Part 2

Firefly! wait, but a moment, in your flight; Stay, gleaming thing, and tell me of that night, When you were taken by a fairy hand, And cast into the grate to light the brand, In that fair room of bliss and rosy dream. For love of God! I pray you, moving beam Of light, stay, now my memory is woke-- You will not leave me now you do invoke My thought to that dear night, long gone, when she, With elfin joy, went out and captured thee.

You circle round my head, a band of flame-- A light that fades as quickly as it came. O fickle fly, deny me not, come burn For me, and let me from this torture turn; In recollection’s refuge seek relief From loneliness, the torn soul’s awful grief. Come, bright or dark, do you but circle near, Where you alone in night my words may hear.

What of my love? My wondrous love, who caught You winging that sweet night, as swift as thought, And threw you on the logs to start the fire, Whose gleams revealed to me my heart’s desire? Matchless! all in her loveliness and grace-- Soft as her humour, happy as her face.

Where is she now? Oh, where is my lost love, My fairy mistress, gentle as a dove? Does she in cockle leaves hide long night through, Fearful of the clouds, shrinking from the dew? I never see her now! The fire no more In flick’ring rays lights up my sad heart’s core. There is no warmth in life now she is gone. The sun disdains the man it shines upon. A wretched thing, bereft of all his joy, Goes wand’ring through the night, where fays employ The hours in dirges drear, and weirdly mourn For her, their queen, long lost to fairy bourn.

Come, Jack O’Lantern, lead me to my mate-- She who alone can my distress abate, She who will wipe all storms of grief away, She whose dear radiance makes my perfect day! Alas! you heed me not, your lamp is out, You hide away in darkness, black as doubt, You light, to mock the faithful, false as hell, You, in and out, you phosphorescent sell-- I will have naught to do with you. Go, shine, And make a fool of souls less tough than mine.

A weary round is day, and night is torn By all the bitter conflicts day has worn; The hours are full of shattered hopes, and pass With ling’ring tortures, writhing in the mass Of gloomy moods. I am no man of day, Nor am I one the limpid night’s soft ray Will fall upon to bless. No hour will claim Me for time’s old companion. Yes, I shame The ordinance of day, bright hours or dark, One out of joint with all. The happy lark Sings now no more for me. The flow’ring dell No longer blooms as she with cup and bell Once did. For there is gone from out my life, My matchless queen, my joy, my fairy wife.

You gleam no more, and yet on wing you roam, A firefly desolate, bereft of home And hearth, where logs might burn and shine at night, Upon the sweetest elf that did delight, Beyond excelling, mortal soul and mind. May you, poor, searching, Jack O’Lantern, find The mistress of your fairy world in state. Then come, and take me to the shining grate, And I will bow allegiance, and renew Love, fealty, and homage, there with you.

OH, TRANQUIL NIGHT

Oh, tranquil night, what spirit keeps thee still? Do whispering breezes taunt thy loneliness? Or art thou, too, numb, suffering keen distress, For want of one warm kiss to break the chill Of patience, which pervades your watch sublime? The stars are cold, mute company for thee, And cheerless is the ever-moaning sea-- Long is the keep; a dreary watchman, Time.

Some soul is with you breathing out a balm, A solace I know not tonight. What heed Is taken of our tears which drench the sod? Still there must be with thee a spirit calm, Else would endurance break for aching need-- Such loneliness could not be braved by God!

DESPAIR

Too tough! The spirit will survive, It keeps this mortal coil alive; Love too, that yearns to meet the day When you will come and with me stay.

There is no death that love can fear-- Love never yet upon a bier Lay in the sleep of death, for life Is stronger far than any strife.

Love is the light which burns and shines When woe of spirit undermines The thought, and our lives go awry, And days are long in passing by.

Love is the spirit’s soul, and glows Through all the pain a mortal knows, And death cannot its might assail, Nor bitterness its courage quail.

Dear love, my flesh cries out to thee, My spirit’s eyes her face would see, My mind is mad for need of her, My love is naked to the air.

TO A PHOTOGRAPH

How sceptical you look tonight: There is a sneer about your lips-- A moth is near them--see! it sips, And now rejoicing takes to flight. Oh moth, I envy you that kiss; My lips are arid strangers now. Oh, I would take to flight, I vow, If I could revel in such bliss. Why do you look at me and frown? What have I done but love you well? Does she love me? Come, picture, tell-- The moth returns, and flutters down Upon that blessed wavy hair. Oh, how I love each scented strand! How oft my lips would make a band To capture in a kiss, ensnare A lock of that dear crown of yours! Ah, well, be vexed with me, severe. Those eyes have never shed a tear; They follow me on restless tours, While I the night pace to and fro, Hour after hour, to pass away The dreary time before the day. Your eyes upon these journeys go, Watching, sternly. Picture, tell me-- What sphinx are you? Speak once and show Some sign of pleasure. Let me know If you would from my company Be gone, and choose another one To be with you each day, each hour; Resting only--then in my power-- When from the villages I run? Then cosily you rest between The folds of my best coat--from grime And soot set free. At evening time Alone I leave you here. How mean Of you to be so petulant! Not once of late have you beguiled A moody hour of mine and smiled. If I have sinned, it was not meant. Come, now be patient with me, friend. See, I will coax a smile--I’ll set You this way--that way--no smile yet? Just for a moment! Please unbend. Then I shall turn you now oblique-- Ah! what a change! Your eyes are quite Like hers--they hold the heavens so bright-- Those stars my lonely soul would seek. I nearly called you Hebe, then-- You were so like, for just a span, As o’er your brow vibrations ran. So they oft do o’er Hebe’s, when Some mischief, brewing in her mind, Sends laughter ripples o’er her skin-- Her mirth will out when mischief’s in. Where might you her resemblance find? Her laughter is a wondrous sound-- Sorrow, sadness, find their level. Where do joy and gladness revel? Ah, where? Where Hebe can be found! You know her not; yet you are she Who made you negative. The match Is sometimes perfect. Did you catch Her glance when thoughts perhaps of me-- Alas! that could not be. She knew Me not when you were fashioned, friend, And never dreamed where you would wend Mile after mile with me, to rue The day when you were sent to hear A million questions. Pity you? I do! No woman, false or true, Is in listening long your peer! Heavens! What have you heard me tell? What rapture have you witnessed--oft Despair--at which you ever scoffed? The gamut--all from heaven to hell-- All passion’s swift vagaries seen-- My longing, pleading, anxious nights, And day’s distracted hours. What fights With self, with selfishness between! Have you seen all, heard all, known all? Then you must be the wisest sphinx That wisdom new and ancient links. But you are silent as a wall Without a mark. So should it be. For she must never know what I When all alone go through. Now lie Down flat--there! Let me once more see Into your eyes, ere to that shore-- Where sleep may be--I go tonight With thoughts of her, my joy’s delight, To lull me gently evermore.

SONG

I seek your lips with my fond eyes, My sight is weary, dear; My heart with longing all day cries, For you when you are near. When you are near and others take Your eyes and lips from me, And in my soul deep surges make, As tempests in the sea.

I seek your lips and press them not, My own are parched with pain; My aching eyes are dim and hot-- My soul hopes on in vain. The day is gone, and you are lost, The night for me is lone-- And through its hours I count the cost Of days without my own.

HELL

Hell holds no terror I shall ever fear, For earth when you are absent is my hell; Nor thought of meeting can my torment quell, For loneliness is black, and cold, and drear. This hell is dark! My passion is a flame! Its anguish is a never dying fire, And longing--hope that never dare aspire, But die, in loneliness from whence it came. Heav’n though is kind and lets me sometimes in, Then hell is all forgotten, and its woe Fades like the dew dispersed by summer’s morn, And I am purged of all my pain and sin. Such moments shine like jewels--then I go Back to the dreary hell where pain was born.

ALONE

The mocking fiends by day Make frenzied play Around my loneliness; The haunting sprites delight To sport at night, And jeer at my soul’s wretchedness; Imprisoned in the boundary of a mind Holding but one thought; only one can find The thought of you! You, far away, In silence wrapped. With all Hell’s crew About me gay, And I in loneliness am trapped.

Not God nor Devil ease The torture of a lonely soul, For haunting thoughts will cling, And naught relief can bring-- No recreation please. Grim misery must take its toll Of tears and pain-- And work is vain!

The vanquished mind in scorn Sneers on its child; His work, and damns it be forlorn, And with it all creative work Henceforward be reviled. Work? Where? Not here! Within these walls? Work! What? Come, try it now, And answer every thought that calls In every moment. Tell me how One single minute, pray, My mind can get away From her, the absent one-- Come, tell me, and my work is done.

The air! Go out and roam the field. Sit in the sun--or rain; Or count the stars again; Or tell the steps long footsore journeys have revealed. Do something. Go! But what? What, leave that thought behind? Where go? Where that is not The burden of my mind?

Forget. Why, all the fiends of midnight hours Yell that drab word at me; it falls in showers Of rattling drops, And never stops, Until my ears Nigh burst, And I accurst With all Hell’s fears!

Still there are moments when Relief comes to my ken, Then I admire my torturer sublime. The silence of her absence is like time A million years beyond this day-- Like stillness of forgotten tombs, Where Nineveh, once gay, Stood mighty, where now the sandstorm booms O’er a desert quite as lonely as my heart. She leaves me, like a queen, to bear the smart Of her superb indifference and calm-- Unconscious of the harm Such loneliness can do!

The day when it is new Dawns dark and drear. Each hour a bier On which I lay my thought, And see it come to life again-- Reincarnated spirit, caught Back, to murder it in agony, and then-- The weary strife goes on and on, The minutes reek with blood, And then the fiends of loneliness soon don The inky cloak with scarlet hood, And round me chant their racking dirges chill, And bring their terrors on to slay my will.

First, slimy, drooling Jealousy appears-- A female draped in timid lover’s fears-- She minces, ambles, leers at me, And whispers tales, maliciously. The spume of Hell’s presumption she, The horror of the lonely. See! How she begins her work-- The craft! the skill! It enters like a dirk-- The soul to kill.

She fails, and vanishes in mist. My soul is adamant, and will resist. Then Poison comes, in silvery sheen, The figure holds a cup between The palms of outstretched hands, And in a pleasant tone commands me, “Drink! And no more think. Why suffer earth’s delirious pain? The yearning heart that yearns in vain Will know no peace until the light Goes out in never-ending night. I bring you here the only balm For loneliness. Drink, and be calm! Where all is still no aching mind Can harrow you--peace you will find.” Then Poison hies away; To tempt me when despair May crush me some dread day, And I no longer care!

They fail to find me apt, So on comes License garbed In golden lace, and wrapped About her waist a serpent barbed. Hell’s finest figure walks With dignity and grace; Beseechingly she talks, And modest is her face. The fiends do well. They know The jade Must masquerade, Seem innocence, aglow, My loneliness to break and then beguile! The trick is hardly worth a smile. Still I am left alone To wrestle with the spawn That comes from Hell to fawn On me. Can soul atone For this one cruel act of thine, My torturer, divine? Can thoughts so merciless afflict The mind and leave it sane? Or bubbles burst, when they are pricked, And seem the same again? The weariness of longing and its woe, The evil thoughts drear loneliness will sow, The torrid tears, Abhorrent fears, The fretful waiting, The frenzied hating; All come to me, by night, by day, When you are far away.

* * * *

Tired mind is easy prey For hideous imagination’s play.

ROAMING

Is there no place where I might rest? No harbour for my soul? Must I go roaming on unblest, Without a chart or goal?

Go searching for a place where peace May soothe away my pain; Some lonely nook where ills may cease, And nothing be all gain?

And yet, with all the pain and tears, That lonely sorrows bring; Though life’s besetting woes are fears, To hope’s frail staff I cling.

My fears are hopes in joy’s disguise, My hopes are fears in flight, Which seek an earthly paradise, Beyond the range of sight.

So nestle, pain, you constant friend, Close to my longing heart-- What matter how the story end-- We two shall never part.

And yet there is a place I know, Where all griefs are forgot-- A breast to which I ever go, E’en knowing it is not.

I go to that dear place to lose All fears, all woes, all pains; It is the paradise I choose, Where life eternal reigns!

Where life is drawn anew from springs, Which flow with every bliss, And to me joy celestial brings New hope with every kiss!

Alas, the breast of love is wide, Too precious for one life, And others cannot be denied-- For what is love but strife?

So, ever seeking, trudge and roam, Through hours of chill and gloom, And make the silent night your home, Where there is always room.

Roam on, until a morn shall rise, When you will wake from rest, And know you have found paradise, At last, upon her breast.

STORM

Grief is a drenching blast that purges love Of all its dross and scum, and leaves it sweet And holy in its excellence complete. Love without grief no test of strength will prove. The bitterness and pain, dread loneliness, The ache of yearning, then the galling thought-- Love’s deep passions in shattering gusts are caught, And scattered wide apart when deep distress Comes raging through the soul’s wide-open door; Shaking the citadel of hope--the walls Where all the dearest joys take refuge in-- Searching the battered frame to find its core, With that convulsive fury which appalls The strongest heart that deepest Love would win.

THE VOID

The grey day dawns and sleep is gone, The laggard hours are here to count-- Like yesterday’s the sun shone on-- A dreary stream from time’s old fount.

Go, day, as fast as my heart beats, Pass, minutes, with the speed of thought-- Fly, as my soul, when it entreats Swift passage where its love is sought.

The present bridge with then and when, Link past and future, dropping now; Die, days, and rot like aged men, Nights, vanish like a gamester’s vow!

Hope, on in front, seeks out the way, Doubt stays behind and scoffs at all, Trust walks with calm all through the day, Faith brightly shines through night’s deep pall.

Life in the ever present hour, Art in the prison of life’s pain, Love in the torture of its power; Death shares with sleep what joy should gain.

ABSENCE

There is no anguish like the mourning heart, That mourns for its lost love and mourns in vain; That is the anguish which defies all pain-- Torture at which Prometheus’ soul would start!

What agony can still the heart of joy, That holds its loved one to its surging breast? All hell can rage and not disturb that rest-- Then Stygian tortures are but pain’s alloy!

And what is absence but a gaping sore, That aches and suffers every stinging thrust? A burning lesion, or a bleeding rent, That rives the soul of lovers to the core? When hearts in absence stronger grow, then must Those hearts have held no lover’s aliment!

WANDERING

The morning hath the sun for mate, The night the moon for wife; The wind and I, like things of hate, Go on alone through life.

The wind is cold, the wind is hot, The wind is fierce and wild; It stays not long in any spot, It never is beguiled.

Perhaps the wind might pause awhile And whisper to the reeds, If they would only rise and smile, And ask the lone wind’s needs.

DESTINY

Here, let it be! I will not ask, Dear God, what is my destiny. With courage I will face the task-- So, life, make what you will of me.

Yet I would know what is this pain, Which smites with cruel force my mind? And what can sorrow hope to gain If woe is all my heart can find?

Why linger here? There must be rest In some fair haven Thou hast made, Or is the region of the blest As vain a place as this? Then fade

Sweet hope! And let the clouds of night Assemble o’er my weary head-- Why question more about the fight Of souls that battle with the dead?

Still destiny may be some song My aching heart might learn to sing, A melody, both sweet and long, And singing, heaven nearer bring!

Perhaps my doubts are shadows chill; My mind may harbour questions vain. My destiny! the merest rill On ocean’s wide, unresting main.

Then Life and Death may count as past-- Things gone beneath the sodden clay. For some great part, Thou, me might cast, To light dejection’s gloomy day.

Yes, there is Love! Love ever bright, Love worshipping the soul of her Who came from thee--with morn’s first light-- Embodiment of all things fair.

This let me do. Take Death! Take Life! And leave me Love’s celestial glow. And save me from the toil and strife, Which loveless souls are doomed to know.

EAST WIND

Speak, east wind, did you meet my love When you came o’er the sea? And did she give a message kind For you to bring to me?

When you were passing through the haunts Of happy, garish men, Did you once linger in her hair, And murmur to her then

A word, reminding her of one Far out on western plains, Who looks, and waits, from morn ’til night, With hope that never wanes?

With hope that she will send some word-- One moment of her mind-- To prove that when we meet again My true love I shall find?

No message, east wind, do you bring, You leave me lone and cold, Farewell, thou heartless wanderer, Go, chilling young and old!

Go journeys long in search of hills Where only echoes dwell, Wild east wind, scorn the love-lorn ones, Who would their sad tales tell.

LULLABY

Where is peace but on your breast? Where does slumbering joy lie down? Where do hope and gladness rest, Like bright jewels in a crown?

All are found where your heart beats; Like strong children in repose, When the twilight hour retreats, And day’s golden moments close!

Lull me, dearest, into sleep, Let me find a pillow fair On your breast, where breathings deep Rock me, far away from care.

Kiss my aching brow, and then-- Lay your hands upon my head; Peace will come to me again, When your bosom is my bed.

RESURRECTION

When all my friends say “He is gone,” And foes agree to let me rest, When ling’ring night falls down upon The heart that ached, the restless breast.

There is a way to conquer death, To rob the grey shade of its spoil, E’en when is spent my last deep breath And naught is left of love and toil.

Then come, dear love, and look on me; Pour your bright spirit in your glance; My soul suffuse with joy of thee, Straight from your eyes which do enhance

The light of heaven! One look will raise Me from my bier, and make me whole, Restoring youth and gladsome days-- Elixir of my yearning soul!

LAUGHTER

Dear love, when droop my weary eyes, And patient Death comes near and cries: “Tired soul, come forth, and follow me.” I ask that thou, my love, shall be Wrapped close to my desiring breast, So at the last I shall be blest With transports of thy laughter. Laugh In my arms ecstatic glee, And cheer my soul, and I shall quaff Thy fragrant breath and smile at thee. Dear heart of joy, let my last hour Know all thy wondrous merry power-- Rich in the graces of thy charms, Laugh on through each entrancing kiss; When I am locked in thy dear arms Laugh me away to Death in bliss.

ALCHEMY

I was ill, and with a touch She reclaimed my waning strength. Bless her, God, and give her much Joy in love, and days of length. What is tragic Pain to me? Such her magic-- Alchemy. She smiled on me When I was ill And, lo! From pain set free I go And drink my fill At her beauty’s fountain flowing! Oh, the bliss of breathing Fragrance from her graces blowing; Grace like colour seething, From a thousand flowers, Scenting June’s rich bowers. I am well, and she has made Every sorrow Bring a morrow Happier than today. Every sadness is repaid With rejoicing; Like a voicing Woodland in the month of May. Merry is her soul, And witty, too, her nimble mind-- Like a golden bowl Of medicines of every kind. Laughter lurks in all her dimples, Loving hands of hers give simples-- Soothing, cheering, happy one-- Treasure of the golden sun!

SURRENDER

Take every joy my nature holds, Take every bliss my heart enfolds; Come, capture every one, While youth and beauty run, Locked in each other’s lithesome arms-- Like flowers entwined. Cast from thy mind Those fearful, hindering alarms. Take, to the last deep drop, Nor think when you would stop, My strength’s rich wine. Love made divine The rapturous blood of me for you. Red, full and bright, Like Vallambrosa’s vineyard dew On autumn’s night. My mind explore, its treasures take, So long as joy is there To find, and leave it bare Of every thought that might awake New transports in your soul-- Then break the empty bowl, So no one else may use The vessel, should one choose. My body clean and sweet enjoy, ’Twas made to serve your least delight, And when at last our passions cloy, In one fierce moment, rise and smite With withering scorn, And leave it shorn Of all its energy and force. Then, blasted, reel it down death’s course. My soul? Nay, that, my love, you cannot hurt, For it is thee. Look, and it will assert Your image like a faithful stream, Reflecting every feature of your form, Showing the slightest, quickest gleam From eyes which make it pass from cold to warm. It is, O love, your heart, your pulse, your breath, And only in your loss can it know death! Here I surrender all my mind, My heart, my body, all you find In thought, in blood, in flesh, to serve thee well In giving heaven--then, thou, consign to hell Whate’er is left of me. E’en then my joy shall be-- That it was wrecked by thee.

WHAT IS DAY WITHOUT THE SUN?

What is day without the sun? The night without the stars? Ocean’s music would not run, Without the sandy bars!

Summer days without a rose-- A fruitless Autumn would Make the year a time of woes-- Like Spring without a bud.

What am I without my mate? Without her bonny face? A wanderer disconsolate-- A being out of place.

She is sun and stars to me-- The Spring, and Summer too; Autumn’s fruit her love will be, To sweeten all I do!

THE MORN