Chapter II: Part II: Later Poems (1)

A HERALD OF SPRING 77

THOUGHTS IN A HAMMOCK 80

THE SIRENS THREE 89

FLORA’S FEAST 129

FROM HELLAS HOMEWARD 133

RONDEAUS:
BEYOND THE VERGE 139
THE OLD AND NEW 140
ACROSS THE FIELDS 141
IN LOVE’S DISPORT 142
WHAT MAKES THE WORLD 143
SEED TIME 144
A SEAT FOR THREE 145

RONDELS:
WHEN TIME UPON WING 146
THIS BOOK OF HOURS 147

TRIOLET 148

SONNETS:
AT SHELLEY’S GRAVE 151
THE VOICE OF SPRING 152
A DAY IN EARLY SPRING 153
A NIGHT IN MAY 154
ILLUSIONS 155
ON THE SUPPRESSION OF FREE SPEECH AT CHICAGO 156
FREEDOM IN AMERICA 157
TO THE PRISONERS OF LIBERTY 158
REMINISCENT 159
OF HELLAS DEAD 160
TO THE HAMMERSMITH CHOIR 161
RENASCENCE 162

No. PAGE

1. Frontispiece _Engraved on wood by
Arthur Leverett._

2. Dedication _Heading_ _Photo-engraved by Emery
3. ” _Tail-piece_ Walker and W. Boutall_ iii

4. Contents _Head._ _Engraved on wood by
5. ” _Tail._ Arthur Leverett_ vii

6. List of Designs _Head._ _Photo-engraved by Emery xi
7. ” ” _Tail._ Walker and W. Boutall_ xiii

8. Part I. _Title device_ _Engraved on wood by
Arthur Leverett_ 1

9. Invocation _Head._ _Engraved on wood by 3
10. ” _Tail._ Arthur Leverett_ 7

11. The City of Love _Head._ _Photo-engraved by Emery 8
12. ” ” _Tail._ Walker and W. Boutall_ 15

13. The House of Dreams _Head._ _Engraved on wood by 16
14. ” ” _Tail._ Arthur Leverett_ 30

15. Love’s Labyrinth _Head._ _Photo-engraved by Emery 31
16. The Dividing Gulf _Head._ Walker and W. Boutall_ 43

17. The Valley of Deliverance _Head._ _Photo-engraved by Emery 45
18. ” ” _Tail._ Walker and W. Boutall_ 50

19. The Unknown Shore _Head._ _Photo-engraved by Emery 51
20. ” ” _Tail._ Walker and W. Boutall_ 52

21. The West Wind _Head._ _Photo-engraved by Emery 53
22. ” ” _Tail._ Walker and W. Boutall_ 54

23. The New Light _Head._ _Photo-engraved by Emery 55
(Tail-piece No. 7 repeated.) Walker and W. Boutall_ 56

24. Hymn of Free Peoples _Head._ _Photo-engraved by Emery
Walker and W. Boutall_ 57

25. Twelve Sonnets _Title device_ _Engraved on wood by 61
26. Part II. _Title device_ Arthur Leverett_ 75

27. A Herald of Spring _Head._ _Photo-engraved by Emery
Walker and W. Boutall_ 77

28. Thoughts in a Hammock _Head._ _Photo-engraved by Emery 80
29. ” ” ” _Tail._ Walker and W. Boutall_ 85

30. The Siren’s Three _Title device_ _Photo-engraved by Emery
Walker and W. Boutall_ 87
31. ” ” _Dedicatory_ 89
32. ” ” _Head._ 90
33. ” ” _Tail._ 128

34. Flora’s Feast _Head._ _Photo-engraved by Emery
Walker and W. Boutall_ 129

35. From Hellas Homeward _Head._ _Photo-engraved by Emery
Walker and W. Boutall_ 133
36. ” ” _Tail._ 136

37. Rondeaus, &c. _Title device_ _Engraved on wood by
ArthurLeverett_ 137

38. Sonnets _Title device_ _Photo-engraved by Emery
Walker and W. Boutall_ 149

39. Pegasus _Colophon_ _Engraved on wood by
Arthur Leverett_ 163

EARLIER POEMS]

O SOUL of souls, awake! Lift up thine eyes
To meet the dayspring, till their spherèd skies
Flash answering light to pierce the clinging veil
Of mists and shadows of the night grown pale.

Renascent, leave the tombment of thy bed,
Though rich with painted love of legend dead,
And gilded with the gold of hallowed time,
And dim with dreams and darkness of the prime.

O joy of Man, arise! Behold Time brings
Deliverance for thee, and thoughts’ swift wings
Are dyed afresh in iris hues of Hope
Who paints for thee, by her creative scope,
New heaven in earth renewed before thy sight,
With golden fields unreaped and fresh delight
Of flower, and fruit of no forbidden tree,
Where Life is Love, and blooms sweet Liberty.

O Bride of Light! Like Aphrodite rise
From rosy waves of morn that crystallize
Thy sacred image in their mirror, smooth
As sculpture of the shining limbs they soothe;
And clothe thyself in pureness like the sun,
With lily lawn and blue of heaven, spun
From spotless fields of interstellar space—
A seamless shrine to keep thy inward grace.

Put on thy broidered robe, thy bride’s attire,
Put on thy glory, and the jewel fire
Of fearless thought, nor let thine handmaids spare,
All grateful tribute from the sweet and fair
To deck thy loveliness, and make appear
The fullness of the beauty thou dost wear:
But let no crown thy golden head dethrone
Except the coronal of wisdom’s own.

Fare forth, fair Bride, and from thy chamber come,
Lo! they are waiting who shall lead thee home:
The winged procession of the eager Hours,
Before thy feet to pave the way with flowers;
The Daughters of the Year, the Seasons Four,
Have decked the happy earth with sun and shower;
Each joyful mouth, each blissful day is swift
To bring unto thy feet its treasured gift;
The Sisters Three, who plough, and sow, and reap,
Still gather thee Time’s grain in growing heap,
From golden age to golden age to be;
Their dreamful faces rapt in prophecy
Of veiled futurity’s potential hour
Where Fate prepareth thine immortal dower.

Arise, sweet soul! Arise, and take thy throne,
Upbuilt in ages long by stone on stone—
The human spirit’s still aspiring stair
Whose marble feet were laid in toil and care,
And washed with tears, and worn in eager quest
Of false and fleeting phantoms, seeking rest.
But now thy feet are fledged and would aspire
To climb the summit of thy hope’s desire,
High where in sculptured walls and towers rise
Her architecture, white in azure skies,
Tinged with the fire of dawn above thy head—
Ah! there, fair soul, thy marriage feast is spread.

And there, with Wisdom still, and Knowledge clear,
Sweet counsel shalt thou take, and without fear,
For Love will give thee law, and Love shall be
Thy chancellor and rule equality.
No sceptre shall thy white right hand e’er hold
But sacred Freedom, brighter than the gold
Of kingships, and blessing by the power
That crowns life’s magic staff with bud and flower:
Nor be thy sister hand forgotten sole,
The while her slender fingers do control
The world’s large heart, and in its compass found
The wealth of all the universe embound.

And thou shalt open the eternal reign
Of Justice; while fair Peace, with all her train,
Shall sow the earth with blessings and impart
New joy and skill to men in Craft and Art;
To gather from all shores the scattered gems
With beauty’s pearls to deck thought’s diadems:
And Poesy shall fill thy courts with song,
And Commonwealth the ocean gateways throng
With white-winged messengers from all the lands
And tidings glad shall join the nation’s hands,
From riches and from penury set free,
And from the last dread link of slavery;
And eke from tyrant sword, and tyrant gold,
And priestly nightmare that the soul doth fold.
There Giant Labour in his strength new-found,
Rejoicing, shall go forth to break new ground,
One brotherhood with Art and Knowledge clear;
To bridge the gulf of space and bring men near;
With fruitful brain and hand to bring new birth
Of Titan forces to subdue the earth,
And from the willing hands of nature draw
New benefits, and, owning but her law,
Out of her treasury things tried and true,
In human faith and hope to build anew
Man’s shattered house, and paint his storied wall
For Life and Love, a heritage for all.

ABOUT the time when garlanded green May
At Summer’s threshold casts her blossom crown,
Time bore me on his wingèd wheels away,
Out of the joyless city where I lay,
From smoke-dimmed streets whose dusky skies disown
The day-god’s glorious face, serene that shows
This day of days, to reign in his fair house,
Cloud-built, and white, and interspaced with blue,
Above the green earth’s fields that I did pass,
Bearing ungathered harvests in their grass
Of star-bright flowers, and every magic hue
Born of the hours, and of the kindling zone
Sun-cast o’er wandering mead and upland lone,
That now on every hand mine eyes did fill,
As went the wheel whirl’d with the fiery will.

And always, as the changeful landscape spread
Mead beyond mead, and furrow’d ridge and tree,
And traversed road, and bridge, and woodland lea;
Me seemèd as a chart my life to see,
What was, and is, and that which is to be,
As dark and bright the region’s face I read.
Nor yet I stay’d at all, but still with Time
Fled by, and onward many leagues, until,
About the height of day the wheel was still,
About the hour it was ere noon should chime,
And I look’d forth and saw dim-pointed spires,
Like flames, arising from a golden mead
Which burn’d with all the yellow crowded fires
Of shining cups that fill the fields of May:
Whereby a city fair mine eyes had heed,
Verged round with bowery close, and willows grey
Shading the silent water’s secret way,
Girdling the quiet town with cluster’d reed.

Thence rose no surge of men, or sound of strife,
But smoothly glode the even hours of life,
Told by the sweet-tongued bells in tuneful towers;
And in the streets there moved the breath of flowers,
And incense, such as riseth after showers
Upon deep gardens, hiding in their bowers
The inmost heart of sweetness.
Still my way
Drew on, between high-window’d walls and old,
That to the street an ancient story told,
With solemn mien unto Life’s changing day,
In restless ebb and flow, as sea-waves play
About the feet of lonely cliff’s; tho’ now
Even these I pass’d, as fleeting things and vain,
For all my heart a strange consuming pain
Possess’d, in thought of what I hoped to gain
Fill’d with an exquisite fire, wherein did show
All things as dross, or gold of fairest vein:
As, since the gate of Love had oped for me,
I lived in hell or heavenly ecstasy.

But all things on this day had good import,
For even now I went to Love’s high court,
To greet my heart’s dear queen, where she did dwell
In this his holy city, where the streets
Seem’d gold, or like the burnish’d path which meets
The sun’s bright porch across the shining sea;
So in Love’s glory shone my way to me.
Until before her gate the splendour fell.

Robed in sweet grace and crowned with her hair,
I met my queen, upon her palace stair,
And near I was to fall and worship there,
As to her hand I brought a golden gift,
Which she, my gracious sovereign, counted well,
And me unto her highest grace did lift,
Making me rich above all kingly state.

For side by side within her house we sate,
Or ’neath the azure canopy of heaven,
And every hour and every day, of seven,
Brought unto our feet their separate joy.
And every day the plenteous feast was spread
Before my grateful heart, and eyes, and lips
That drank the wine of Love and broke his bread,
And drew my soul delight thro’ honey sips
From the sweet source of sweet which may not cloy.

Then from Love’s banquet, rising, my beloved
Forth led me in the bond of her dear hand,
That we in his glad courts might understand
Fresh joyance; and thro’ all his realm we moved.
Adown the golden street my lady led,
Where pass’d us, to and fro, Love’s votaries—
The searchers of his book, within whose eyes
Was writ his name, whose chanting lips had said
His prayers and orisons within the shrines,
Dim-window’d, strange, and still with sacred air,
Stirr’d by the wings of singing spirits fair,
When the sweet anthem lifteth or declines,
In organ waves that sweep along the lines
Of the soul’s shore, to break upon and die,
Soft on the soothed borders, silently.

We passéd by the door and enter’d in,
For in Love’s holy place we sought to win
High ecstasy whereon our souls might climb
Even to the utmost gate of golden bliss,
And know within the sanctuary of this,
Our dear inheritance in God’s good time.

Love’s service done, forth streamed from their place
His choristers and singing boys, attired
In white raiment, shining where they quired;
And after them we went with silent pace,
And towards the groves of pleasure turn’d our face,
Whence by green quietude of cloister’d stone,
And shadow’d courts that kept themselves alone,
And ’neath the carven boughs that interlace;
Until we came beneath the fairer roof
Of curtain’d leaves, light spread, of greenest woof,
Glowing between the stoney window fret,
As shines such light of paradise men get,
Dark-barr’d by care which holdeth them aloof
And binds their souls within life’s twisted net.

But enter’d we the joyful Eden gate,
Where talk the trees of summer, and of green
More glorious than May’s bright head doth screen
Whereas she hideth from the flaming state,
When the all regal sun would penetrate,
Seeking dominion in the realm of shade,
Where now we thought to find sweet pleasure laid,
And take her sleeping, while the hours should wait.

Yea! hidden in the odorous aisles of May;
Whose fragrance fans the air which faints away,
There, in a labyrinth of leaves I caught her—
Whereby soft willows kiss the silent water—
I caught her, and I kiss’d, tho’ she did pray
Release, and said: “Thou canst not hold Time’s daughter.”
But her I held, nor let her thence depart
Till I had won her favourable grace;
And after oft we saw her fleeting face
Laugh through the leaves, and in our kindled heart
Were glad exceedingly, nor thought to part,
Content a little while in each fair place
To know a sweet above all flowery space.

My faint tongue faltereth when I would tell
What doors of joy we pass’d, what sights to seek,
But Love’s day endeth, and his holy week,
Whose dear appointed feasts we kept full well;
Seeking Love’s face at morn and eventide,
Tho’ oft it was too bright to look upon,
Shining above the splendour of the sun,
A burning flame when day’s dim fire had died.
And now, the last of days, it came to pass
I with my Love, upon a space of grass,
Sate by a water which the willows kept
And silently the stream beneath them swept,
Secret as time, and still, and staying not;
Fair fell the sun thro’ glancing leaves above,
And fair on us did shine the sun of Love,
As one brief hour together we forgot
All earthly things in that enchanted plot—
The world of strife, and evil-favour’d care,
And misery whose voice was silent there:
Even so, a little while, our blissful lot.

A little while—but soon the end befel,
For Time, a sudden shadow, on us fell,
And loud above I heard his hateful bell
Clang in the tower to ring our sweet day’s knell.

Thence was I torn from my dear Love away,
And, as a dream, I lost upon that day
My hold of joy, and slipp’d adown, adown.
Nor knew I more until I woke again
Unto the endless world with all its pain—
The sea-wide city, and the sad refrain
Of hungry waves that now my song would drown.

I SATE in my soul’s house one day
The world-wide book before me lay
And in mine eyes, as through a glass
The colours of all things did pass,
And thought and life, in mingled stream,
Strange semblance showed as in a dream.

My soul’s still house lies hid in trees,
And sitting in its porch one sees,
Before the feet, a garden green,
Amidst a wild and dark demesne,
When sight may range by lea and lawn,
From sunset to the gate of dawn,
Till through the utmost wood may be
Descried a dim and dreadful sea.

Five gates it hath, five porches fair,
That know bright guests of light and air,
And through the windows, clear and high,
The winged thoughts come from earth and sky
That show me things by shore and sea,
And visions high of things to be.

Anigh the house a water clear,
Born of some secret crystal mere
Among the mountains of the land,
And flowing to the dim sea-strand;
But still and silent in its pace,
That in its smooth translucent face
Bright image flashed of many a thing,
And folk that passed in wandering,
With colours fresh of tree and flower.

Here kept my soul a secret bower;
And in the garden all the year
One plied his craft of gardener,
Nor slept between the moon and sun,
Nor ever was his labour done;
For this was Time who told my hours
And gave, and took away, my flowers.

And one beside him fed a fire
With listless hands, whose whole desire
Was not therein, but far away
She watched an ever dying day:
She smiled sometimes, and oft she wept,
But through her tears her watch she kept:
Time brought her flowers; she cast the same
To feed the hungering tongues of flame—
Yea, all men know the dreamful dame,
Pale Memory, ye rede her name.

In my soul’s house, alway to be,
Dwelt spirits five for company,
And fair they were in form and face,
And well my soul’s white house did grace:
For one the chambers garnished fit
With boughs and flowers, and them she lit
By night and day, for she was Sight
And rulèd all my soul’s delight.
Her sister to my table bare
Sweet pleasure of earth’s fruits and rare,
As every season brought its meed
Or ever as my soul had need.

Another made sweet incense rise
From out a censer in such wise
That mingled sweet of every kind,
And let the slender smoke enwind
The pillars of the roof, and send
The pleasant mist from end to end.
The while another yet of these
With music soft my soul would please;
To every thought in every mood
She made her tuneful interlude:
She touched the strings, she ruled the lute,
And many a soft harmonious flute
That mocked the birds in leafy quire;
But oft this spirit would aspire
To lift the solemn organ’s voice,
And this would be her dearest choice,
Till, with its deeper soul embued,
My soul forgot its solitude.

Yet one there was, both dumb and blind,
Who yet was wise in every kind,
And many a thing her hand could teach,
In silent service serving each.

These watched the house and kept it fair
As each its several part had care.
Thus sate my soul and talked with these
In its white porch among the trees;
And each brought word what she had seen
Of all that ranged that region green:
For many folk passed to and fro,
As flew the hours or footed slow.
One came in garment green and pale
Across the hill, adown the dale,
And blossoms in her hand she bore;
A swallow skimmed her path before;
It was a herald bright of spring,
And this the song that she did sing:

* * * * *

There fell a day of sun and shower,
Spring stirred within her leafless bower,
She sent me from her wintry home—
“Go forth and tell the world I come.”

Beneath the windows of the dawn
I took my way, by lake and lawn,
I saw of flowers the firstling born,
I gathered of the flowering thorn:

And from the dale and from the down
I passed into the sleeping town,
Along the stoney streets to spill
My flowers, by door and window sill:

But they were like the eyes of men,
Sleep-locked, though some were open then:
I saw within a darkened room
An old man, lying in the gloom.

He saw my flowers, and then he sighed,
And turned upon his bed and died.
I took my way with soundless feet,
But none I met my steps to greet.

Save when a wakeful babe me spied,
And stretched his dimpled arms and cried.
They hushed his voice, nor knew his will—
I left the city sleeping still.

* * * * *

She ceased her song, and there was hush,
As after when the tuneful thrush
Hath warbled clear the wood is still
Ere yet again the quire sings shrill
For very joy.
And then I heard,
Among the grass, Time grind and gird
Upon his blade: He stooped to slay,
And soon before his feet there lay
The fallen emblems of the hours—
A harvest sheaf of spring’s first flowers—
Which she beside him gathering flung
Into the fire the while they sung,
And thus I heard their voices chime:

(THE SONG OF MEMORY AND TIME.)

TIME.

Spring-tide come and winter going;
Flower to seed, and seed to sowing;
Seed and harvest, reaping, mowing.

MEMORY.

Life beginning, and life ending;
Life his substance ever spending;
Time to life his little lending.

TIME.

Hark! the wingèd winds are calling;
Clouds the young year’s path appalling;
Blooms of spring like snow are falling.

MEMORY.

Snows of spring green earth bestrewing!
Wasted hopes must I be rueing,
Spring of life there’s no renewing.

And after these had ceased their song,
A company there passed along,
In divers weed, and changeful mien,
And glad, or sad, athwart my green:
Their fluttering robes of dark or pale,
Like leaves adrift on Autumn gale;
And they like shadows o’er the grass
Before my porch did singly pass,
But through the house their voices rang,
Tune-tongued like bells, as thus they sang:—

(SONG OF THE HOURS.)

Between the gates of night and morn,
With sleepless hands and sleepless eyes,
We watch the sun and moon outworn,
The silent stars that sink and rise.

In hidden chambers of the night,
The thread of Fate we sit and spin,
Through death and life, in dark and light,
From life’s slim staff to wind and win.

With joinèd hands and parting feet,
The work is wove, and still undone;
But still we tread Time’s measure fleet,
As through the glass the sand is spun.

With linkèd hands and feet that wind
Between the pillars of the day,
Around the house the garland bind,
For spring hath come, we cannot stay.

* * * * *

They passed. A change came o’er the sky.
I heard a shout—I heard a cry.
A horn’s far sound the woods awoke,
And sudden from the thicket broke,
In my soul’s sight, a thing of flame,
And after, swift, a horseman came—
A youth intent upon the chase;
But ever, as he urged his pace,
One laid her hands upon his rein,
And from that end would him restrain;
While did the stirring horn resound,
And in the leash each panting hound
Pressed hard to slip the tightened chain.

What would that eager hunter gain?
Some magic thing whose form and hue
Still changed as he did close pursue—
A flame, a bubble of the air?
A woman, marvellously fair?
Yea, every shape it hath in turn
That makes man’s troubled soul to burn,
And doth his baffled sight elude
To leave the world a solitude.

Again the sounding horn did bray,
The hounds were slipt and broke away,
And swift throughout the close they sped,
Still as the changeful quarry led;
Till far beyond the open green
They flashed the forest stems between,
And soon were lost in night of wood.
Again I heard Time’s interlude:—

TIME

Whence the way and whither wending?
Seeks hot youth, till eld descending,
Leaves unread the secret pending.

What is Life? Truth answers never;
Darkly flows the secret river,
But its springs are hid for ever.

What is Truth? Man’s long endeavour
Finds the web but not the weaver:
Sleeps the riddle none may sever.

As it was in Time’s beginning,
Then, as now, while Fate is spinning
Man her clue would still be winning.

* * * * *

My soul knew rest no more that day.
I heard Time’s voice sink far away,
And long did muse till light was gone,
Still sitting in my porch alone.

Strange thoughts like flashes went and came,
And dreams of love, and hopes of fame,
With dim desires that inly burned;
Dead hopes that rose again and yearned
To follow still that unknown quest,
And failing, fluttered back to rest.

Then had my soul a vision strange,
As far in spirit did I range,
And I beheld a far dim plain,
Dyed in day’s last Tyrean stain,
And through its dark and desert ground
A gleaming vein of water wound,
Where lonely piles of ruin old
Loomed vast, with hollow chambers cold,
Where horror dwelt with night and death,
And filled they were with ghostly breath.

But there amid the gathering glooms,
Among the temples and the tombs,
One wandered in a pilgrim’s guise,
Who fixed afar his wistful eyes;
His footsteps kept the river’s side,
A glowing lamp his feet did guide,
That shone upon that desert’s dearth,
As like a star there fall’n to earth;
And moving through the twilight dim,
By shattered arch and column slim,
With staff and scrip he kept his way,
Among those wrecks of ancient day.

* * * * *

Far, far upon that desert land,
Half buried in her grave of sand,
The ancient head of Egypt rose;
And, still sublime in death’s repose,
Great Memnon kept his awful throne
Outwatching day and night alone:
And where the Greek laid stone on stone
The faces of his gods were shown,
When to the world—a youth—there came
Fair Wisdom, Power, and Beauty’s dame,
Heré, not Pallas, had his choice
But Aphrodité won his voice.
The crumbling strength of mighty Rome,
Her grave, her cradle, and her home;
There stood the emblems of her reign—
The Arch that would the world sustain,
And still doth span in legioned range
The gulf of time, the waves of change.

Long stood the Pilgrim here at gaze,
As lost in thought of antique days,
As far his searching eyes could scan
Beneath the age-worn arches’ span.
He marked each age’s builded pile
Loom dimly down the endless aisle,
Where shone the winding waters’ thread,
A wandering life among the dead,
Until his sight no more could trace
Its courses from their hidden place,
Wrapt in the clinging mists that shroud
The trackless mountains dim with cloud;
But still his spirit found no home
Beneath the broad eternal dome.

At last the Pilgrim turned and sighed,
Nor stayed he where a cross beside
Marked how a greater power and pride
Did conquer Rome, and still doth bide.
Full many a stone about that ground
Made stumbling, but of flowers were found
None save the sanguined poppy’s hue
Between still sleep and death that grew.

The Pilgrim stayed for sleep nor rest,
As bent upon some hidden quest;
Nor turned he from his painful way
Where folk made feast and holiday
Beneath fair vines and fruited trees,
As pipe, and dance, and song them please.
He seemed the world of men to shun,
And joyed when he a wood had won,
Sweet cloistered green, and roofed above,
Where soft he heard the wooing dove,
And sound of wandering water near;
He drank its crystal cup and clear,
And kept his path beside the stream
Till he beheld white pillars gleam.

He passed from green to blossomed boughs
That compassed fair a secret house;
Still music drew him to the door,
Swift beat his heart, and trembling more,
He entered, to a gold dim space
Flame-lit before an altar daïs,
Rose-garlanded, most fair and meet,
And all the air was still and sweet,
But over these in fairer case
Shone the clear semblance of a face.

He knelt before that altar stone,
The anthem soothed his heart’s faint tone,
And seraph voices high and soft,
In measured cadence quired aloft,
Or sailed in tempest gusts of sound
When passion’s music shook the ground.
Filled was the Pilgrim’s soul and bowed,
Till in his stress he cried aloud:
“O Love! This is thy holy place,
Give me, I pray, my lady’s grace!”

WHEN summer reigned in leafy sheen,
I found me in a garden green,
Deep hidden from the sun’s gold edge,
Beneath a rose-hung thorny hedge,
Upon a space of cool fair grass,
Whereon not yet the scythe should pass;
Though in the meadows was it laid,
Where Time was stooping in the shade
As, foot by foot, with measured sweep
His engine cleft the grassy deep;
And thence fresh fragrance wafted sweet
The smell of roses blown to meet,
Mixed in the drowsèd air and stole
In slumber to my dreamful soul.

Full long I lay in leafy lair,
Until, upon the murmurous air,
One murmur grew with deep’ning note
And soon my sleeping ear it smote,
And woke a trouble in my breast—
A joyful pain more sweet than rest.
Like as the voice of plaining strings
When magic hands the music brings
Out of the viols’ soul in sound
That hath a power when speech is bound,
To lift the whirlwind and the wail
Of passion’s tempest, and the veil
Of dumb desires and hopes that cry,
Until the strong winds sinking die,
Though still the wrought waves strike the shore,
Above them shrill a voice dost soar;
Or with the soft gale, falling low,
To lull the soul, sings sweet and slow,
And folds the fluttering wings of peace:
So thrilled that music through the trees;
The leaves were stirred upon the boughs,
The petals shaken from a rose,
As though a spirit moved anear.
Then from the hedge a voice broke clear:—

“O Time! O Time! Thy dial stay,
And lend to Love thy little day,
And make him free of thy domain;
And thou shalt not have less of gain,
For he must pay thee back again
In penal hours of longing pain.

“O Time! O Time! Thy labour stay
Between the sun and moon to-day:
Tell not thy hours of moon and noon
Lest they should find us swift and soon
To steal from us our secret joy,
And give us to the world’s annoy.

“Let Love be king in hour and place,
And give thy garden for his chase,
Set all with lilies fair and white,
And roses for his heart’s delight,
Both red, and crimson dark, and pale
Like snow that hidden fire doth veil:
Yea, give them on their thorny stem,
Before thy breath shalt shatter them,
That chaplets Love may bind for those
Who wander in his tangled close.”

Time, ceasing not his toil, far heard,
Gave back to Love this answering word:—

“Love, to Time dost thou come sueing?
Love, with all thy debt accrueing?
Time can give thee no renewing.

“Ask the hearts thy sceptre schooleth,
Seek the kings thy kingship ruleth,
Who is he that Time befooleth?

“Rest thee, Love, in thine own city,
But of my dominion quit ye,
Time is hard, and hath no pity.

“Erst for king didst thou disown me,
Wouldst thou o’er thy kingdom crown me?
Thee I serve when thou hast won me.

“Slave and servant, no man’s master,
They who will me slow or faster
Urge me to their own disaster.

“Lo! this garden for thy going,
Fair and sweet life-blooms in growing,
Gather, ere its leaves be strowing.

“Hive thy honey, sweet bestowing,
Take life’s apples, red and glowing,
Ere they fall to earth unknowing.

“Days and hours, perforce, Time gives thee
By the sun’s swift wheel that drives ye,
Rest you merry! Time survives Thee.”

His shadow passed, his voice had died,
And from the rosy covert side,
Clear shining in his goodlihead,
Love to my soul came forth and said:—

“Arise, O Soul! and go with me,
And thou shalt read my book and see
Things hidden from the wise, and know
The height of joy, the depth of woe,
And hear the seas of passion roll,
And scan the dim strange human scroll,
The writing of its speechless lore,
And poesy’s unfathomed store;
The mystic birth of Song and Art
In painted chambers of the heart;
Love’s histories of bliss and strife,
And woven mysteries of life—
Yea, all that in Love’s house do dwell
Between the doors of heaven and hell.”

Now in this garden lay apart
A space contrived with cunning art,
Where whoso entered at its gate
Might choose of pleasant paths and straight,
Green walled in privet, rose, and yew,
Anon that interlaced and drew
The wildered wight still to and fro,
Who wists not if to turn or go,
Amid the close entangled ways,
Where oft, for his yet more amaze,
Soft voices, wandering, called his name,
And through the leaves sweet music came,
Clear faces showed like sudden light,
To vanish from his longing sight
Ere he might hope of help to win
The secret bliss hid far within.

Few ’scape from out that pleasaunce whole,
Few gain the inmost golden goal;
Full many wander there forlorn,
Or come out thence sore wounded, torn,
To weep their wasted lives forespent.

Thither by Love my soul was bent:
Soon in the green maze sweet and still,
I heard the brown and blackbird trill,
Where, linkèd lanes and alleys through,
Love led me by his secret clue;
And oft the scented briar would cling,
Or in the hedge some fluttering thing
Shake soft adown a summer snow
Of roses bloom in overblow,
Among the leaves all fair bedight
And prankt with buds of red and white.

But still by these Love’s footsteps led,
Dim paths before him turned and fled;
Full oft some sweet or anguished face
Would part the leaves to seek his grace;
For many folk did wander there,
Both gleaming knights and dames most fair,
And o’er the level hedge and trim
Fair showed in quaint attire and slim
Of samite, broidery, and brocade,
As folk of passèd time portrayed
By cunning painters, skilled full well,
That mid so goodly sights did dwell.

And there about the stems were hung
Sweet names and legends poets sung,
Ywrought on scrolls and tablets fine,
And bound with knots that true loves twine;
And oft the lute’s full tender strain
Amid the rose leaves made soft plain,
As songs were heard in women’s fame
That crownèd singers sweet proclaim—
Prophets and kings of lyre and pen,
Who sound the hearts of silent men
That hold their word as treasure trove
In the immortal book of love.

These all were passed, and in a while,
Love showed my soul a dim green aisle,
And far at end a stone-built stair,
That led us from the woody lair,
Forth issuing through a night of trees
To know anew the day’s increase,
And there a fragrant arbour found,
With clinging jasmine close embound.
Soon, in this leafy ambush set,
Love bade my soul look forth and let
Sight wonder at its might or will.
Then saw I those that wandered still
Lost in the green and covert ways,
And all the secret of the maze.
How there, as folks distraught, misled,
Sought lovers for their lover, who fled
Far from them, or, unwitting, past
The prisoning hedge that shut them fast:
How, oft their eyes met far amain
In severed paths that kept them twain;
How, after toil and weary pace,
Some met at last with shamefast face,
And silent lips, or coldly masked
With wintry speech their hearts that asked
For utterance, and leapt, and cried—
Love’s dear deliverance denied.

Thereby great heaviness and pain
Had then my soul, and turned again
To ask of him who stood beside
What hope for these might yet betide.
Clothed in his godhead strong he stood,
He bent his bow above the wood,
And swift the wingèd arrow left
The quivering string—what heart it cleft
My soul ne’er knew, for then the light
Of falling day dazed all my sight
With splendour, as the level sun
Blazed in his gold pavilion spun
Out of his rays whose burning thread
A glorious tapestry outspread
With all life’s hues commingling blent.
And ere the golden web was rent
By darkness, Love led me away,
And passed, about the end of day,
Beneath the hanging umbrage dread
Till grew in sight a summer stead,
Fair corniced, roofed, and pillared clean,
Closed in the midmost heart of green,
And girt about with garlands round,
Clear-built upon a pleasant ground,
That gardened was and set with flowers,
Which had the speech of love and powers
After that they are dead to keep
Sweet thoughts in heart and cherished deep.
Also of mythic trees and rare
That grew in love’s high region there,
My soul did mark fair Daphne’s leaf;
The almond bloom, for love and grief,
When Phillis died; and Syrinx’ reed,
Like sprung of legendary seed,
The sun’s broad flower, that shows his flame
And blooms in Clyte’s sculptured fame.

Amidst them fair and high uprose
The carven images of those
That wrought with men for good or ill,
And gave good gifts, and god-like skill,
And reverence had upon the earth—
Yea, still, in all man’s strife and mirth
Have part and glory, yet for him
The mingled cup of life they brim,
As gods, who here Love’s lordship own
Casting their crowns before his throne.
Their marble image broken fell
Where leapt a water from its well
Gemmed in the green and grassy space
Before the pillars of the place,
Where now my soul love’s travel brought.

Soon trod we both the marble court,
And passed into a painted hall,
Most goodly wrought on roof and wall
With dreams, and golden mysteries
Of love and love’s rich histories
Wherein dumb thoughts of heart and brain
Took form and speech and breathed again.

Natheless, ere we the end might win
Was hung a veil, fine-woven, thin,
But through the veil a fire glowed dim,
And faint-heard music soft did swim,
Till out of vague and murmurous tone
Rose up a voice to take its throne:—

“Last night my lady talked with me,
As on a green hill, I and she
Sat close, where erst alone I stood
Beneath the dusk-leaved ilex wood.

“The earth was gathered to her rest,
Sweet silence lay upon her breast,
Well nigh asleep, save that she heard
The wandering waters’ silver word.

“The sun had kissed the earth’s dark lips
That grow so ruddy ere he dips,
Wine-coloured to his golden rim,
As purple evening pours for him.

“Low stooped his head as he would drink,
Till out of sight we saw him sink,
And with his splendour in our eyes,
Full-orbed we watched the great moon rise.

“Rose-tinged in the dim sky shone she
Like Venus from the opal sea,
So grew her glory in our sight,
Till in her face we saw love’s light,

“Love’s light in hers, like flame on flame—
Yea, very Love in presence came,
Between the fires of moon and sun
He stood, like dawn ere night begun.

“Clear-aureoled his golden head,
His eyes our burning hearts well read,
And in the sanctuary of my soul
I won of love the golden goal.”

ERRATUM.

Page 33, line 5, _for_ “moon” _read_ “morn”.

A GULF divideth Heaven and Hell
Whose depth no fathom line can tell;
A gulf is fixed between two souls
As cold and deep, which ever rolls
To hinder messengers of light,
Who else would wing in welcome flight,
With water from love’s living spring,
And peace to the tormented bring:

But now if any will to pass
From hence to thence, alas! alas!
The gulf is fixed, they cannot go,
And all unaided lie in woe,
Sad souls unto their succour near,
And yet so far as though they were
Divided by an ocean plain;
And so thoughts die within each brain
That might in interchanging wed,
And fruitfulness and plenty spread
To clothe and crown the naked fields,
And give them bread for barren yields,
That waste beneath a sunless sky
Their empty ears, or, blighted die.

But as when we have longed to greet
Some wished-for-one we never meet,
Their semblance still may please our eyes,
Their presence in our dreams arise;
So, though lone thoughts ne’er meet their kind,
Or, meeting in the darkness blind,
Know not they meet—falls there no flash
Upon the waters wide that wash
The silent shores of either mind,
And both by sudden pathway find?
Shines there no light we never sought
On all the ways of toil and thought—
A flash in momentary course,
Like lightning from an unseen source
That, in the trembling of a star,
Shows all world anear and far,
When in a flood of flame intense
The gulf is banished from our sense,
And in one moment, bridging space,
Two spirits stand as face to face.

I

SEA-BLUE infinitude of silent hills!
That fold, like waves that crested are and smooth,
The wide-spread vale that slowly eve instils
With misty lakes, and all thy summits sooth.

II

In baths of amber light where melt and merge
The wandering purples into green and gold,
Athwart the slumbrous fields, and moorland verge
O’ersailed by slow cloud-shadows softly rolled.

III

With alternations new and grateful change
Of burning tones to cool in magic show,
As oft the opalescent sea do range
Or in the sun-built arch transfused do glow.

IV

O silent hills! ye hold a meaning more
Than speech; ye are not voiceless, O ye vales!
But eloquent of time and treasured lore
Of memory, and filled with untold tales.

V

That well nigh dim my gazing eyes with tears,
Whereas they follow those familiar lines;
Dear as the features shaped by hopes and fears
On friendship’s face, oft read and sought for signs.

VI

For dear to me the crags—the weather-worn;
The slopes of green, the waving woodland towers
Whose crested pageantry of leaves adorn
The shadowed graves of faded summer hours.

VII

Full well I know the belts of larch that fringe
The dark verge of the lonely moor, which seems
The limit of the world, touched with the tinge
Of dying light, and burned with day’s last beams.

VIII

And oft, as now, I pressed the purple bloom—
The heather-plumaged breast of this high moor;
And heard, as now I hear, the wandering boom
Of these winged gleaners of the honeyed store.

IX

O well loved vale! For I am bound to thee
By subtle threads of thought that memory weaves;
Yea, sitting in thy shadow, Liberty,
Like dawn first knew I, opening life’s leaves;

X

E’en then, when first I tasted of the tree,
And dayspring of new knowledge touched mine eyes,
That erst were sealed—as other books to me,
Until upon thy hills new light should rise:

XI

Until my soul, new born, within this vale
Should learn of Nature in her age-worn book,
And strive, beyond the starry void, to scale
The dim unknown, or in truth’s glass to look

XII

On life, and life’s dark mystery which broods
And clings, a shadow, to the sad-eyed world;
Born in the horror of primæval woods,
And in death’s cloud impenetrable furled.

XIII

Beyond the gathering years since first I knew
Thee, happy vale, my yearning spirit reads,
Beyond night’s mist on thy horizon blue,
Where glow day’s embers, ere the night succeeds—

XIV

The Legends rich of unforgotten time—
Azure, and white, and gray enfolded days,
That long have passed away, unto the chime
Of brief on lingering hours, their restful ways:

XV

And, even now, clear imaged on my brain
Their semblance comes again—I see them move
In long procession slow, with joy or pain
Enrobed, with faces hid, and eyes of doubt or love:

XVI

Until the day which died with yestern sun
Begins to merge in that unending line;
And soon her lingering sister will be one
For on her face the light has ceased to shine.

XVII

So pass the days, with days unborn, to die,
And gather them to years in time’s swift pace,
But we would fain forecast futurity,
Or read fate’s rune upon the sky’s calm face.

XVIII

And I could well believe that in the shade
Of this still vale the secret sign lies hid—
The secret that shall shape my life, unsaid,
As in a casket treasured with close lid;

XIX

Mid fir-woods dark, or tumbled crags, unknown,
Or in brown deeps, where swift the river flows
Among tumultuous rocks, whence I have heard
Vague murmurings, ofttimes, beneath the boughs.

XX

But silence with her finger locks the lips,
When stand we watching at Futura’s gate;
Though eager thought would climb, and climbing slips;
While, all unwatched, each hour doth carve our fate.

I

THERE is no voice, there is no voice,
Or answer from the UNKNOWN shore:
Turn! turn again—there is no choice
But Life or Death—we know no more.

II

Yet Thought in Art and Song awakes;
Still Hope doth speak, and Reason brings
New light to men, and Wisdom takes
Sweet comfort from most lowly things.

III

Have loveliness or glory fled?
Hath Love or Beauty passed away?
Is poesy or fancy dead,
When light returns with every day?

IV

Sweet Hope and Beauty cannot die,
Enshrined as one in heaven’s blue;
And still eternal as the sky
Is good, and knowledge ever new.

V

And evermore rolls on the fight
Of good and evil by the sea;
But on the waters falls a light
From golden ages yet to be.

VI

Hear how they cry from every side,
The voices from the deepening strife!
The fields are white, the world is wide;
Arise! take heart! take hope! take Life!

WILD Wind! Thy tameless spirit lifts my mind—
Thou, all night long the troubled earth hast torn,
And tossed the stormy trees until the morn,
Which struggles now unto its noon, half blind

With those wild locks which ye have cast across
The face of heaven, scarcely showing through
Her eyes between are still of stedfast blue,
And still look calm above the woods ye toss;

As they were wrathful waves of that green main
From whence ye come, beyond the sunset’s grave,
To freshen on the sunburnt hills, and lave
The summer-thirsty fields with gracious rain.

Hark! in the wood thy voice, a lion, roars!
Beneath thy breath upon the parchèd hill,
Shudders the wasted grass, and shrieketh shrill,
As though it feared thee: but thy spirit soars

To lash the fossil waves of hill and dale
Ye may not move, yet melted make appear
Their solid sides, enrobed in rains ye bear
Across the valley like a falling veil.

But, night or day, thy ceaseless song to me
Makes melody, and music wild and free,
And I rejoice to drink thy breath for ye
Do bring the sound and savour of the sea.

AWAKE, O world! From thy long sleep arise!
For a new light breaks in reddening skies:
Shake off your rust-eaten fetters, ye slaves!
And claim the Freedom of winds and of waves:
Unwind! O unwind all the swathing clothes
Of bondage and ignorance, nations’ woes:
Break the dark might of enchantment’s spell,
Burst all thy bonds, and the chorus swell!
Kindle on every high hill a clear fire:
Plant in the cities, on tower and spire,
The banner of Freedom! Wide let it wave
Over sea and land, and over the grave
Of buried oppression, and chains decayed
Of tyrant’s power: till the ghosts shall be laid
Of fraud and violence, bloodshed and war:
And, burned in the flame of freedom’s fair star,
All wrongs shall be dust and ashes on earth—
Dead leaves from whose death shall spring a new birth
Which shall spread and grow like a fruitful tree,
And under its branches shall live the Free.

I

O KINDREDS! peoples strong!
That earth’s large arms enfold,
Against the powers that work ye wrong,
In common cause make bold.

II

From North, from East and West;
Beneath the southern star;
In bonds of slavery opprest,
In cruel arms of war.

III

From East, and South, and North;
From desert-cities shade,
From living tombs of toil, come forth,
Where rich man’s gold is made.

IV

From North, from West, and East,
O starved and meagre-fed!
Be gathered to the equal feast
The earth for all hath spread.

V

Beneath Life’s healing tree,
Truth’s fountain’s crystal flow,
Let all the Nations kindred be
The joy of life to know.

VI

And let each soul rejoice,
Who in that meat is strong;
And, hunger stayed, let heart and voice
Be filled with a new song.

VII

For Freedom like the sun
Hath risen on the world!
This hour a new age is begun—
A stainless scroll unfurled.

VIII

Old things have passed away—
The curse of gold, and gore;
The Law of Love all peoples sway,
And war shall be no more.

IX

No more to joyless toil
Shall Labour’s hands be chained;
No more shall Fraud have power to spoil
Man’s equal rights regained.

X

One hope, one joy, one light,
United all men know;
And from all lands with gathering might
The voice of truth shall go:

XI

And far and wide proclaim,
Defying tyrants’ ban,
Writ in all hearts, like tongues of flame—
The Brotherhood of Man!

I

LOVE’S SANCTUARY

NO more I go to worship with the crowd
In Christian temples, pagan now to me,
No dim cathedral hears me pray aloud,
I sing no credo, as it used to be:

Though kneeling not beneath the roof of Rome,
Or in protesting fanes, I have a shrine—
A holiest of holies—Love’s sweet home,
On whose white altar lies life’s bread and wine.

There oft, in saddened times and weary hours,
To secret sanctuary do I flee,
Where one sweet presence soothes, like breath of flowers,
To whom their incense rises ceaselessly;

For there, though not a Roman devotee,
Sweet virgin Mary I do worship thee.

II

LOVE’S HERALDRY

I GAVE to thee at parting, dear, a rose,
Encrimsoned with the hue of Love’s warm lips,
But yet it faded when compared to those
Wherefrom my soul unfailing honey sips.

And thou didst plant it in the snowy lawn
Which veiled the purer treasures of thy breast,
As when we see o’er earth, by winter drawn
The white sky-covering in spotless rest.

Warm gules on argent, like a blazoned field,
The hues of life and death in red and white—
A fair device for any knightly shield,
Nor needing motto to proclaim its might.

Henceforth I bear it on my battle crest,
Till in thine arms from life’s alarms I rest.

III

THE SOLACE OF LOVE

IN my heart’s chamber cold in day’s white glare,
Sate Love disconsolate with tatter’d wings,
And brooding on the memory of lost things
That erst made glad those walls, so wan and bare.

Came Hope then unto him and bade him look
Upon the brightness of the cloudless hours,
And on the buds of yet unopened flowers;
But Love, being blind, all blank was nature’s book.

Sleep came to him, and would have brought him peace,
But dreams awoke Desire whose torturing flame
Made worse his case and left him agony:
Till one, with wreathèd brows, for his release,
Unto his fingers gave a stringèd frame,
And then Love wept, and sang his pain to thee.

IV

PASSION MUSIC

THE air grows faint within the shrine of Love,
And from his altar rose-leaves fall away,
As smoke of incense dims the dying day
That crimsons on the golden roof above:
But, slowly stealing, soon the organ plains,
With quiring voices in a tender song,
Which shakes my soul as with a tempest strong,
Still as the music rolleth on refrains.

Now lifted light upon melodious wave,
My spirit rises on each beating wing,
That near unto the gates of bliss me bring;
Full soon cast down, and bowed by thunder-tones,
He falls upon the ground, and weeps and moans—
Such madness doth Love’s votaries enslave.

V

LOVE’S ANCHORITE

LOVE’S anchorite, within my lonely cell,
His breviary I learn you every day,
And Aves to my sainted Mary say,
As all my rosary I careful tell:
While on thy picture sweet my fond eyes dwell,
Or rapt upon thy treasured story pore,
Which, ending, leaves me yet to hunger more,
And still athirst to seek again the well.

Yet all Love’s calendar I follow through,
And each fair day, where memory shows thy sign,
Keep holy unto thee in prayer and song;
So every season brings to thee its due;
But, while thy table’s set with corn and wine,
Fasting I keep Love’s Lenten-tide so long.

VI

LOVE’S GARDEN

IN my heart’s garden, winter dark and bare,
Love sought for flowers to make a wreath for thee,
Which, since the sun was gone, he scarce might see
In all the waste, and Time was gardener there,
Who yet a little bloom will hardly spare,
But with remorseless hand still prunes away,
And still his scythe he sharpeneth every day;
So Love was left with empty hands to fare.

Till Hope had led him to a little well
That in this desert kept a joyful spot,
Made sapphire with the eyes of flowers Love knew,
As though from heavenly seed their harvest grew,
That soon into his reaping fingers fell
Which bring you these—sweet, sweet FORGET-ME-NOT.

VII

LOVE’S SOLITUDE

FILLED with the breath of Love, my soul knows change
Throughout its troubled region, day by day,
Still as the breaking fire upclimbs its way
From scarlet dawn, through fervent noon to range;
Until the fainting eve, grown wan and pale,
Swoons in the arms of close embracing night
That putteth forth her spells of dreamful might,
And sweet enchantments, till the starry veil