Chapter 10

Before you pass and leave me gaunt and chill Alone to do what I have joyed in doing In your glad sight, suffer me, nor take ill If I confess you prize and me pursuing. As the rapt Tuscan lifted up his eyes Whither his Lady led, and lived with her, Strong in her strength, and in her wisdom wise, Love-taught with song to be her thurifer; So I, that may no nearer stand than he To minister about the holy place, Am well content to watch my Heaven in thee And read my Credo in thy sacred face. For even as Beatrix Dante's wreath did bind, So, Hymnia, hast thou imparadised my mind.

LUX E TENEBRIS

I thank all Gods that I can let thee go, Lady, without one thought, one base desire To tarnish that clear vision I gained by fire, One stain in me I would not have thee know. That is great might indeed that moves me so To look upon thy Form, and yet aspire To look not there, rather than I should mire That wingéd Spirit that haunts and guards thy brow.

So now I see thee go, secure in this That what I have is thee, that whole of thee Whereof thy fair infashioning is sign: For I see Honour, Love, and Wholesomeness, And striving ever to reach them, and to be As they, I keep thee still; for they are thine.

DUTY

Oh, I am weak to serve thee as I ought; My shroud of flesh obscures thy deity, So thy sweet Spirit that should embolden me To shake my wings out wide, serves me for nought, But receives tarnish, vile dishonour, wrought By that thou earnest to bless--O agony And unendurable shame! that, loving thee, I dare not love, fearing my poisonous thought!

Man is too vile for any such high grace, For that he seeks to honour he can but mar; So had I rather shun thy starry face And fly the exultation to know thee near-- For if one glance from me wrought thee a scar 'Twould not be death, but life that I should fear.

WAGES

Sometimes the spirit that never leaves me quite Taps at my heart when thou art in the way, Saying, Now thy Queen cometh: therefore pray, Lest she should see thee vile, and at the sight Shiver and fly back piteous to the light That wanes when she is absent. Then, as I may, I wash my soilèd hands and muttering, say, Lord, make me clean; robe Thou me in Thy white!

So for a brief space, clad in ecstasy, Pure, disembodied, I fall to kiss thy feet, And sense thy glory throbbing round about; Whereafter, rising, I hold thee in a sweet And gentle converse that lifts me up to be, When thou art gone, strange to the gross world's rout.

EYE-SERVICE

Meseems thine eyes are two still-folded lakes Wherein deep water reflects the guardian sky, Searching wherein I see how Heaven is nigh And our broad Earth at peace. So my Love takes My soul's thin hands and, chafing them, she makes My life's blood lusty and my life's hope high For the strong lips and eyes of Poesy, To hold the world well squandered for their sakes.

I looked thee full this day: thine unveiled eyes Rayed their swift-searching magic forth; and then I felt all strength that love can put in men Whenas they know that loveliness is wise. For love can be content with no less prize, To lift us up beyond our mortal ken.

CLOISTER THOUGHTS

(AT WESTMINSTER)

Within these long gray shadows many dead Lie waiting: we wait with them. Do you believe That at the last the threadbare soul will give All his shifts over, and stand dishevellèd, Naked in truth? Then we shall hear it said, "Ye two have waited long, daring to live Grimly through days tormented; now reprieve Awaiteth you with all these ancient dead!"

The slope sun letteth down thro' our dark bars His ladder from the skies. Hand fast in hand, With quiet hearts and footsteps quiet and slow, Like children venturous in an unknown land We will come to the fields whose flowers are stars, And kneeling ask, "Lord, wilt Thou crown us now?"

THE CHAMBER IDYLL

The blue night falleth, the moon Is over the hill; make fast, Fasten the latch, I am tired: come soon, Come! I would sleep at last In your bosom, my love, my love!

The airy chamber above Has the lattice ajar, that night May breathe upon you and me, my love, And the moon bless our marriage-rite-- Come, lassy, to bed, to bed!

The roof-thatch overhead Shall cover the stars' bright eyes; The fleecy quilt shall be coverlid For your meek virginities, And your wedding, my bride, my bride!

See, we are side to side, Virgin in deed and name-- Come, for love will not be denied, Tarry not, have no shame: Are we not man and bride?

_1894._

EPIGRAMMATA

1910

THE OLD HOUSE

Mossy gray stands the House, four-square to the wind, Embosomed in the hills. The garden old Of yew and box and fishpond speaks her mind, Sweet-ordered, quaint, recluse, fold within fold Of quietness; but true and choice and kind-- A sober casket for a heart of gold.

BLUE IRIS

Blue is the Adrian sea, and darkly blue The Ægean; and the shafted sun thro' them, That fishes grope to, gives the beamy hue Rayed from her iris's deep diadem.

THE ROSEBUD

In June I brought her roses, and she cupt One slim bud in her hand and cherisht it, And put it to her mouth. Rose and she supt Each other's sweetness; but the flower was lit By her kind eyes, and glowed. Then in her breast She laid it blushing, warm and doubly blest.

SPRING ON THE DOWN

When Spring blows o'er the land, and sunlight flies Across the hills, we take the upland way. I have her waist, the wooing wind her eyes And lips and cheeks. His kissing makes her gay As flowers. "Thou hast two lovers, O my dear," Say I; and she, "He takes what thou dost fear."

SNOWY NIGHT

The snow lies deep, ice-fringes hem the thatch; I knock my shoes, my Love lifts me the latch, Shows me her eyes--O frozen stars, they shine Kindly! I clasp her. Quick! her lips are mine.

EVENING MOOD

Late, when the sun was smouldering down the west, She took my arm and laid her cheek to me; The fainting twilight held her, and I guess'd All she would tell, but could not let me see-- Wonder and joy, the rising of her breast, And confidence, and still expectancy.

THE PARTING

Breathless was she and would not have us part: "Adieu, my Saint," I said, "'tis come to this." But she leaned to me, one hand at her heart, And all her soul sighed trembling in a kiss.

DEDICATION OF A BOOK

To the Fountain of my long Dream, To the Chalice of all my Sorrow, To the Lamp held up, and the Stream Of Light that beacons the Morrow;

To the Bow, the Quiver and Dart, To the Bridle-rein, to the Yoke Proudly upborne, to the Heart On Fire, to the Mercy-stroke;

To Apollo herding his Cattle, To Proserpina grave in Dis; To the high Head in the Battle, And the Crown--I consecrate this.

_1911._

_Printed by_ R. & R. CLARK, LIMITED, _Edinburgh_.

BY MAURICE HEWLETT

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End of Project Gutenberg's Helen Redeemed and Other Poems, by Maurice Hewlett