Part 4

How little comfort is there in the thought, Kind friends so often give love’s bleeding heart: That love’s sharp pain grows less whene’er we part, And leave behind the prize so dearly bought! Yet who doth learn this lesson he hath taught, So that when love shall send its subtle dart Within his soul, he may the same impart Unto himself, and leave what he hath sought? I know but few, among them not myself, Who practise this sad cure for love’s disease, That do not bear some wound, in after years, More painful than love’s wounding pain itself; Or that do find elsewhere, what doth appease The hunger in their souls, or dry their tears.

LI

For each long league that bears me far from thee Doth seem to take life’s blood from out my veins, As every yearning hour that passeth drains The spring of my affection, that might be O’erflowing with love’s precious remedy. Ah me! This is a grievous fate that stains Love’s half-possessed ambition, and remains To overshadow all that rests of me! Loved one, I find not, as the world I roam, A spirit half so comforting as thine, Ev’n in thy moments of most wilful charm, None that would half so fittingly my home Grace with its presence, or from whose eyes shine A sweeter light, while giving love’s alarm.

LII

When last I saw thee, thou wert uppermost In every thought that stirred my inner being, In every act thy presence I was seeing. And now thou comest to me like a ghost, While I receive thee as some phantom host; For every time I touch thee thou art fleeing Far from the tempest of my heart; agreeing With some sad fate that happiness hath lost. Now, though I strive to sever from my heart Those elements divine that make thy love For me the object of my life’s desire, There cometh that, which doth from Heaven depart, To lift me once again to Heaven above, And thus forbid that I should quench love’s fire.

LIII

O mighty Prophet, who dost signify To little man the vanity of life, The folly of its temporary strife, Give to the only one who doth deny My love some passing sense, to gratify The constant longing that is ever rife Within my soul, and sever with a knife This fatal cord, my love is fettered by. With some such prayer to thee would I appeal, In impotence, to strike ’gainst nature’s law, That causeth love unhonored still to live. Before thy throne now humbly do I kneel, As at the feet of her whom I adore, And pray that love to me thou still mayst give.

LIV

If thou hadst felt toward me as I to thee, Since the first hour that love knocked at my heart, And I, unwilling, opened it in part, Then would all Heaven’s warmth have been to me As noon-day sun upon some tranquil sea; And every hour its blessing would impart To both our souls, that never could depart Till we had cast it from us willingly. Then why, Sweet Love, should this not still be so? A great ideal perchance we both conceive, And striving, each in some vain way, to find, Lose youth’s enduring treasure here below. Why mayst thou not, then, in thy heart perceive That thou art to thyself and me unkind?

LV

Like the soft air of summer is thy smile, That, lighting on my sadness, clears the air, To make this clouded life again seem fair, With all thy deft enchantments, that beguile The swains that follow thee for many a mile. But with thy sunshine I find lurking there, Something in thee that bringeth deep despair, Seeming to savor of young Cupid’s wile. Then hath he not, mayhap, enveigled thee Into the mischief of his lover’s net, And caused thee to torment thy swains anew, With tricks, of which thou mayst the author be? ’Twould seem as if some love-snare he had set, To wreck the lives of lovers not a few.

LVI

If every song I sing seems tinged with sadness; If every hour I think of thee I sigh; If I for love still grieve, ask me not why I do not sing to-day in joy and gladness; Nor tell me, if not so, that it is madness. For such strange action would my heart belie, And from my spirit ring a love-sick cry Against so fair a semblance of its badness. If reason thou wouldst have, ask thine own self Why thou dost keep me, in love’s penury, Upon the desert of my great desire, And, like some oasis, receive myself At distant spaces of its memory-- To burn my soul with an unquenchèd fire!

LVII

Like the new moon, cold mistress of the heaven, A silver bow delightful to behold, Art thou, sweet maid, sweet both to young and old, Yet false in thy profession of love’s leaven; Untrue to one who, true to thee, hath striven (Since first thy love thou didst to him unfold) To keep thee from becoming chill and cold As the swift snows that by the winds are driven. At times it seemeth thou dost act a part; Now to deceive the depth of my life’s passion; Now loving as no lover did before. Then suddenly within my soul thou art Like some ideal that God alone could fashion; But with the moon depart to shine no more.

LVIII

Ah Love! Couldst thou but greet me every even, And let thine eyes lose those soft rays in mine; Couldst thou but share with me this bread and wine, Or something of what God to me hath given, Then might I feel, that not in vain was driven This love-shaft in my soul; for it would shine With gratitude, and round thine own entwine The fairest flowers that e’er were grown in Heaven. Had I but thee to share my pain with me, Pain would be joy, and joy that pain dispelled. Were thy dear form beside me, night and day, Then could I grieve no longer, but would be So happy, happiness would be impelled To change my spirit in some magic way.

LIX

Love is not passion; nor is passion love. The two are twined together in some wise. Love, spiritual, cometh from the skies, Ennobles life and lifts our thoughts above. Passion we find oft lurking in some grove, Where pleasant sights draw forth our pleasing cries, And where some bird of plumage round us flies, While we, half knowing, through the shadows rove. Yet, with these two, we find ourselves on earth. One seldom doth the other disengage. Strange combination of life’s heaven and hell! That giveth unto man his power of birth, And causeth him to claim his parentage Whenever, or where he may chance to dwell.

LX

What subtle fragrance, like some passion flower, Lurks in the petals of thy love for me, That seemeth every day more sweet to be, Thou beautiful example of the power That nature hath, with loveliness to shower Her favored ones? I would that I might see, In those blue eyes that show so much of thee, Some deeper color, given as a dower. Yet ne’er lose hope, my heart. Thou shalt succeed, So thou persist in thy true quest, until All barriers opposing thee do fall. Ah, then in vain no longer shalt thou plead! But of love’s welcome draft drink to thy fill, And, in that hour, know life doth give thee all.

LXI

Unto the sea my love I would compare, That shineth first beneath the morning sun, And danceth with its beams, as if for fun. Then as the clouds would turn them to despair, The beams soon disappear upon the air, Like fairy jewels, that away would run. Then, as their beauty doth its surface shun, It heaves as if it doth some sorrow share. Far down the sea of mine own love doth sink; But, soon returning on itself, a wave Of real emotion rolleth o’er my heart; And all that thou hast been to me, I think, Is like some treasure I must strive to save, And guard thee well, so thou canst ne’er depart.

LXII

There is a lovely avenue of trees, That winds its way o’er many a meadow-land, And leads in time to the salt sea and sand, Where I have walked and felt the summer breeze Waft the sweet air that fans with perfect ease The trembling leaves, the ferns on every hand; A place wherein might sport some fairy band, And in their gaiety my fancy seize. In some such place would I find love awaiting, Ready to guide me by the trickling brooks, And lead me to some soft and rustic lair. With thee, my well-beloved, would I be mating (Like birds in springtime ’neath the shaded nooks), The vision of thy love to my despair!

LXIII

Upon the highland spaces greet me, Love, And with the fir and hemlock all around thee, Twine thy fair self about my soul, and be Therein the wood-nymph of my rustic grove. Now dost thou fly towards me like some sweet dove, Lighting from branch to branch, and willingly, A group of blossoms bringing unto me From the ethereal atmosphere above. ’Tis in the air of nature then that we Find through its simple pleasure love’s delight, Free from the turmoil that doth find its birth In following the paths that others see. Then would the stars illuminate the night, And turn to Heaven the very things of earth.

LXIV

When the red sun sinks toward the western line, That separates our vision of the sky, And each soft ray far from the earth would fly, To touch the clouds above the salt sea-brine With magic tones and colors half divine; Then doth my soul seek thine alone, and try These tears of disappointed love to dry, Imagining that life on me doth shine. Then in the clouds, o’er Love’s blue sky, reflecting The golden radiance of thyself, I see Some likeness to the blood-stains on my heart, That thou hast pierced and wounded, while rejecting The sunbeams of my spirit, given to thee, That hold thy glory, even as we part.

LXV

Whenever thou dost let a passing thought Inhabit the domain of my desire, I wonder just how thou mayst then inquire Within thy heart, as yet untouched though sought, How great love’s sacrifice, to have been brought So strangely to thy life, and set on fire The soul of one who doth thine own admire, Although thou givest in return but nought. Were it but given to thine eye to see The splendor of love’s passion in its prime, Burning upon the rock of thine own being, Nature might then increase her power in thee, And thou might’st find a summit here to climb, That would eclipse all objects thou art seeing.

LXVI

If in the years to come life bringeth thee Some of love’s sorrow, to carry in thine hand; If thou shouldst thus experience it, and By its strange weight, be forced to think and see What youth casts from it in its extasy; Then only couldst thou learn to understand How suffering hath held me in its band, Since I first found how cruel love could be. Ah me! Though by this means thou mightest come To know the value of love’s equipage, And in its chariot ride toward my soul, I would not wish that thou shouldst know, as some Like me have known, from youth to hoary age, The price they pay to reach so dear a goal.

LXVII

Oh! when the cold, fleet-footed hour of dawn Awaketh me once more to consciousness, My first thought is of thee, but with distress; And every thought that followeth (from morn, Till night her robe of darkness ’round hath drawn) Is still of thee, of thee I do confess, Clothed in sweet love’s most tantalizing dress; Yet of love’s satisfaction stripped and shorn! Then doth each hour in withered hope pass by, Each day and week and month seem endless death. And when thou answerest not my call to thee, I watch, till hope dead in my heart doth lie; For it would seem some evil spirit saith, That I forever in love’s hell must be.

LXVIII

If, when thou hast found out that life is sorrow, More frequent than youth’s careless jollity, And when thou pay’st its bitter penalty, And on thy cheek Time draweth his deep furrow, Perchance thine own experience may borrow From mine some of love’s rare humility. Then be not in that hour at enmity With all that is most worthy of the morrow. For so hath haughty youth in age to bow, And unto life do homage for its power, And grovel in great shame when it doth find Its fancied value Time doth not allow, Ah! then mayst thou not pluck so false a flower; Nor say, “To me love hath been so unkind!”

LXIX

With what despair thou hast inspired my muse In these sad lines, my muse alone can tell. For were I to describe to thee the spell Thine eye hath cast upon me, thou wouldst choose The power of raillery that thou dost use, To shatter thoughts, my spirit would not sell For those, far greater, which the poets foretell, Oft in their verse Love’s magic doth infuse. But all that I hold now within my realm Of art is thee, that art thy power alone, To make my lines reflect the hours of spring; Or yet again with sadness overwhelm. For when thy heart seems graven, as in stone, My holiest thoughts to earth their hopes would fling.

LXX

How sweet to me are these soft days of spring; But how much sweeter, did thy beauty bear, Like cherry blossoms o’er the flowering air, Its scented fragrance to me; and did bring Some songs of love, like birds upon the wing, To tell me that my love, with thine, might share These lovers’ hours, that in the spring appear, And o’er the earth their efflorescence fling. Ah, Love! thy winter’s waiting hath well-nigh This heart of mine, for love of thee, so broken, That it hath scarce the power to beat to-day. ’Twere time, indeed, to compensate my sigh At last with Love’s unutterable token, That shall not with the seasons fade away.

LXXI

Thou camest unto me last eventide, When the dull pain of absence had well-nigh Made life for me one long-continued sigh, And given me but little hope to hide The hideous thought, that never to my side Wouldst thou again spontaneously fly. Still, some o’erpowering contact bid me try. And lo! success my efforts did betide. Oh! rapture to my soul, more sweet to me Than glories to the conqueror of a nation! Behold my dry heart, moistened at the sound Of thy dear voice--none dearer could there be-- And my sad soul, once more within love’s station, As thy fair form doth twine my heart around!

LXXII

Yet now I cannot with impunity Receive the gilded pleasure of thy love. God knoweth with what zeal for it I strove. But when I feel love’s sweet community, It bringeth to me the lost unity-- The loneliness, when I no longer have Near me thy spirit sent me from above, To test through pain my soul’s immunity. Then, though this cup of joy be mixed with sorrow, Once more must I drink of its poisoned draft, Whilst praying unto God to purify, With thy return of love to me, the morrow, That holds the price of that which I have quaffed; And for all time my spirit satisfy.

LXXIII

While thou art near to me, my spirit’s bride Art thou. No mortal can possess thee now, Loved inspiration of my life! I trow Thou lovest me while we are side by side. No sorrow surely will this eve betide. Love’s heaven only our two hearts shall know, And for one hour leave life gladly so, As o’er the surface of love’s lake we glide. Ah, loved one! An emotion my heart swelleth, Even as I worship at thy sacred shrine, Which is the noblest life hath brought to me; So great, so holy, that no pen e’er telleth, Till God hath given man a sight of thee, And shown him one who seemeth half divine!

LXXIV

While I gaze in thy dancing eyes, I seem Unable to imagine that thou art So cruel as deep sorrow to impart To one who holds thee in love’s high esteem. Who, from thy face, so like a child’s, could dream That such sweet loveliness did often start In men love’s worship, only to depart, And leave them sinking in life’s treach’rous stream? Yet such thou art, in character, my love, Thou to whom I must dedicate my life, Praying to God that He may still give thee Some understanding of His realm above, And make thee willing to become my wife, Remaining in complete accord with me.

LXXV

In springtime, when pale primroses in flower, Oft interspersed with blue forget-me-nots, Are all in bloom, and the wild violet dots The mossy field, while many a floral shower Of new-mown hay falls in some shady bower, Then my own heart doth, like new garden-plots, Warm with the sun, that unto love allots A portion of contentment as its dower. Thus in thy haloed presence let me sing, Lightheartedly, with thy dear hand in mine, Through many a waving, daisy-scattered field, Where summer doth succeed the reign of spring. And let mine arm thy being half entwine With roses, or whate’er the seasons yield.

LXXVI

With every day that summer doth conceive (Like some good mother, happily confined) My love its simple homily doth find In nature’s soft rejoicing, and receive From winter’s sorrowing a just reprieve, And think on thee with joy and pain combined, When thou art absent, and of thy free mind Return my sentiment, I do believe. A sweet condition to my soul is this, Bringing the blessedness of love from thee, Commingling with my own long-felt desire; And giving something of thyself to me. Ah, seal this thought with one delicious kiss; And let my heart to happiness aspire!

LXXVII

I know a path of velvet green, that sinks From a fair hillside, underneath the trees That blossom forth in May, and with the breeze Shed scented flowers, all lined with summer pinks That border it in petal-covered links. It seems a fairy lane, well fit to please Some lover’s fancy, as the mood doth seize The heart and lead in time to wat’ry brinks. There with thee, Loved One, I would gladly stray; And wander o’er these grassy slopes, to find Saint Dorothy’s ascent to _Paradise_, Uplifting, while ascending on our way To saintly bowers, among the woods enshrined, Where magic scenes our noblest thoughts entice.

LXXVIII

No time could hold my heart more fit than this, The vernal month, when summer’s early hours, Fanned by faint odors from the newborn flowers, Bespeak thyself, the thief of my heart’s bliss, And on thy cheek imprint the tender kiss That bringeth love within young Cupid’s bowers. Thus would thy magic touch, with subtle powers, Bring to my soul some metamorphosis. No more repine, O heart! No longer weep. No more heave sighs, or, sighing, be cast down. Nature her balm of sunshine bringeth thee, That in its warmth thou shalt her treasure keep. Let not my brow be shadowed by a frown; For love at last walks hand in hand with me.

LXXIX

Now love returneth with new grace to me; For why not so, since thou dost come again, And bring fresh flowers of thought upon thy train, That cause my spirit thus in heaven to be? Ah! Couldst thou then but understand and see What holier joys the heart, the soul contain, Than thy poor sense of fleeting flesh could fain, Thou mightest know love to eternity. For as I would endeavor to possess The fulness of love’s wonderful attire, The knowledge of thy spirit is more sweet, For me to hold as mine, than that light dress Encircling it, though filled with beauty’s fire: Thy lovely form, with every charm replete.

LXXX

Though summer showers drown the seeds of love, And flood the garden where its blossoms bloom; Though fiery suns do dry the yellow broom Upon the bank, and parch the field above; Though autumn’s frost shall nip the flowery grove, And winter’s snow kill life in nature’s womb; Though men grow gray, and, tottering, reach the tomb, And all else die, and life no longer have: Yet will I guard thee in my bosom, dear, And seek to gain thy spirit for my own. For no such prize hath nature to bestow That could so well disperse the shadow drear, Or offer to this heart, that ne’er hath grown Accustomed life without some love to know.

LXXXI

Like columbine in May, or rose in June, Like meadow flower, or clover in the morn, All moist with early dew, that laughs to scorn The sunbeam that destroyeth it at noon; Like scented lavender or rue, that soon Doth usher in the flow’ring ears of corn, To wave in glory, ere the wind hath torn Their emerald leaves, beneath the harvest moon: Like this whole pageant of the season’s time, With all its glories rollèd into one, Art thou: the fairest treasure nature bringeth, Through every year and every age sublime: For in thine eyes the radiance of the sun Could warm each flower and every bird that wingeth.

LXXXII

Cold heart, that hath not felt some passing pain; Some aching or desire to be together; To wander hand in hand through heath or heather; Or something that doth move the simple swain! Were there not some possession thus to gain Of love, or lover’s wint’ry gale to weather, As we do follow life, I know not whether ’Twould be not best from living to abstain. Then dead is he who hath not felt this joy, This joy and sorrow mingled in his soul; To seek for love, and feel its kindling flame, That doth old age and youth at once annoy, Yet holy treasures toward their threshold roll; For lovers’ tears and smiles are oft the same.

LXXXIII

When thou, dear one, hast lived as long as I, And seen the world give treasures unto youth (Like some swift river, rushing to its mouth), And drunk the cup of worldly pleasure dry, And felt enjoyment passing with a sigh, And in the night seen goblins all uncouth Dance round the corse of pleasure, dead in truth, And in thine heart is echoed sorrow’s cry: Then mayst thou come, with me, Love, to believe That better than all else, is to obtain The heart’s affection of one single being, That unto thee like adamant may cleave; And lighten on its way life’s palsied pain; So that love’s heaven thou art alway seeing.

LXXXIV

Strange law, whose reason man doth not possess, That underlieth every age and clime, That every human bosom must sometime Its presence and its influence confess! Whether in youth’s own gay and careless dress, Or when old age doth feel the weight of Time, Or art describe, or poet paint with rhyme, Or warrior bold, or maiden in distress: This law of love its course must e’er pursue, And join two spirits in eternal bliss; Or each torment, with unresponsive thought, One loving, one love wishing to undo. Oh! may I not find love with thee like this, But still obtain what I so long have sought!

LXXXV