Chapter 13

As the flush of a Morning Sky, As a Morning Sky colorless-- Each yields its measure of light To a wet world or a dry; Each fares through day to night With equal pace, And then each one Is done.

As the Sun with glory and grace In his face, Benignantly hot, Graciously radiant and keen, Ready to rise and to run,-- Not without spot, Not even the Sun.

As the Moon On the wax, on the wane, With night for her noon; Vanishing soon, To appear again.

As Roses that droop Half warm, half chill, in the languid May, And breathe out a scent Sweet and faint; Till the wind gives one swoop To scatter their beauty away.

As Lilies a multitude, One dipping, one rising, one sinking, On rippling waters, clear blue And pure for their drinking; One new dead, and one opened anew, And all good.

As a cankered pale Flower, With death for a dower, Each hour of its life half dead; With death for a crown Weighing down Its head.

As an Eagle, half strength and half grace, Most potent to face Unwinking the splendor of light; Harrying the East and the West, Soaring aloft from our sight; Yet one day or one night dropped to rest, On the low common earth Of his birth.

As a Dove, Not alone, In a world of her own Full of fluttering soft noises And tender sweet voices Of love.

As a Mouse Keeping house In the fork of a tree, With nuts in a crevice, And an acorn or two; What cares he For blossoming boughs, Or the song-singing bevies Of birds in their glee, Scarlet, or golden, or blue?

As a Mole grubbing underground; When it comes to the light It grubs its way back again, Feeling no bias of fur To hamper it in its stir, Scant of pleasure and pain, Sinking itself out of sight Without sound.

As Waters that drop and drop, Weariness without end, That drop and never stop, Wear that nothing can mend, Till one day they drop-- Stop-- And there's an end, And matters mend.

As Trees, beneath whose skin We mark not the sap begin To swell and rise, Till the whole bursts out in green: We mark the falling leaves When the wide world grieves And sighs.

As a Forest on fire, Where maddened creatures desire Wet mud or wings Beyond all those things Which could assuage desire On this side the flaming fire.

As Wind with a sob and sigh To which there comes no reply But a rustle and shiver From rushes of the river; As Wind with a desolate moan, Moaning on alone.

As a Desert all sand, Blank, neither water nor land For solace, or dwelling, or culture, Where the storms and the wild creatures howl; Given over to lion and vulture, To ostrich, and jackal, and owl: Yet somewhere an oasis lies; There waters arise To nourish one seedling of balm, Perhaps, or one palm.

As the Sea, Murmuring, shifting, swaying; One time sunnily playing, One time wrecking and slaying; In whichever mood it be, Worst or best, Never at rest.

As still Waters and deep, As shallow Waters that brawl, As rapid Waters that leap To their fall.

As Music, as Color, as Shape, Keys of rapture and pain Turning in vain In a lock which turns not again, While breaths and moments escape.

As Spring, all bloom and desire; As Summer, all gift and fire; As Autumn, a dying glow; As Winter, with nought to show:

Winter which lays its dead all out of sight, All clothed in white, All waiting for the long-awaited light.

A BALLAD OF BODING.

There are sleeping dreams and waking dreams; What seems is not always as it seems.

I looked out of my window in the sweet new morning, And there I saw three barges of manifold adorning Went sailing toward the East: The first had sails like fire, The next like glittering wire, But sackcloth were the sails of the least; And all the crews made music, and two had spread a feast.

The first choir breathed in flutes, And fingered soft guitars; The second won from lutes Harmonious chords and jars, With drums for stormy bars: But the third was all of harpers and scarlet trumpeters; Notes of triumph, then An alarm again, As for onset, as for victory, rallies, stirs, Peace at last and glory to the vanquishers.

The first barge showed for figurehead a Love with wings; The second showed for figurehead a Worm with stings; The third, a Lily tangled to a Rose which clings. The first bore for freight gold and spice and down; The second bore a sword, a sceptre, and a crown; The third, a heap of earth gone to dust and brown. Winged Love meseemed like Folly in the face; Stinged Worm meseemed loathly in his place; Lily and Rose were flowers of grace.

Merry went the revel of the fire-sailed crew, Singing, feasting, dancing to and fro: Pleasures ever changing, ever graceful, ever new; Sighs, but scarce of woe; All the sighing Wooed such sweet replying; All the sighing, sweet and low, Used to come and go For more pleasure, merely so. Yet at intervals some one grew tired Of everything desired, And sank, I knew not whither, in sorry plight, Out of sight.

The second crew seemed ever Wider-visioned, graver, More distinct of purpose, more sustained of will; With heads erect and proud, And voices sometimes loud; With endless tacking, counter-tacking, All things grasping, all things lacking, It would seem; Ever shifting helm, or sail, or shroud, Drifting on as in a dream. Hoarding to their utmost bent, Feasting to their fill, Yet gnawed by discontent, Envy, hatred, malice, on their road they went. Their freight was not a treasure, Their music not a pleasure; The sword flashed, cleaving through their bands, Sceptre and crown changed hands.

The third crew as they went Seemed mostly different; They toiled in rowing, for to them the wind was contrary, As all the world might see. They labored at the oar, While on their heads they bore The fiery stress of sunshine more and more. They labored at the oar hand-sore, Till rain went splashing, And spray went dashing, Down on them, and up on them, more and more. Their sails were patched and rent, Their masts were bent, In peril of their lives they worked and went. For them no feast was spread, No soft luxurious bed Scented and white, No crown or sceptre hung in sight; In weariness and painfulness, In thirst and sore distress, They rowed and steered from left to right With all their might. Their trumpeters and harpers round about Incessantly played out, And sometimes they made answer with a shout; But oftener they groaned or wept, And seldom paused to eat, and seldom slept. I wept for pity watching them, but more I wept heart-sore Once and again to see Some weary man plunge overboard, and swim To Love or Worm ship floating buoyantly: And there all welcomed him.

The ships steered each apart and seemed to scorn each other, Yet all the crews were interchangeable; Now one man, now another, --Like bloodless spectres some, some flushed by health,-- Changed openly, or changed by stealth, Scaling a slippery side, and scaled it well. The most left Love ship, hauling wealth Up Worm ship's side; While some few hollow-eyed Left either for the sack-sailed boat; But this, though not remote, Was worst to mount, and whoso left it once Scarce ever came again, But seemed to loathe his erst companions, And wish and work them bane.

Then I knew (I know not how) there lurked quicksands full of dread, Rocks and reefs and whirlpools in the water-bed, Whence a waterspout Instantaneously leaped out, Roaring as it reared its head.

Soon I spied a something dim, Many-handed, grim, That went flitting to and fro the first and second ship; It puffed their sails full out With puffs of smoky breath From a smouldering lip, And cleared the waterspout Which reeled roaring round about Threatening death. With a horny hand it steered, And a horn appeared On its sneering head upreared Haughty and high Against the blackening lowering sky. With a hoof it swayed the waves; They opened here and there, Till I spied deep ocean graves Full of skeletons That were men and women once Foul or fair; Full of things that creep And fester in the deep And never breathe the clean life-nurturing air.

The third bark held aloof From the Monster with the hoof, Despite his urgent beck, And fraught with guile Abominable his smile; Till I saw him take a flying leap on to that deck. Then full of awe, With these same eyes I saw His head incredible retract its horn Rounding like babe's new born, While silvery phosphorescence played About his dis-horned head. The sneer smoothed from his lip, He beamed blandly on the ship; All winds sank to a moan, All waves to a monotone (For all these seemed his realm), While he laid a strong caressing hand upon the helm.

Then a cry well nigh of despair Shrieked to heaven, a clamor of desperate prayer. The harpers harped no more, While the trumpeters sounded sore An alarm to wake the dead from their bed: To the rescue, to the rescue, now or never, To the rescue, O ye living, O ye dead, Or no more help or hope for ever!-- The planks strained as though they must part asunder, The masts bent as though they must dip under, And the winds and the waves at length Girt up their strength, And the depths were laid bare, And heaven flashed fire and volleyed thunder Through the rain-choked air, And sea and sky seemed to kiss In the horror and the hiss Of the whole world shuddering everywhere.

Lo! a Flyer swooping down With wings to span the globe, And splendor for his robe And splendor for his crown. He lighted on the helm with a foot of fire, And spun the Monster overboard: And that monstrous thing abhorred, Gnashing with balked desire, Wriggled like a worm infirm Up the Worm Of the loathly figurehead. There he crouched and gnashed; And his head re-horned, and gashed From the other's grapple, dripped bloody red.

I saw that thing accurst Wreak his worst On the first and second crew: Some with baited hook He angled for and took, Some dragged overboard in a net he threw, Some he did to death With hoof or horn or blasting breath.

I heard a voice of wailing Where the ships went sailing, A sorrowful voice prevailing Above the sound of the sea, Above the singers' voices, And musical merry noises; All songs had turned to sighing, The light was failing, The day was dying-- Ah me, That such a sorrow should be!

There was sorrow on the sea and sorrow on the land When Love ship went down by the bottomless quicksand To its grave in the bitter wave. There was sorrow on the sea and sorrow on the land When Worm ship went to pieces on the rock-bound strand, And the bitter wave was its grave. But land and sea waxed hoary In whiteness of a glory Never told in story Nor seen by mortal eye, When the third ship crossed the bar Where whirls and breakers are, And steered into the splendors of the sky; That third bark and that least Which had never seemed to feast, Yet kept high festival above sun and moon and star.

YET A LITTLE WHILE.

I dreamed and did not seek: to-day I seek Who can no longer dream; But now am all behindhand, waxen weak, And dazed amid so many things that gleam Yet are not what they seem.

I dreamed and did not work: to-day I work Kept wide awake by care And loss, and perils dimly guessed to lurk; I work and reap not, while my life goes bare And void in wintry air.

I hope indeed; but hope itself is fear Viewed on the sunny side; I hope, and disregard the world that's here, The prizes drawn, the sweet things that betide; I hope, and I abide.

HE AND SHE.

"Should one of us remember, And one of us forget, I wish I knew what each will do-- But who can tell as yet?"

"Should one of us remember, And one of us forget, I promise you what I will do-- And I'm content to wait for you, And not be sure as yet."

MONNA INNOMINATA.

A SONNET OF SONNETS.

Beatrice, immortalized by "altissimo poeta ... cotanto amante;" Laura, celebrated by a great though an inferior bard,--have alike paid the exceptional penalty of exceptional honor, and have come down to us resplendent with charms, but (at least, to my apprehension) scant of attractiveness.

These heroines of world-wide fame were preceded by a bevy of unnamed ladies "donne innominate" sung by a school of less conspicuous poets; and in that land and that period which gave simultaneous birth to Catholics, to Albigenses, and to Troubadours, one can imagine many a lady as sharing her lover's poetic aptitude, while the barrier between them might be one held sacred by both, yet not such as to render mutual love incompatible with mutual honor.

Had such a lady spoken for herself, the portrait left us might have appeared more tender, if less dignified, than any drawn even by a devoted friend. Or had the Great Poetess of our own day and nation only been unhappy instead of happy, her circumstances would have invited her to bequeath to us, in lieu of the "Portuguese Sonnets," an inimitable "donna innominata" drawn not from fancy but from feeling, and worthy to occupy a niche beside Beatrice and Laura.

1.

"Lo di che han detto a' dolci amici addio."--Dante. "Amor, con quanto sforzo oggi mi vinci!"--Petrarca.

Come back to me, who wait and watch for you:-- Or come not yet, for it is over then, And long it is before you come again, So far between my pleasures are and few. While, when you come not, what I do I do Thinking "Now when he comes," my sweetest "when:" For one man is my world of all the men This wide world holds; O love, my world is you. Howbeit, to meet you grows almost a pang Because the pang of parting comes so soon; My hope hangs waning, waxing, like a moon Between the heavenly days on which we meet: Ah me, but where are now the songs I sang When life was sweet because you called them sweet?

2.

"Era già l'ora che volge il desio."--Dante. "Ricorro al tempo ch' io vi vidi prima."--Petrarca.

I wish I could remember that first day, First hour, first moment of your meeting me, If bright or dim the season, it might be Summer or Winter for aught I can say; So unrecorded did it slip away, So blind was I to see and to foresee, So dull to mark the budding of my tree That would not blossom yet for many a May. If only I could recollect it, such A day of days! I let it come and go As traceless as a thaw of bygone snow; It seemed to mean so little, meant so much; If only now I could recall that touch, First touch of hand in hand--Did one but know!

3.

"O ombre vane, fuor che ne l'aspetto!"--Dante. "Immaginata guida la conduce."--Petrarca.

I dream of you to wake: would that I might Dream of you and not wake but slumber on; Nor find with dreams the dear companion gone, As Summer ended Summer birds take flight. In happy dreams I hold you full in sight, I blush again who waking look so wan; Brighter than sunniest day that ever shone, In happy dreams your smile makes day of night. Thus only in a dream we are at one, Thus only in a dream we give and take The faith that maketh rich who take or give; If thus to sleep is sweeter than to wake, To die were surely sweeter than to live, Though there be nothing new beneath the sun.

4.

"Poca favilla gran fiamma seconda."--Dante. "Ogni altra cosa, ogni pensier va fore, E sol ivi con voi rimansi amore."--Petrarca.

I loved you first: but afterwards your love Outsoaring mine, sang such a loftier song As drowned the friendly cooings of my dove. Which owes the other most? my love was long, And yours one moment seemed to wax more strong; I loved and guessed at you, you construed me And loved me for what might or might not be-- Nay, weights and measures do us both a wrong. For verily love knows not "mine" or "thine;" With separate "I" and "thou" free love has done, For one is both and both are one in love: Rich love knows nought of "thine that is not mine;" Both have the strength and both the length thereof, Both of us of the love which makes us one.

5.

"Amor che a nulla amato amar perdona."--Dante. "Amor m'addusse in si gioiosa spene."--Petrarca.

O my heart's heart, and you who are to me More than myself myself, God be with you, Keep you in strong obedience leal and true To Him whose noble service setteth free, Give you all good we see or can foresee, Make your joys many and your sorrows few, Bless you in what you bear and what you do, Yea, perfect you as He would have you be. So much for you; but what for me, dear friend? To love you without stint and all I can To-day, to-morrow, world without an end; To love you much and yet to love you more, As Jordan at his flood sweeps either shore; Since woman is the helpmeet made for man.

6.

"Or puoi la quantitate Comprender de l'amor che a te mi scalda."--Dante. "Non vo' che da tal nodo amor mi scioglia."--Petrarca.

Trust me, I have not earned your dear rebuke, I love, as you would have me, God the most; Would lose not Him, but you, must one be lost, Nor with Lot's wife cast back a faithless look Unready to forego what I forsook; This say I, having counted up the cost, This, though I be the feeblest of God's host, The sorriest sheep Christ shepherds with His crook, Yet while I love my God the most, I deem That I can never love you overmuch; I love Him more, so let me love you too; Yea, as I apprehend it, love is such I cannot love you if I love not Him, I cannot love Him if I love not you.

7.

"Qui primavera sempre ed ogni frutto."--Dante. "Ragionando con meco ed io con lui."--Petrarca.

"Love me, for I love you"--and answer me, "Love me, for I love you"--so shall we stand As happy equals in the flowering land Of love, that knows not a dividing sea. Love builds the house on rock and not on sand, Love laughs what while the winds rave desperately; And who hath found love's citadel unmanned? And who hath held in bonds love's liberty? My heart's a coward though my words are brave-- We meet so seldom, yet we surely part So often; there's a problem for your art! Still I find comfort in his Book, who saith, Though jealousy be cruel as the grave, And death be strong, yet love is strong as death.

8.

"Come dicesse a Dio: D'altro non calme."--Dante. "Spero trovar pietà non che perdono."--Petrarca.

"I, if I perish, perish"--Esther spake: And bride of life or death she made her fair In all the lustre of her perfumed hair And smiles that kindle longing but to slake. She put on pomp of loveliness, to take Her husband through his eyes at unaware; She spread abroad her beauty for a snare, Harmless as doves and subtle as a snake. She trapped him with one mesh of silken hair, She vanquished him by wisdom of her wit, And built her people's house that it should stand:-- If I might take my life so in my hand, And for my love to Love put up my prayer, And for love's sake by Love be granted it!

9.

"O dignitosa coscienza e netta!"--Dante. "Spirto più acceso di virtuti ardenti."--Petrarca.

Thinking of you, and all that was, and all That might have been and now can never be, I feel your honored excellence, and see Myself unworthy of the happier call: For woe is me who walk so apt to fall, So apt to shrink afraid, so apt to flee, Apt to lie down and die (ah, woe is me!) Faithless and hopeless turning to the wall. And yet not hopeless quite nor faithless quite, Because not loveless; love may toil all night, But take at morning; wrestle till the break Of day, but then wield power with God and man:-- So take I heart of grace as best I can, Ready to spend and be spent for your sake.

10.

"Con miglior corso e con migliore stella."--Dante. "La vita fugge e non s'arresta un' ora."--Petrarca.

Time flies, hope flags, life plies a wearied wing; Death following hard on life gains ground apace; Faith runs with each and rears an eager face, Outruns the rest, makes light of everything, Spurns earth, and still finds breath to pray and sing; While love ahead of all uplifts his praise, Still asks for grace and still gives thanks for grace, Content with all day brings and night will bring. Life wanes; and when love folds his wings above Tired hope, and less we feel his conscious pulse, Let us go fall asleep, dear friend, in peace: A little while, and age and sorrow cease; A little while, and life reborn annuls Loss and decay and death, and all is love.

11.

"Vien dietro a me e lascia dir le genti."--Dante. "Contando i casi della vita nostra."--Petrarca.

Many in aftertimes will say of you "He loved her"--while of me what will they say? Not that I loved you more than just in play, For fashion's sake as idle women do. Even let them prate; who know not what we knew Of love and parting in exceeding pain, Of parting hopeless here to meet again, Hopeless on earth, and heaven is out of view. But by my heart of love laid bare to you, My love that you can make not void nor vain, Love that foregoes you but to claim anew Beyond this passage of the gate of death, I charge you at the Judgment make it plain My love of you was life and not a breath.

12.

"Amor, che ne la mente mi ragiona."--Dante. "Amor vien nel bel viso di costei."--Petrarca.

If there be any one can take my place And make you happy whom I grieve to grieve, Think not that I can grudge it, but believe I do commend you to that nobler grace, That readier wit than mine, that sweeter face; Yea, since your riches make me rich, conceive I too am crowned, while bridal crowns I weave, And thread the bridal dance with jocund pace. For if I did not love you, it might be That I should grudge you some one dear delight; But since the heart is yours that was mine own, Your pleasure is my pleasure, right my right, Your honorable freedom makes me free, And you companioned I am not alone.

13.

"E drizzeremo gli occhi al Primo Amore."--Dante. "Ma trovo peso non da le mie braccia."--Petrarca.