Helen of Troy and Other Poems Part 8

Oh happy book within his hand, Oh happy page he glorifies, Oh happy little word beneath His eyes.

But oh, thrice happy, happy I Who love him more than songs can tell, For in the heaven of his heart I dwell.

Sonnets and Lyrics

Primavera Mia

As kings who see their little life-day pa.s.s, Take off the heavy ermine and the crown, So had the trees that autumn-time laid down Their golden garments on the faded gra.s.s, When I, who watched the seasons in the gla.s.s Of mine own thoughts, saw all the autumn's brown Leap into life and don a sunny gown Of leaf.a.ge such as happy April has.

Great spring came singing upward from the south; For in my heart, far carried on the wind, Your words like winged seeds took root and grew, And all the world caught music from your mouth; I saw the light as one who had been blind, And knew my sun and song and spring were you.

Soul's Birth

When you were born, beloved, was your soul New made by G.o.d to match your body's flower, And were they both at one same precious hour Sent forth from heaven as a perfect whole?

Or had your soul since dim creation burned, A star in some still region of the sky, That leaping earthward, left its place on high And to your little new-born body yearned?

No words can tell in what celestial hour G.o.d made your soul and gave it mortal birth, Nor in the disarray of all the stars Is any place so sweet that such a flower Might linger there until thro' heaven's bars, It heard G.o.d's voice that bade it down to earth.

Love and Death

Shall we, too, rise forgetful from our sleep, And shall my soul that lies within your hand Remember nothing, as the blowing sand Forgets the palm where long blue shadows creep When winds along the darkened desert sweep?

Or would it still remember, tho' it spanned A thousand heavens, while the planets fanned The vacant ether with their voices deep?

Soul of my soul, no word shall be forgot, Nor yet alone, beloved, shall we see The desolation of extinguished suns, Nor fear the void wherethro' our planet runs, For still together shall we go and not Fare forth alone to front eternity.

For the Anniversary of John Keats' Death

(February 23, 1821)

At midnight when the moonlit cypress trees Have woven round his grave a magic shade, Still weeping the unfinished hymn he made, There moves fresh Maia like a morning breeze Blown over jonquil beds when warm rains cease.

And stooping where her poet's head is laid, Selene weeps while all the tides are stayed And swaying seas are darkened into peace.

But they who wake the meadows and the tides Have hearts too kind to bid him wake from sleep Who murmurs sometimes when his dreams are deep, Startling the Quiet Land where he abides, And charming still, sad-eyed Persephone With visions of the sunny earth and sea.

Silence

(To Eleonora Duse)

We are anhungered after solitude, Deep stillness pure of any speech or sound, Soft quiet hovering over pools profound, The silences that on the desert brood, Above a windless hush of empty seas, The broad unfurling banners of the dawn, A faery forest where there sleeps a Faun; Our souls are fain of solitudes like these.

O woman who divined our weariness, And set the crown of silence on your art, From what undreamed-of depth within your heart Have you sent forth the hush that makes us free To hear an instant, high above earth's stress, The silent music of infinity?

The Return

I turned the key and opened wide the door To enter my deserted room again, Where thro' the long hot months the dust had lain.

Was it not lonely when across the floor No step was heard, no sudden song that bore My whole heart upward with a joyous pain?

Were not the pictures and the volumes fain To have me with them always as before?

But Giorgione's Venus did not deign To lift her lids, nor did the subtle smile Of Mona Lisa deepen. Madeleine Still wept against the glory of her hair, Nor did the lovers part their lips the while, But kissed unheeding that I watched them there.

Fear

I am afraid, oh I am so afraid!

The cold black fear is clutching me to-night As long ago when they would take the light And leave the little child who would have prayed, Frozen and sleepless at the thought of death.

My heart that beats too fast will rest too soon; I shall not know if it be night or noon,-- Yet shall I struggle in the dark for breath?

Will no one fight the Terror for my sake, The heavy darkness that no dawn will break?

How can they leave me in that dark alone, Who loved the joy of light and warmth so much, And thrilled so with the sense of sound and touch,-- How can they shut me underneath a stone?

Anadyomene

The wide, bright temple of the world I found, And entered from the dizzy infinite That I might kneel and worship thee in it; Leaving the singing stars their ceaseless round Of silver music sound on orbed sound, For measured s.p.a.ces where the shrines are lit, And men with wisdom or with little wit Implore the G.o.ds that mercy may abound.

Ah, Aphrodite, was it not from thee My summons came across the endless s.p.a.ces?

Mother of Love, turn not thy face from me Now that I seek for thee in human faces; Answer my prayer or set my spirit free Again to drift along the starry places.

Galahad in the Castle of the Maidens

(To the maiden with the hidden face in Abbey's painting)