The red cross blazed on breast and banner white.

Shouted the warder at the castle moat—

“To arms! The king rides to the wars to-night!”

LAURENS VILLA

“There is no happiness!” I cried.

“Hush, hush!” she laughed, lying by my side.

“I think I am too blest! The gods

Will smite me with their jealous rods

Upon thy breast!”... “Sweetheart,” (she said,)

“Art not content?” I hid my head

In silence: whilst she laughed; all slow

Saying,—“Oh, Love, since thou must know!

When Laurens died, thy sword that let

His life out, with his red blood wet

Let in the light to me!”... I turned

And kissed her, till the fires burned

In flame to Eros. And she slept

Until the hushed white morning crept

And with unprisoned sunlight came

To wake with matin sword of flame.

Half sleeping, I essayed to find

Her lips: and with warm hands to bind

Her fast with her bright hair; then watch

The mellowing of the eaves and thatch

Under the morning.... She was cold.

I clasped within my trembling hold

Beauty’s bright lamp extinguishèd!

Her lily limbs and flower head

Were as the unsunned dawn is cold,

And white as was the pleated heavy fold

Of her close-clinging linen gown.

Her eyelids safely folded down

Over the azure shining thro’

That mocked the heavenly sky, with blue!

The fine red lip-line parted, showing

Her small white teeth; and golden, glowing

The splendid masses of her hair

Wantoned their glory everywhere!

Smiling she lay, her arms thrown wide

As she would clasp on every side

Happiness...! This when morning came

To wake us with its sword of flame!

God knoweth how I listened, close

To her lips’ lovely parting rose,

Lest one fine breath should stir ... and bid

The uplifting of a heavy lid,

Or wake again that silent heart

Whence fell the linen folds apart ...

Under the pulseless hills of snow

Where strayed the blue veins to and fro

No breath should ever stir again!

And then my grief broke forth like rain.

Rang through the tomb-like house and shook

The white doves in their rose-vine nook.

None else to pain or grieve was there

In the still villa anywhere.

I lay until the dying day

Pale as my cheeks, and cold and grey,

Stole mourning o’er the horizon.

And then, I feared to stay alone

With Germaine, who lay there and smiled

So still and gladly as a child

In first sleep, whilst my tears had made

Rivers upon her breast and head

And she cared nothing! So I took

My cloak and garment, from the hook

Where hung her clothes. I wept, again

Touching and kissing them. “Germaine!”

I cried, and summoned thus the dead.

I took the linen off the bed

And laid one line of winding shroud

Over my love: and weeping loud

I looked where she lay smiling, glad,

From head to feet, twilight yclad,

Then I crept out—a grey old man.

They hold me under curse and ban,

I “killed this woman as she lay

In my embrace!” This thing they say!

But Germaine, could she speak, would still

Their lisping lies...!

“If love can kill”

(Germaine would tell them) “why then he

Killed me, forsooth, with loving me....”

Little it matters! I shall sleep

In sleep like hers; but not so deep,

For love was earth’s last gift to her!

The little cotton dress she wore

With ribbons, hangs against the door ...

In the white villa, ... still it is!...

Only the doves were witnesses.

THE HOST

I had my enemy within my house.

My enemy—my arch, arch enemy.

I bound my handkerchief about his brows,

For he was wan and cried—“A Boon!” to me.

Standing upon the threshold—wan, distraught,

His eyes filmed with the mist of sickness dim;

“He does not know it is my house!” (I thought)

“Salve!” I cried, and ran to welcome him.

He could not see nor hear; I spread my bed,

Thereon I made him lie all weakly down.

Blood ran into his eyes, from his rent head

Cut deep between the eyebrow and the crown.

Quickly I ministered what grace I could:

Washed out the wound and bound it up with care;

Smoothing his kerchief as his mother would;

Laying my fingers gently through his hair.

From out my store I fetched a brimming cup

Of fragrant wine, and held it to his lip,

Lifting all tenderly his hurt head up.

Lest he should know me,—let the curtain slip

Between our faces. Long he drank, and deep,

And muttered thanks to God, and stretched out wide

His great form on my bed, thus fell asleep

Safe as the child his mother guards beside.

And there, within my walls, he lay at last,

My enemy—my arch, arch enemy!

I let my crimson passion loose, and cast

Curses for all the wrongs he’d done to me.

Crouching low at the bedfoot, still, oh, still

As Fate relentless, long I watched him lie

Curtained within the shadows red, until

He seemed to lie there murdered bloodily.

Like deadly grave-robed figures, one by one,

A cold procession passed before my gaze,

The high bold-handed evils he had done

To me, to mine, the ruin of our days.

I felt my hand close on my unsheathed sword—

“The prayers of all your yesterdays” (I cried)

“Must gain you pardon of the gracious Lord!”

And he, unshriven, by my hot hate had died—

Had I not heard wild cries without my door,

The acclamations of the multitude.

My enemy stirred not in his stupor

I drew the bedshades close, and waiting stood.

Then they were all about me in the place,

Strange, furious faces, peering everywhere

Seeking the hated stranger, whose foul trace

Had left their village desolate as here.

“Show us Pasquale, show the devil hound,”

And twenty eyes flashed sharper than the blade.

They shrieked his name until I thought no swound

Was proof against the riot that they made.

I saw the naked unsheathed swords, I saw

(My enemy—my arch, arch enemy!)

Minions of justice, armed with hate and Law

And my guest was asleep.... “Myself am he”

(I said before the swords their home could find).

“Draw me without,” I prayed, “I would not fall

Here where my children sleep.” And they were kind

And dragged me far without my own portal.

Ere they could send my soul to hell unshriven

Pasquale’s men came riding bright as day

More time new sins to make, to cry to heaven,

They bought Pasquale ... I write as I lay.

They say I shall not see another dawn

But I have had the sacred Eucharist

And write this for true knights to dream upon.

That day of his sore need, with broken brows

And sightless eyes blinded with bloody mist

Helpless, whilst his pursuers hounded on

I had my enemy within my house.

THE PAGAN

I

Oh the dream,

Warm, wild, beautiful,—born of midsummer.

No, it was April gave it; no, it was May!

It was the whole round year,

Days, months, filled with it,

Hours Eden inspired.

Moments astral born,

Life

Fused, swathed, held in its mystery,

Perfect content in the present,

Ecstasy at the thought of a future.

Oh the dream....

Hush, I will sing of it....

II

I was a child, knee-deep in the rugged daisies;

Small head level with bright bold heads tossed free.

Brown eyes following farm and meadow mazes:

Little heart one with nature, flower, and tree;

Friend with the birds.... Then childhood passed, on a sudden as pure dawn’s haze is

Kissed to glorious morning, and all eyes see,

Standing young as the June, little heart’s pulse set free

Throbbed to the song that the soul of the whole world’s lays is:—

A child in the home-land meadows,

Belovèd, I dreamed of thee.

III

Once I walked in the heather,

Cliffs sheer downward touched the breast of the sea.

Meadows ’round me stretched and kissed together,

Met in oceans of gold grain feather

Mad with poppies, red as blood may be.

Summer’s glory to glory ran;—nor sense knew whether

It were godliest born, the blue of the sea

Or the whispering ocean of fields, as shoreless!

Then the tether

Of time slipped loose, and Future showed to me,

Cliff-high,—sea-girt,—there in the Norman weather

All of my youth Belovèd,

I dreamed of thee.

IV

It was in the heart of winter cold,

When the moon is old,

And snow on the lea.

I leaned from my window

And heard the sea

Ring like brass, when deep is tolled

The bourdon of Christ’s nativity.

The Christmas world its page unrolled

For my pagan eyes to see.

Sheep held close in their sparkling fold,

And the ice-mailed tree

Glistened, ... as tho’ God leaned, and set

Crystal tapers, with diamond fret;

A holy festal tree made it,

Whose candles the moon lit!

I smelled frankincense, from censers gold

Shadow-swung to a litany

Glorious!...

Then wild, and bold,

A Christmas storm swept over me.

I leaned out from my parapet,

Cliff-high tower, that keeps the sea:—

Arms and breast on the sill icy,

Warm arms aching to clasp and fold

One who close on my breast should be!

Pagan, thus in the Night Holy,

Breaking form of the ancient mould,

I saw God’s one star poise, and swim

Over the birth of Love, in Him,

But Belovèd ... I dreamed of thee.

LYRICS

LYRICS

SING AGAIN

You sang me a song,

’Twas the close of the year,

Sing again!

I do not remember the name

Or the words,

’Tis the same

You listen to hear

When the window is open in spring

And the air’s full of birds;

One calls from the branch some rare thing

And one sings on the wing

The refrain.

You sang me a song,

My heart thrilled to hear.

The refrain

Has run like a fillet of gold

Through the woof

Of the cold,

Dark days of this year.

To-night there’s a year at its start,

The birds are aloof:

But your eyes hold the sun for my part

And the Spring’s in your heart,

Sing again!

FOREST LOVERS

Of poplar, birch, and balsam boughs,

Red cedar-walled, I’ll build my house;

Its pillars silver-boled shall be,

With rafters of the hemlock tree;

Upon the ground the dried ferns spread,

And slippery pine shall make our bed;

And all night long the lapping sound

Of waves shall fill our faerie swound;

Nor native creatures, small and shy,

Shall fright us, as they hurry by,

Nor phantom rustle of the trees

Disturb our loving mysteries.

With the first flying birds to nest

We’ll stretch our happy limbs to rest,

And lip to lip, and palm to palm,

Drift dreamward in the deep wood’s calm,

Whilst thro’ the windy rafter bars

Pale out the lanterns of the stars.

Thus love shall hold us (as Love said),

And holy be the forest bed,

The fresh, wild odours everywhere

Rise on the censers of the air,

And in the soft dark Love shall find

New vows, our lips and souls to bind.

When the white-vestured dawn shall move,

We’ll wake, as we have slept—with love,

And sinless as the forest-born

Arise with them to greet the morn.

From every mist-grey tree-top tall

The singing, singing dews that fall

Shall mingle thro’ veiled vistas dim

With whisper of our marriage hymn.

LIKE TO A SONGLESS BIRD

Like to a songless bird that swings

On a high branch, and thrills to hear

How the deep-hearted forest rings

With melody enchanting clear,

And vainly swells his throat to wake

A song as pure as these that fill

The wood, and every echo shake,

Whilst he alone is dumb and still.

So, thrilling to the music dear

Since the first song woke, low and sweet;

To purest sound I bend my ear,

And with my heart the rhythms beat;

Until the palpitating Past

With melody becometh rife;

With parted lips and hands locked fast

I hear the songs of Love and Life.

And then I lift my voice to wake

A song as pure as these that thrill

Through Time. The vaults with music shake

And I alone am dumb and still.

THREE YEARS!

I heard the wind in the trees

The stir of the leaves in the white birch tops

Then sat alone with my past till dawn

Crept over the edge of the leas

And a dull red line was drawn

In the East. There memory stops.

We do not follow our lives

As the almanacs run. I lived that night

Three years in the past and three to be....

As foam that the sea-wind drives

My thoughts sped on—three years and three,

Marked by this lock of white.

THE WIND UPON A SUMMER DAY

The wind upon a summer day

How sweet it is! The shaking trees,

The shifting shadows as they lie

Across the grass, the bending rye,

The blue flowers in the grain,—and you

To love the livelong summer through—

There are no sweeter things than these.

The dawning of a winter day

How sad it is! The leafless trees,

The frozen meadow lands that lie

Leaden beneath a snowy sky;

The old year’s bitterness,—and you

To lack the livelong winter through—

There are no sadder things than these.

ON THE NORMAN CLIFFS

The summer fields sweep to the farther blue

Crimson with poppies, yellow gold with grain.

They roll their warm wealth seaward—thus to you

I bring my boundless love. Dearest, in vain

Would I bestow its treasure otherwhere;

It floods to find your heart—enfold it there!

The land’s caress the far seas never knew;

Not on the wave falls the sweet rain of gold.

Far lie the changeful waters, pure and cold,

Sundered by the high cliffs: thus I from you

By Fate am kept a universe apart.

And yet my constant thought inspires me

To seek to lay my love upon your heart.

MID-WINTER

On this midwinter afternoon,

When all the sky is cold and grey,

What power can change the white world’s rune

To a midsummer holiday?

The branches of the leafless trees,

Bent in the pathway of the storm,

Give up their buds to orchard bees,

The atmosphere is soft and warm.

And from a thousand rose-hearts, too,

The air delicious fragrance yields;

The birds fly up against the blue,

The Summer ripens on the fields.

Thou art with me! This happy thought,

That all the birds of love unchains

To the white world, has Summer brought

Through warmth of Summer in my veins.

MARE PLACIDO

Across the tossing tumult of my sea

The peaceful current of your Spirit flows.

The ships attain their harbours, enter free

Beyond the pale horizon’s line of rose.

Tempests are banished from these miles serene:

Held cloud-free, wind-free, by your love’s control,

My sea shall yield its deep-bed treasure soon!

Mirror the evening star,—the cloud,—the moon:

Tranquil, as tho’ no storm had ever been—

My sea shall be the mirror of your soul.

IN THE GREENWOOD

I fly like a bird to my home that lies

Far in the west, by a fair green hollow.

The straight, fine, meadow-line runs with the skies:

A clear horizon for sight to follow,

To leave, then rest where the zenith’s blue,

Blue of the bluest, like my love’s eyes!

I leave the noise of the busy mart;

The small stream’s mouth with its shining shallows;

I go with its going; till here, apart,

Hid by rushes and low white mallows,

Hushed in its singing it lieth deep—

Deep of the deepest, like my love’s heart!

I will sleep and dream while the shadows move

And the slant of the sunlight falleth yellow.

I will wake to the note of the greenwood dove

As it calleth low to its distant fellow:—

Where life of the fields and the woods is pure,

Pure of the purest, like my love’s love!

EVENING TIME

To-night I watch the sun go down,

Blood-red it sinks behind the hills.

The deep low-lying valleys brown,

The wheat fields, and the daisied down,

The bright, mist-shrouded radiance fills.

Across the surface of the pond

The small trees throw their dark shadows:

Whilst in the outlying wood beyond

The deeper darkness broods and grows.

The day is no awakener

To greater beauty, than day’s wane.

The little leaves that move and stir

Make noise as of the sound of rain.

The very air is gone to rest,

And long and black the shadows lie,

As over all the crimson west

The darkness follows up the sky.

Good-night!—until the sun shall send

Along the east a shining mark!

In answer to my greeting, Friend,

You seem to call across the dark.

IN THE WINDOW

Oh ... my love comes to me to-night,

After the weary days.

And I must trim the candle bright

And light a cheerful blaze.

Then close within the window stand,

As down the silent streets

My heart shall hear his coming, and

How it knows, and beats!

His footstep falls from stair to stair,

(Oh my love is my own!)

I wear a ribbon in my hair

That only he has known.

His kiss upon my palms he left;

I hold its message, still.

Long days have made his soul bereft,

To-night ... he takes his fill!

In winter-time, in summer too,

In sunshine, and in rain.

Love waits for love, the wide world thro’.

(Alas ... for watches vain!)

As in my window, hid I stand;

(Would all so blest might be!)

His step is on the threshold, and

My love has come to me.

THE GLASS

When I am old! Oh Love, who well can say

Whether within a year, a month, a day

Or six times ten years that dead time shall come

When Hope is pale and wan Desire stands dumb,

And Love though living, clasps with fingers cold,

When we are old.

I think, perhaps, that Boundary’s dim outline

Will not be crossed by these swift steps of mine,

But while Desire is warm, and Hope still thrills

I shall go hence and look from unseen hills

On mighty scrolls of centuries unrolled,

I still not old.

To Be: unpierced by Vision. Break the Glass!

But if fourscore and ten my years should pass,

Witness, dear eyes! Mine, looking back, shall see

Towers of strength, and Peaceful Seas, and Thee,

And Love, a fragrant cerement, my heart shall fold

When I am old.

THREE DAYS MORE....

Not love’s command

Could dry one league of sea;

Or even God’s hand

Fold up one mile of land,

To bring you sooner unto me!

There are but three more days to climb—

To-day, to-morrow, and its mate,

Till that day!... Did love know to wait

Would it be love? Not in my time

Or in my blood!

My thought, elate,

Swells like a rising sea to flood

Covering barren days between

And brings you (as love should)

Till you stand there—my lord, my light, my good!...

Ere the frail screen

Of fancy falls to my embrace

Sudden, the spell snaps short to Fate!

Till that day—when I see your face—

There are still three dark days to climb,

To-day, to-morrow, and its mate.

LOVE’S PARADOX

I love you more with every rising day

With every waning sun I love you more.

Love walketh with me on the outward way,

It stands to meet me at the open door.

It singeth low when other sounds clash loud;

It keeps me lonely ’mid a changing crowd.

I love you most when I am far away;

I love you most when on your heart I rest;

I love you most when rapture has its sway,

I love you in your still caresses best.

In restfulness, or when your pulses beat—

All times, forever, most I love you, Sweet!

VITA, VITA!

The flight of the years pursues me.

And nothing is done!

Nor gained, nor made, nor accomplished—

Only Youth—lost.

Slave to the pleasure that fetters, (nor would be free,)

Tired of the light before the disk of the sun

Is more than half of a circle!

Stunned at the cost

Of full free living, and nothing wherewith to pay

The long close score that blights with its fearful truth—

But my Youth.

THE SLEEP

Love in a life and after life—the Sleep!

And we hang on a word, a look, and keep

The pulses throbbing,—make the Spark burn low,—

And close the Book, to laugh perhaps, to weep

Most surely! if, oh gods! we may but know

Love in life!

Our burning hands we raise

For dear palms’ clasp, and kisses on the lips,

And close embrace.

We give our nights and days,

In the one draught delectable our spirits steep,

Forgetting—(whilst the lights of Love eclipse—)

The Sleep.

THE REWARD

I heard the little cricket cry

Last night in the dull rain—as I

Put on my dark, my sombre dress.

(I had no ear for happiness!)

And as I braided up my hair

I saw the white threads, silvered there,

And on my cheeks the mark of tears,

My only kisses thro’ the years.

Sudden—that little voice I heard—

Finer than call of cheerful bird.

A human—tender—crying sound

In the low grasses near the ground.

Just as I said:—“I will take Cheer

Instead of Joy!”—Your footsteps, Dear,

Fell on the garden walk ... and when

I put my candle out,—.... Again

Late in the night I heard it plain

The cricket, singing in the rain.

LES REVENANTS

My only light is candle-light

From candles fitly set

In sconces, dazzling.

Long threads, half melting, cling

To snowy candle-masts, and fret

The straight, slim forms, and I shall sit

Alone, until the Spirit stirs

These lily lights (for they are conjurers).

From the high corners, shadows flit

Across the floor: and One shall bring

Back all my soul has loved and missed.

And the dim others fade when we have kissed.

But one remains, and I am one with it.

My only light is candle-light

From candles burning down

Till each flame flickers into night.

Is it the perfume slight

From shadow hair and shadow gown

Unseals my long-locked senses? Or,

Light touching hands and lips that fill

For me the waste of time, caress until

I live as I have lived before?

My only light shall be the candle’s light,

To summon shades and mysteries

Until my solitary spirit sees

Your shadow steal across the shining floor.

THE BOON

At break of day when shadows fly

And still the earth is white with dew,

When light soft mists on hillside lie

And, stirring purple meadows thro’,

The morning wind moves like a sigh,

Oh I awake then quietly!

Earth’s sullied things draw never nigh

When thus the day from God is new

And from a dim far place on high

On the chaste line of day and night

Where holy thoughts the souls imbue

Who wake, praise God, keep pure, walk right

A boon comes ... is’t not blest that I

Walk thus thro’ fields of God with you

At break of day when shadows fly?

THE SIGN

Last night I felt your kisses on my face,

Softer than April fall of wind-flowers;

Sweeter than summer rain upon the grass;

Sweeter than the light wind, that in the South

Wakes, and in groves of myrrh and cassia stirs.

I bent with parted lips to kiss your mouth—

Straightway there fell a fine thin veil between.

There stood the trees in level rows,

The sunlight filled the trembling green

Of the leaf-sea, in the fair close.

By these straight boles, under these slender boughs,

Throughout the days of midsummer, I stand

Until God part the veil with shining hand

And show me where you sit within His house

Holding the seven-sparred star, whose name is Love.

The time, though long, I know comes fast apace

Because of the sweet sign you told’st me of,—

Last night I felt your kisses on my face.

SONGS

SONGS

THE FIRESIDE

Bitter cold the winter street,

Cold and grey the sky:

Bitter cold the veil of sleet

The winds drive by.

Warm and bright the fireside,

Red the flames with cheer;

What can winter’s woe betide

Us, Dear?

On my hand I feel your palm

As a bird lie warm:

Oh the fireside is calm!

It hears no storm.

Bleak the winter street and cold;

Red the flames with cheer;

Love and firelight enfold

Us, Dear.

LOVE—WHERE YOU GO!

Love, where you go December’s air grows warm,

Birds bend the barren branches to their song

And flowers spring, your coming steps to charm.

Bursting the band of ice, and frosty thong.

Over the highways prisoned in by snow

They fling a garden in old winter’s scorn!

Saying, “The lovely spring is here ... we know!”

The sombre heart of midnight pales to morn

Love—

where

you

go.—

Love, where you go, grows my heart glad enow,

My being’s pulse is tune with ecstasy.

I find a ballad on each bending bough.

I take my lute from off the greenwood tree

To wake the dearest melody I know.

I’ll fling my songs broadcast, to heaven’s blue

Where the stars think your eyes are stars below....

My soul finds its one paradise with you—

Love—

where

you

go.

COSTANZA SINGS....

My Love is a rider! (and life’s at its pace!)

He rides to the battle—he rides to the chase.

His armour is burnished, his nodding plume’s curled.

(And would I could follow him over the world!)

Nor distance, nor danger can keep us apart.

He comes with the shadows and lies on my heart.

He’s gone when the midnight its pinions has furled.

(And would I could follow him over the world!)

I’d gladly arise—don bonnet and sword,

And follow the steps of my Love and my Lord.

I’d stand by his side when the lances are hurled.

(And would I could follow him over the world!)

MAY IN FEBRUARY

When I go a Maying—Maying—

There his wanton wishes go!

Spring, like flowers, to meet me straying....

I must pluck them—will, or no!

I must break each pale stalk slender:

I must lift each flower fair;

For I know they are the tender

Thoughts of love that greet me there....

I will wear them on my bosom....

In the night, when he comes home

He shall see his thoughts in blossom,

Oh Beloved Spring-time,

Come!

BRIER ROSE

In among the tall weeds

There lives a brier rose.

Bright among the rugged reeds

She bends and blooms and blows.

The ragged bloom around her grows,

And rough and rude her bed:

But kisses of the wind she knows,

And blushes warm and red.

The sunny moor before her lies

The stream runs bright and clear.

She does not reck o’ sombre skies,

Nor knows the changing year.

She has no ken o’ winter drear,

Nor dreads the frost and storm:

For summer winds have called her Dear,

She blushes red and warm.

THE SLEEPING HEART

My heart is in the hawthorn tree.

I left it in the lovely house,

Hidden among the blooming boughs.

And every little crimson rose,

That blushes, reddens, pales or glows,

Shall give its secret up to thee!

My heart is in the hawthorn tree.

My heart is in the hawthorn tree!

It wears a fragile, rose-red dress:

A robe of spring-time loveliness.

It has forgot its songs to sing,

And sleepeth like a tired thing,—

To dream new songs, to sing to thee.—

My heart is in the hawthorn-tree.

ABSENCE

O darling—

“My darling!”

And this is all you say?

And what are words of love and cheer

When one is far away?

O darling—

“My darling!”

A word is more than none

And if you say what I would hear

You’ll fill the world with sun

O darling—

“My darling!”

TO-MORROW

Where is all the sunlight gone

Dearest heart and dearest?

Will it come again with dawn

Dearest heart and dearest?

Will it, stealing after night,

Fold the waking hours, till bright

To-morrow breaks the clearest,

Best, of every day we’ve had

Fresh and gay and good and glad?

Dearest heart—and dearest!

OLD TIME MELODY

I’m pining away for the way I’d go,

I’m pining away for the things I’ve seen,

For the joy of the fall of the first white snow,

And the sweep of the forest green.

But it’s not for the home-land, broad and fair;

The house on the hill, or the old ways spread;—

For why should I wander here or there,

Since you went down to the dead?

I’m pining away for the love you gave,

For the world that you made, when your life lay here.

And the path to the country beyond the grave

Is the way that I pine for, dear!

THOUGH ALL BETRAY

Dearest, give your love to me,—

I will keep it well,

Cradle it, as does the sea

Hold the shell—

Deep, unseen, and secretly.

Dearest, give your kiss to me,—

I will keep tho’ all assail:

As the temple prayerfully

Holds the Grail.

Altars then my lips shall be!

Dearest, give to me your trust,—

I will not betray....

Hold it, as the beacon must

Hold the ray,

Till the lighthouse stones are dust.

BREAK THY SLEEP

When to-night, the shining snow

Fell on forest brown and lea,

Hanging diamonds on the tree;—

When the dazzling world below

Lifted up, all brilliantly,

Stars again, to stars to throw;—

Then I thought of thee...!

White the winter forests sweep

Down to meet the midnight sea,—

Dearest, break thy charmèd sleep,

Dream a winter dream of me.

RED ROSES

The rose that comes on winter’s day

It is the rarest rose—(they say)

To venture forth so bright and bold,

With velvet leaves and heart of gold,

To wear so brave array:—

Daring the icy atmosphere,

Your winter roses, greet me—Dear

And love, all warm amid the snows,

Comes with the rose.

SONG

As the days

Go their ways;

And the months, and the years,

Bring their laughter and their tears,—

And their range

Of turn and change—

All the old,

Away we fold,—

With the moth,

And the dust;

Nothing loth

Since we must

Have the new!

As the days

Go their ways

One thing stays—

My love for you.

SLUMBER SONG

(The White Elf Mother sings.)

When the low flying wind, awake,

Brushes the lilies, and the low

Blue flowers hidden in the brake,—

When the sighing Alders bend and shake,—

When the owl’s whirring,—Hush thee, dear!

For all the elfin lights aglow

Will guide the slumber fairies here,

Naught is stirring

For my child to fear.

When the strange sighing tree-tops sing,

Dance all the fairies to and fro

And white dreams from their mantles fling,

While the flying

Winds thy cradle swing.

When the low crooning insects cry

Creep the white elves soft, and slow,

Hush thee, Sweet! and hear the merry

Pipes a-tuning

For thy lullaby!

FANTASY

I hear the fluttering wind, I see

The shadows on the grass.

I wish that you would come to me!

I would not let you pass!

But springing up from where I lie,

I take you in my arms, would I!

I’d tell you where white heather grows,

I’d kiss you, and I’d hold you close,

I would not let you pass!

Here, by my side, you’d watch with me

Cloud shadows on the grass.

If chance that you should come may be,

I will not let you pass!

Where the lost faerie kingdoms lie,

I’ll tell in wonder-tales—will I!

And as the brilliant fancy grows,

I’ll kiss you, and I’ll hold you close,

I will not let you pass!

ROUNDELS

ALBERT HERTER

ROUNDELS

THE INSPIRATION

These songs I sing to you, who song inspire.

Would I a message new might find and bring!

Or touch with a live spark of heavenly fire

These songs I sing!

Take them, for they are doves with fluttering wing,—

They try to reach your window: lift them higher—

Up to your heart—there warm and nestling

They shall find home, and life! If love aspire

Shall it not speak? To voice a holy thing,

To voice the heart’s deep need—the soul’s desire

These songs I sing.

LUCE ADORABILE

You came to me when I had turned and said:—

“This, in my darkened life can never be,

My ways are in the stumbler’s paths instead!”

You came to me

High and unprejudiced and spirit free.

Wearing God’s seal upon your pure forehead,

Dearest, you bent from your bright way to see

My flickering torch: your own, live-flashing, red

Rekindled the faint flame. Thus holily,

A radiance, a light when light had fled,

You came to me.

TEACH MY SONG

Kind and Dear you are, and Brave and Strong.

Life has taught you worth of smile and tear;

Still your spirit’s tenor flows along

Kind and Dear.

Turn to me, on whom for many a year

Fate has wrought its work of bitter wrong;

(Scarce my veilèd vision sees you clear!)

On your brow is Peace, to you belong

Life’s best gifts, oh lend me Faith and Cheer!

Show me Truth and Beauty, teach my song,

Kind and Dear!

THE APOSTROPHE

Go, unsaid thought, wordless and songless both!

With fluttering pinions, still unseen, unsought,

Circle the spirit’s white flame like a moth—

Go—unsaid thought!

Go to the one by whom my soul is taught;

Go—wing your joyous journey, nothing loth

Like sunbeams in the hearts of lilies caught,

Like perfume that eludes, yet lingereth;—

Until your subtle mission’s fully wrought—

To charm, as a dear dream’s pale image doth,—

Go—unsaid thought!

CARRIER DOVES

Friend, unto thee I bend my constant thought;

Its current running as a stream to sea,

From hidden sources of my being brought,

Friend, unto thee.

If the wise wonders of the world could be

Found by a spell, sure my quick love had sought

Each potent and elusive mystery.

Into an amulet together wrought

To charm thee! With this full confession free—

I loose my doves to-day, their ways are taught,

Friend, unto thee!

THE NEW FRIEND

Friend—my restless spirit never knew

What good gifts the heavens kept late to send

Till the dear day dawned that brought me—you,

Friend!

Lacking love like this, too many wend

Graveward. Highest heaven holds few

Joys like this, with cruel pain to blend.

I who know not Peace may feel its dew;

I who have no prayers may kneel and bend

In this gentle presence;—dear and new

Friend!

L’OISEAU DES BOIS

Last night I heard in the wood green and still,

The sweetest music sung by any bird.

I never knew the soul of song, until

Last night I heard.

Pure as life’s morning, warm as love first stirred,

Fresh it outpoured our close attent to fill.

Dearest, you were beside me, and your word

Did through the heavenly harmonies distil

The spirit’s joy: and grosser sense was blurred.

I never knew the soul of Love, until—

Last night I heard!

GOD’S IS THE NIGHT

Good night,—Love rules the world,—Sleep you!—

There is no evil in Love’s sight.

See how heaven’s lamps swing in the blue,—

Good night!

Oh what avails the futile flight

Of thought to bless the long dark through?

Deep is the darkness, and, despite

Of Love, our care is frail to do

For those we love: but all is right,

God’s is the darkness; friend, to you—

Good night!

CHRISTMAS

Dearest ... for thee I make my Christmas song!

A song of holly and of fragrant tree,

Of festivals, that sweep their happy throng,

Dearest, for thee!

Look ... how the folding snow is on the lea;

See the fine hoar frost lie the hedge along

And the white holy stars shine mistily.

A Christmas gift held high, though winds are strong,

A warm and glowing gift, though ice may be,

Comes star-blest, Christ-blest, over pain and wrong,

Dearest, for thee!

LOVE’S UNIVERSE

I find in thee fields, valleys, plains, and hills.

Deep tender depths, a forest and a sea.

All that the warm wide Earth with beauty fills

I find in thee.

Each a small part of God’s fair world are we,

Each one to a quick pulse of nature thrills

Or mirrors in his soul a mystery.

All sweetness that the summer wind distils,

And all of winter beauty that may be,

All that wakes ecstasy, or calms, or stills,

I find in thee!

SUMMER

Sea and sand and here our small home’s place is

Where the low suns flush the warm wide land

Golden flooding, till the whole world’s face is

Sea and Sand.

Far beyond our horizons, expand

Happy bays—they say: but the wave’s race is

Toward our love-bound island, tempest-banned.

Here for you and me the season’s grace is,

Here the heart’s response, the touch of hand

Make love’s universe, and Heaven’s embrace is

Sea and Sand.

WINTER

Sand and sea, and white gull’s fluttering feather

Down upon the beach, the salt pool’s fee.

Birds have left to storm and the wind’s tether

Sand and Sea.

Warm and bright those southern ports may be,

Here, the ribald winter rules the weather

Crying in the bending, tossing tree:

We are two—sweetheart—and care not whether

Summer reign, or Winter—so that we

Live and love, as close as kiss together

Sand and Sea.

AMOR IN EXCELSIS

I love you so that I would rather have

Your happiness than any joy below.

I would give up my soul your soul to save,

I love you so!

If round your island like sea should flow

The dearest gifts men ever sought or gave—

My heart’s desire should on the first crest glow!

My love counts pain and death small things to brave;

My love shall find the joy the immortals know;

And triumph o’er the future—and the grave,—

I love you so!

THE ROSE

Never again, Dearest, oh never more!

Not in the spring-time’s swift enchanted reign,

Shall hope to hope, shall love to love implore,

Never again!

Not in the summer—nor when autumn’s wane

Blows the dry leaves along earth’s windy floor,

Nor in the winter: that strange joy and pain

No seasons’ circle ever can restore.

The roses of to-day no tears shall stain,—

They’re thornless! You shall see the rose you wore

Never again!

WHERE ARE YOU, DEAR?

Where are you, Dear, now that the winter white

Has nearly run its course? Spring will be here

And birds shall sing as home they wing their flight,

“Where are you, Dear?”

Thus I have sung and waited thro’ the year,

Saying at morning: “You will come with night?”

And in the night: “With the dawn kind and clear,

“You will pass by!” My little dwelling bright

Has its soft curtains drawn; I wait the cheer

Your presence brings by day and candle-light;

“Where are you, Dear?”

LA MORT EST TOUJOURS FIDÈLE!

Gone!...

And steal the shadows grey

Where our window shone

Late with lights; too soon are they

Gone.

All that Heaven won

When it took you, love, away

My heaven’s built upon:—

“Joy of life—Come back a day!”

But the path leads on

Through the night.... Grief wakes to say

“Gone!”

THE WATCH

By candle-light when every fine flame played

About your bed so long and cold and white,—

I sat and kept my watch, and wept and prayed

By candle-light.

Till memories a holy, holy flight

Came back from our far childhood’s years, and stayed

Touching us with their wings. And to thy bright

High presence, “I will be all days” (I said)

“A torch to hold thy spirit’s flame aright.”

This was the tender promise that I made

By candle-light.

THE YEAR’S END

What are my ways now that my Love is dead?

As candles round a bier stand future days.

Must I then read in annals of years fled

What are my ways?

On, the Time-reaping shining sickle sways;

I watch in fog and rain with bended head;

And for no flower swathe the cold blade stays.

If memory were a solace, hearts that bled

Were healed long since!... Now the quick tear betrays

I may not with my past be comforted:

What are my ways?

OUTRE MORT

You came to me in visions of the night,

Your pale brow bound by a bright ring of flame;

High, unapproachable, and dazzling white,

You came.

I rose and called you by your dearest name;—

“Tell me,” I said, “how go the hours’ flight

In that far land? Do men strive there for Fame

And Love?” Then I lost sense and sight:

You bent to me,—your kisses were the same

As when, long since, to be my life’s delight

You came.

DEAD LOVE

Dark the day when love is gone—

When the vital spark

Dies, and leaves the soul of one

Dark.

April for the birds shall hark.

March’s wildness sown,

June with crimson bloom shall mark.

What has hope to build upon

Cold and stiff and stark?

All the future stretches on

Dark.

SONNETS

ALBERT HERTER

SONNETS

VIVA! ANIMA CARISSIMA

I

Hail, Dearest! could verse make you live again

I’d rise with pallid-circled dawn to write

Until the veiled, the jealous hand of night

(Like Death that snatched you from the world of men)

Cloud up my thought and tracery of my pen.

Then would I burn the gentle candle-light

Till, fading spectre, sank each tall mast white

And cold stars lent their brilliant lanterns.... Then

Should slumber only hold me till a dream

Brought new enraptured rhythm—new song to give

Through vision of your soul’s transcendent flame.

Youth, life, and love, should harness to the theme

Draw to Olympus—pleading Jove for Fame.

Oh Dearest, if my verse could make you live!

II

Hail, hail!... Where the horizon fades and glows,

Last night I seemed to see you standing, Sweet.

Light mantled you from starry head to feet;

Aureoles bound your brows, pale flame on Snows.

Belovèd,—in your hand you held a Rose,

No flower immortal, red as hearts that beat

For earthly love, nor know the winding-sheet.

Who loves, who has been loved, the Symbol knows!

As you came toward me, with the Rose, royal,

Faint heart took cheer;—cheeks wan with sullen grief

Grew bright with thought of Bliss beyond the Veil.

Nirvana holds no lover’s heart in thrall.

I wear the Rose, a kiss, each crimson leaf

Warm with your lips.... Hail my Beloved!...

Hail!

III

If Fate had said, when first I saw thee stand

Straight, tall, and beautiful, and all my own—

“This is for you, the kingdom and the throne

“The rule and the dominion of the land;

“Eyes, lips, and benison of dearest hand,

“Caress of voice, and laugh, and lowest tone;

“Choose! Will you surfeit, then go forth alone,

“Because so favoured the more cursed and banned?”

I’d choose to lack thee! Ignorant, and blest

Though love and thee were to have heaven possessed.

Oh who would face the desolation’s sting

Or choose to live bereft, with memory?

I still may find after my Winter—Spring

If Fate would wipe the tablets clear of thee.

IV

When they together saw the Calendar

Slip by in months that wore Spring all days long,

He made his lover’s verse and roundel song,

The burthen of the rhyme his love of her!...

What though the storm swept by with rainy stir,

And winds, like ghosts, would ’round the windows throng,

They sat heart-linked, hand-linked; and bright and strong

Riot ran through their veins like Midsummer.

For palm to palm is exquisite as May;

And lip on lip is mad July at best!

Where is the fire for this pale winter’s day?

For one who sits alone at Death’s behest?

Ghosts of the storm peer in with charnel mirth

At ghosts of ashes on the gusty hearth.

EXCOMMUNICATE

I do not find an altar, or a priest,

Nor any sacred still confessional;

Masses and vespers, I must shun them all,

Tho’ every belfry bid me to the feast!

I may not wear the cross upon my breast;

Nor make its sign;—or in repentance fall

Before the nichèd saint. In canticle

I must not chaunt one frail blurred note, or least.

For my religion is my joy and shame;

My priest, my altar, canticle, and mass

Art thou! and lest thou hear my creed, and know;

Shouldst hear me sing my love, or pray thy name—

Unshriven with my burden I must go;

Proud, excommunicate, I pagan pass!

THE CONFESSION

Oh, when I saw you yesterday I stood

Trembling and silent; thus you could not know

The vibrant, singing beauty, stealing slow,

A sacred fire through my veins and blood.

In the poor, songless, unawakened wood

Of lute forgotten, who can guess the flow

Of hidden harmonies to overthrow

The heart and sense if one set free the flood?

As the deaf master never hears the tone

His genius wakes; so you, who make me sing,

And all the pulses of my life control,

Know but my silence, whilst for you alone

Music and thought and song their concourse ring.

Turn, then, and hear the love-song of my soul.

THE KINGDOM

Behold I bring a Kingdom in my hand,

Oh bend your eyes upon it!... Ways of peace

Lead by its rivers. Fields of rest are these

Above the endless skies of God expand.

Oceans of dear delight kiss on the sand,

And azure islands lift their waving trees

Where virgin forests’ twined interstices

Shadow the pools of sleep, deep inland seas!

This is my lovely Kingdom.... Tho’ you reign

Over an empire, proud, imperial,

Annex this land of beauty to your part;

Else, like a mirage, seen, then lost again

It fade forever! Kingdoms vanish all—

Immortal is the land of love, Sweetheart!

AMOR VICTRIX

Strong Death, proud power invisible, even now

Slowly thou drawest near me in the dark,—

And though within me the clear glowing spark

Of life is warm and beats in heart and brow,

My body shall grow colder, till I bow,

White as the ash, thine unresisting mark.

But for the word from the veiled years I hark,—

As calm and as invincible as Thou.

And when at last I feel thy kisses,—Death,—

My fading lips shall smiling tell thee this—

“Master thou art not! On my Spirit’s shrine

Deathless, although the altar crumbleth.

Ascend twin flames in one,—to find God’s bliss,

As God immortal,—my Love’s love and mine!”

SAINT OUEN

Oh shrive my soul, Belovèd! Yesterday

I placed two candles, straight and slim and fair

Before a virgin’s altar, kneeling there

For our united lives and love to pray.

Around me the cathedral’s stillness lay;

The mystery of God was everywhere;

Lifting the misty aisles through incensed air

Uprose the threading pillars, dim and grey.

God heard my prayer: and He forgave my need,

If after that day’s grace and majesty

I fall and pay my sin with bitter cost;—

You who have taught me prayer again, and creed,

Bend down in dear forgiveness unto me!

Shrive me, Belovèd! or my soul is lost.

RENUNCIATION

I have not ever reached for Paradise;

Nor sought beyond my fellows to be blessed.

Nor hoped where all men fail;—but quick confessed

The Limit, and the taunting Mark that flies.

But since I’ve seen thy soul without disguise;

And dreamed thy love’s great passion once expressed;

I’ve known my portion’s good in one sole best:—

Thy love and thee,—strong Spirit pure and wise!

To read thro’ tortuous lines, at length to see

What is the single goal, the heart’s desire,

And then without possession learn to live,—

Is Life...! Toward this, my chastened mind I give,

And thro’ Renunciation dare aspire

To reach God’s light, thro’ love and loss of thee.

ENVOI

A song of France in the autumn time,

When rooks fly low, then go calling, calling

That summer’s a thing of long ago,

For the golden warmth you would never know,

But the bronze-brown forests tell you so,

And the leaves are falling, falling.

The broad, bright river shines and flows

In sweeps of blue; then goes singing, singing,

Where borders of fern in crimson line

Are aglow like flame in the late sunshine.

In little slim poplars straight and fine,

Mistletoe’s clinging, clinging.

What matter after the sun goes down

If chill creeps out from the forest’s hollow,

Promising winter that earth affrays?

Is not the course of the year always

Toward spring,—and glory of golden days

To follow, follow, follow?

The light of the late year’s in my heart!

It will not linger on death or dying.

Like leaves of the forest, sere and gone,

Are hopes of a future it once looked on;

But Life and Love to goals to be won,

Go flying, flying, flying.