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Heavy upon me longing lies, My sad eyes gaze Across the leagues that sink and rise And sink always.
My life has sunk and risen so, I'd have it cease awhile to flow.
II
All the winds of the sea weary, All the waves of the sea rest, All the wants of my heart settle Softly now in my breast.
All the stars that in heaven anchor, Golden buoys of Elysian light, Send me across the gulf promise That I am faring right.
So while clouds that are left lonely At the gates of the far West Wait, so still, for the moon's stiller Stealing from her nest, I am held by a low vesper Haunting afar the vague twilight, Then with my soul at peace whisper Hallowedly good-night.
A SONG OF THE SECTS
(_In a Jerusalem tavern_)
A Latin and Greek, praise G.o.d, are we, Armenian and Copt, And we're all drunk as drunk can be, for we've together sopped.
Not one of us but spits at the creed the others mouth and purr, But we all believe, we all believe, in the Holy Sepulchre!
_The Armenian sings_
The Copt comes out of Egypt-land and with a braggart face He'll tell you that his fathers piled the Pyramids in place.
In his Monophysite Christ we set no faith, the blasphemer!
But we all believe, we all believe, in the Holy Sepulchre!
_The Latin sings_
The Greek will curse you if you call his Ikons images, And d.a.m.ns your soul to h.e.l.l--no purgatory, if you please!
About Procession of the Ghost he's p.r.i.c.kly as a burr, But he believes, as we all believe, in the Holy Sepulchre!
_The Copt sings_
Of heretics G.o.d leaves unburnt, Armenians are worst, They will not celebrate the Day, that was for Christ the first.
No wine with water mixed for them, as well mix heathen myrrh-- Or not believe, as we all believe, in the Holy Sepulchre!
_The Greek sings_
The Latin swears his Roman Pope is judge infallible.
Wherefore you may be very sure the Devil from his skull Will drink a toast unto all liars, who such a lie aver-- Tho they believe, as we all believe, in the Holy Sepulchre!
_The Four again_
A Latin and Greek, praise G.o.d, are we, Armenian and Copt, And we're all drunk as drunk can be, for we've together sopped.
Not one of us but hankers to hang all Jews on a Juniper, For we all believe, we all believe, in the Holy Sepulchre!
THE CITY
Soft and fair by the Desert's edge, And on the dim blue edge of the sea, Where white gulls wing all day and fledge Their young on the high cliff's sandy ledge, There is a city I have beheld, Sometime or where, by day or dream, I know not which, for it seems enspelled As I am by its memory.
Pale minarets of the Prophet pierce Above it into the white of the skies, And sails enchanted a thousand years Flit at its feet while fancy steers.
No face of all its faces to me Is known--no pa.s.sion of it or pain.
It is but a city by the sea, Enshrined forever beyond my eyes!
VIA AMOROSA
(_To A. H. R._)
When we two walk, my love, on the path The moon makes over the sea, To the end of the world where sorrow hath An end that is ecstasy, Should we not think of the other road Of wearying dust and stone Our feet would fare did each but care To follow the way alone?
When we two slip at night to the skies And find one star that we keep As a trysting-place to which our eyes May lead our souls ere sleep, Should we not pause for a little s.p.a.ce And think how many must sigh Because they gaze over starry ways With no heart-comrade by?
When we two then lie down to our dreams That deepen still the delight Of our wandering where stars and streams Stray in immortal light, Should we not grieve with the myriads From East of earth to West Who lay them down at night but to drown The longing for some loved breast?
Ah, yes, for life has a thousand gifts, But love it is gives life.
Who walks thro his world alone e'er lifts A soul that is sorrow-rife.
But they to whom it is given to tread The moon-path and not sink Can ever say the unhappiest way Earth has is fair to the brink.
DUSK AT HIROSHIMA
Softly the bamboo bends As the sun sinks down unglowing, Softer the willow ends A sigh to the dusk around.
Quickly the brief bat wends His flittering way, thro flowing Fields of the autumn air, That are husht of the city's sound.
Temple and thatch and stream Are forgetting the light that lingers, Mountain and mist in dream Already are lost, afar.
Faintingly comes the beam Of the moon--then viewless fingers Tinkle a samisen, And astir on the East is a star.
THE WANDERER
When moonlight on the face Of the great Buddha falls As he sits in Nirvana On the sh.o.r.es of Kamakura, When the pines about him place Soft shadows at his feet Like offerings of penitence and tears, I hear in the grace Of the wind's low susurra A voice that calls me still To my home within the West, But I've lingered overlong In the East's strange arcana And no more is there desire within my breast.
I left it when a boy, That far home and, alas, 'Twas so fair that my dreaming Earth had fairer was a madness.
