His Lady of the Sonnets Part 2

For though my shame be branded on my brow, And you in tears have driven me afar Because I faltered and forgot my vow, The night has still for me a single star That will not let me quite forget your eyes-- You, and the dear dream-hours of Paradise!

XXI

Since we have sundered been by broken vow Of faith and trust--the fault was mine, O Heart-- Much have I learned of Woman and the part She plays in shaking from the laden bow Life's blossoms; all that has been, and is now, And ever shall be: Science, Music, Art, Religion, these, as from a fountain start The rivers, have been hers--Man to endow.

So must I, wounded in the valley, call To you, alone upon the morning-height: Praise and thanksgiving for the throw and fall!

Vanquished by you, I shall rise up and fight Him armed with trident and the subtle mesh-- Mankind's most ancient enemy, the Flesh!

XXII

Through what dark centuries have all your kind Upon the cross of s.e.x been crucified!

Betrayed with kisses, smitten, then denied; Mocked in the place of judgment, and made blind To please the ruling of some priestly mind.

Along the cobbled highroad straight and wide, They have gone bleeding, stumbling forth, and died That Man through them might his redemption find.

This your rebuke has taught me. Take my sword, And on your form divine my purple bear; While, kneeling at your feet, I pledge my word For King Love's sake in Woman's cause to fare Against Tradition's standard--church or state-- And be my Sister's knight and laureate.

XXIII

O woman, now thy golden day's at morn!

Dawn leaps and laughs upon the waiting hills, And sings thy freedom; for thy sorrow fills The cup at last; and all that thou hast borne Pleads thy release! ... Lord Christ, and crowned with thorn, Lay bare each sacred agony that spills Blood of the crucified pure hearts and wills, Brows, hands, and feet, the centuries have torn!

This be the song that you have taught me sing, The strain you on my ready harp confer.

Love seeks, as sought each Christ-adoring king, But to bow down ... Gold, frankincense, and myrrh, Are offered, not the body to possess, Neither command, but reverently to bless.

XXIV

I am all gladness like a little child!

Grief's tragic figure of the veiled face Fades from my path, moving with measured pace Back from the splendour that breaks on the wild, High hills of sorrow, where the storm-clouds piled In drift of tears. Lo! with what tender grace Joy holds the world again in her embrace Since you came forth, and looked on me, and smiled.

Down in the valley shines a scimiter-- A stream with autumn-gold deep damascened; And of the bards of day one loiterer Still lingers at his song, securely screened By foliage. Dear, what miracle is this, Transforming void and chaos with a kiss!

XXV

There are so many things to say and do After that moment of our breathless bliss When separation ends upon a kiss, And I have pa.s.sed the dreary s.p.a.ces through.

Words as of one long leashed by silence who Finds tongue at last, and, eager, would not miss Fulfilment of ten thousand fancies; this Must follow my first swift embrace of you.

Secure within the palaces of thought, And guarded by my soul as with a sword, These fancies are; no curious eyes have caught Their gleam and glory: you alone, Adored, May enter the uplifted gates of gold To hear and see what never has been told.

XXVI

There is a little path among the trees That leads me to a quiet garden-plot; Thither I go for the content of thought, Dreams, and the quiet joy of reveries; And in this place my simple melodies Are sung with you beside me--fancies caught From the swift moment, as if one forgot The truth that cries: "Imaginings are these!"

So have I with the magic of the mind Called and compelled you to my lonely heart; And never have you failed me. Now I find No more the anguish of dead days; apart From you I faltered; at your side I gain Gladness from sorrow, and peace out of pain!

XXVII

Come down the woodland way a while with me.

Be still, and know the spirit of this place That is my garden. How each flower's face Turns to us o'er the serried rosemary Which guard my lilies from captivity!

What slow unfolding of the harebell's grace!

What quiet moving of majestic pace In the persistence of the shrub and tree!

Made one with Nature, you, my Love, and I Are reconciled; for life to us is good, Who heard a Presence in the garden cry: "Delve earth, smite rock, plunge pool, and cleave the wood; There thou shalt find Me!" ... Dear, and we have found Peace through our loyal kinsmen of the ground.

XXVIII

Companion of the highroad, hail! all hail!

Day on his shoulder flame of sunset bears, As he goes marching where the autumn flares A banner to the sky; in russet mail The trees are trooping hither to a.s.sail Twilight with spears; a rank of coward cares Creep up, as though to take us unawares, And find their stratagems of none avail.

Accept the challenge of the royal hills, And dare adventure as we always dared!

Life with red wine his golden chalice fills, And bids us drink to all who forward fared-- Those lost, white armies of the host of dream; Those dauntless, singing pilgrims of the Gleam!

XXIX

Here have we made fair songs on psalteries Played tenderly by lovers in all lands.

Sometimes the strings are smitten by harsh hands Of anger, doubt, and frowning jealousies; And sometimes are drawn forth sad threnodies For dear Love dead. Let him who understands Man's way with Woman loose the mystic bands That bind my parabled heart-secrecies.

In dreams again o'er leagues of purple sea My bark is borne to some far, fabled strand-- Dear, how the world is young! I seem to be One of famed Helen's lovers; her command Is in your eyes as you gaze forth from Troy-- Immortal in your beauty and your joy.