Chapter 2

What marvel that the soul of youth should cry, "Man builds his temples 'tween me and the face Of Him whom I would seek; I cannot trace His purpose in their shadow, nor descry

The wisdom absolute?" What marvel that, With yearning impotent, ay, impotent Beyond all measure! his full faith was spent, And for his soul there rose no Ararat?

Yet out upon the sun-drawn sensate sea Of elemental pain, there came a word As if from Him who travelled Galilee,

As fair as any Zion ever heard. The voice of Love spoke; Love, that writes its name On Life and Death-and then my lady came.

AS LIGHT LEAPS UP

As light leaps up from star to star, so mounts Faith from one soul unto another; so The lower to the higher; till the flow Of knowledge rises from creation's founts;

Until from human love we come to know The august presence of the Love Divine; And feel the light unutterable shine Upon half-lights that we were wont to show,

Absorbing them. 'Tis Love that beckons us From low desires, from restlessness and sin, To heights that else we had not reached; and thus

We find the Heaven we dared not hope to win. How clearer seem designs immortal when Our lives are fed on Love's fine regimen

THE DARKENED WAY

"It is no matter;"--thus the noble Dane, About his heart more ill than one could tell; Sad augury, that like a funeral bell Against his soul struck solemn notes of pain.

So 'gainst the deadly smother he could press With calm his lofty manhood; interpose Purpose divine, and at the last disclose For life's great shift a regnant readiness.

To-day I bought some matches in the street From one whose eyes had long since lost their sight. Trembling with palsy was he to his feet.

"Father," I said, "how fare you in the night?" "In body ill, but 'tis no matter, friend, Strong is my soul to keep me to the end."

DISTRUST not a woman nor a king--it availeth nothing. --Egyptian Proverb.

WHEN thou journeyest into the shadows, take not sweetmeats with thee, but a seed of corn and a bottle of tears and wine; that thou mayst have a garden in the land whither thou goeat. --Egyptian Proverb.

REUNITED

Once more, once more! That golden eventide! Golden within, without all cold and grey, Slowly you came forth from the troubled day, Singing my heart--you glided to my side;

You glided in; the same grave, quiet face, The same deep look, the never-ending light In your proud eyes, eyes shining through the night, That night of absence--distance--from your place.

Calm words, slow touch of hand, but, oh, the cry, The long, long cry of passion and of joy Within my heart; the star-burst in the sky--

The world--our world--which time may not destroy! Your world and mine, unutterably sweet: Dearest, once more, the old song at thy feet.

SONG WAS GONE FROM ME

Dearest, once more! This I could tell and tell Till life turned drowsy with the ceaseless note; Dearest, once more! The words throb in my throat, My heart beats to them like a muffled bell.

Change--Time and Change! O Change and Time, you come Not knocking at my door, knowing me gone; Here have I dwelt within my heart alone, Watching and waiting, while my muse was dumb

Song was gone from me--sweet, I could not sing, Save as men sing upon the lonely hills; Under my hand the old chord ceased to ring,

Hushed by the grinding of the high gods' mills. Dearest, once more. Those mad mills had their way-- Now is mine hour. To every man his day.

GOOD WAS THE FIGHT

How have I toiled, how have I set my face Fair to the swords! No man could say I quailed; Ne'er did I falter; I dare not to have failed, I dare not to have dropped from out the race.

Good was the fight--good, till a piteous dream Crept from some direful covert of despair; Showed me your look, that look so true and fair, Distant and bleak; for me no more to gleam.

Then was I driven back upon my soul, Then came dark moments; lady, then I drew Forth from its place the round unfathomed bowl

Of sorrow, and from it I quaffed to you; Speaking as men speak who have lost Their hearts' last prize--and dare not count the cost.

UNCHANGED

But you are here unchanged. You say not so In words, but when you placed your hands in mine; But when I saw the same old glory shine Within your eyes, I read it; and I know.

And when those hands ran up along my arm, And rested on my shoulder for a space, A sacred inquisition in your face, To read my heart, how could I doubt that charm,

That truth ineffable!--I set my soul In hazard to a farthing, that you kept The faith, with pride unspeakable, the whole

Course of those years in which communion slept. Your soul flamed in your look; you read; I knew How little worth was I, how heavenly you.

ABSOLVO TE

I read your truth. You read--What did you read? Did you read all, and, reading all, forgive? How I--O little dwarf of conscience sieve My soul; bare all before her bare indeed!

And, looking on the remnant and the waste, Can you absolve me,--me, the doubter, one Who challenged what God spent His genius on, His genius and His pride; so fair, so chaste?

I am ashamed. . . . And when I told my dreams, Shaken and humble,--"Dear, there was no cause," Your words; proud, sorrowful, as it beseems

Such as thou art. There never was a cause Why you should honour me. Ashamed am I. And you forgive me, bless me, for reply.

BENEDICTUS

You bless me, then you turn away your head-- "Never again, dear. I have blessed you so, My lips upon your lips; between must flow The river--Oh the river!" Thus you said.

The river--Oh the river, and the sun; Stream that we may not cross, sun that is joy: Flow as thou must; shine on in full employ-- Shine through her eyes thou; let the river run.

O lady, to your liegeman speak. You say: "Dream no more dreams; yourself be as am I" Your hands clasped to your face, so shutting out the day.

An instant, then to me, your low good-bye-- Good-night, good-bye; and then the social reign, The lights, the songs, the flowers--and the pain.

THE MESSAGE

"Oh, hush!" you said; "oh, hush!" The twilight hung Between us and the world; but in your face, Flooding with warm inner light, the sovereign grace Of one who rests the brooding trees among--

Of one who steps down from a lofty throne, Seeking that peace the sceptre cannot call; And leaving courtier, page, and seneschal, Goes down the lane of sycamores alone;

And, going, listens to the notes that swell From golden throats--stories of ardent days, And lovers in fair vales; and homing bell:

And the sweet theme unbearable, she prays The song-bird cease! So, on the tale I dare, Your "hush!" your wistful "hush!" broke like prayer.

UNAVAILING

"Never," you said, "never this side the grave, And what shall come hereafter, who may know? Whether we e'en shall guess the way we go, Passing beneath Death's mystic architrave

Silence or song, dumb sleep or cheerful hours?" O lady, you have questioned, answer too. You--you to die--silence and gloom for you: Dead song, dead lights, dead graces, and dead flowers?

It is not so: the foolish trivial end, The inconsequent paltry Nothing--gone--gone all; The genius of the ageless Something spend

Itself within this little earthly wall: The commonplace conception, that we reap Reward of drudge and ploughman--idle sleep!

YOU SHALL LIVE ON

You shall live on triumphant, you shall take Your place among the peerless, fearless ones; And those who loved you here shall tell their sons To honour every woman for your sake.

And those your Peers shall say, "Others are pure, Others are noble, others too have vowed, And for a vow have suffered; but she bowed Her own soul and another's to endure.

She smote the being more to her than all,-- Her own soul and the world,--a truth to hold, Faith with the dead; and hung a heavy pall

'Tween her and love and life. The world is old, It hath sent here none queenlier. Of the few, The royal few is she, martyred and true."

"VEX NOT THIS GHOST"

Upon the rack of this tough world I hear, As when Cordelia's glories all dissever- "Never--never--never--never--never,--" That wild moan of the dispossessed Lear.

O world, vex not this ghost, yea, let it pass, The Spirit of these songs. The fool hath mocked, The fool our woe upon us hath unlocked From where the soul holds to our lips the glass,

To see what breath of life. O fool, poor fool, Well, we have laughed together, you and I. O fond insulter, in the healing pool

Of your deep poignant raillery I lie. Let us be grand again, my fool. The throne Is gone; but see, the coronation stone!

THE MEMORY

Know you where I, my royal fool, was crowned? A rock within the great Egean? Where A strong flood hurrieth on Finistere? Where at the Pole our valiant men were drowned?

Where the soft creamy wash of Indian seas Spreads palmward? Where the sunset glides to dawn, No night between? Where all the tides are drawn To greet their Sun and bathe their Idol's knees?

Where was I crowned? Dear fool, upon a stone That standeth where Earth's arches make but one, Where all the banners of her soul were flown,

And trumpeted the legions of the sun. The stone is left: 'tis here against the door Of throne and kingdom. . . . Pray you, mock no more.

THE PASSING

A time will come when we again shall rail-- Not yet, not yet. The flood comes on apace, That deep dividing river, and her face Grows dimmer as it widens--pale, so pale.

Have we not railed and laughed these many days, Mummers before the lights? Dear fool, your hand Upon your lips--Oh let us once be grand, Grand as we were when treading royal ways.

Lo, there she moves beyond the river. Gone-- Gone is the sun-lo, starlight in her eyes. See, how she standeth silent and alone--

Oh, hush! let us not vex her with our cries. Proud as of old, unto my throne I go. . . . Cordelia's gone...... Hush, draw the curtain--so.

ENVOY

When you and I have played the little hour, Have seen the tall subaltern Life to Death Yield up his sword; and, smiling, draw the breath, The first long breath of freedom; when the flower

Of Recompense has fluttered to our feet, As to an actor's; and the curtain down, We turn to face each other all alone-- Alone, we two, who never yet did meet,

Alone, and absolute, and free: oh, then, Oh, then, most dear, how shall be told the tale? Clasped hands, pressed lips, and so clasped hands again;

No words. But as the proud wind fills the sail, My love to yours shall reach, then one deep moan Of joy; and then our infinite Alone.