Some Verses Part 3

Why lags her Lord and Master?

She weeping, lays her jewels off-- Ah--may he not come faster.

But hush--the tender rosy blush Her beauty fair adorning Her love steps o'er the mountain's rim, They kiss--and here's the morning.

THE ANGEL OF INDIFFERENCE

A Man once loved a Woman, in the days of old, Our bond is the strongest in the world, they said-- The Angels up above Are jealous of our love, Perhaps they are wishing we were dead, overhead.

So they loved for a Time and the pa.s.sing of a Time, And the Angel of Indifference, smiling down, saw their fire, And he covered for a s.p.a.ce With his sombre wings his face, That they twain might have of love all desire, without tire.

But love's perfect joy within them burned at last to a flame Till they longed for a breeze that would gently cool the heart.

For absence! cooling snow They sighed apart and low, Tho' they murmured still their love, hand and heart loth to part.

But at length they prayed together to the calm Angel--pale, Ah--we yearn, scorched and weary, for the peace of thy breast.

For that land where love seems But the shadow of dreams, Where all sleep in the silver of the West, give us rest.

And he heard, and he bore them to the cool grey heights, Where all men may drift and himself alone stands fast, And gave them for their token The peace of dreams unbroken Where their souls, his faithful va.s.sals, rest at last, from the past.

DEAR DEAD WOMEN

The winds have chilled the loving odorous South, All wan and grey she seeks a place to die, Her tossing hair, her pleading pa.s.sionate mouth, Pity that things so fair in death must lie; But Winter holds and kills her with a sigh.

One kiss he lays upon her lips so proud, Shuts the blue eyes and winds her sombre shroud.

I walk between the narrow way of yew.

The glowing amaranth droops upon its stalk, The shivering birds are timorous and few, And waifs of Summer strew th' untended walk; With vague sweet forms I seem to pa.s.s and talk.

The ladies of those days in Summer's prime Whose smiles prevailed not for the frown of Time.

Their little tripping feet reluctant turned Down the dark paths they had not known before; Behind them all the glow of living burned, But they must enter thro' the gloomy door, And leave behind the loves that plead no more, The dear frivolity of wiles and ways They neither need nor know in these grim days.

Here in their garden's close I spend no tear, No smile--too rare the heights for such display.

But on the frosted hedges' lifted spear And with my head a little bowed, I lay A pale camelia, proud and cold as they Who wait beneath their ashen pall of snow-- Perhaps the fair dead dames will see and know.

THE GRAVE OF HOPE

There's a wild little gnome in the wood Who sings as he digs a grave Of Hope that soars and Hope that flies And Hope that singes her wings, and lies In peace where the willows wave.

And he croons in the pauses of toil, A shivering song of Fears, The lean black shades of Hope so fair Who weave her nets with her golden hair And harry her down the years.

And he knows she will perish at last, He has carved her name on the stone While the trees draw near and forget to sleep, And the little leaves bend their heads and weep, For Hope that must die alone.

TREES OF THE WILDERNESS

The great bleak trees stand up against the sky Lifting their naked arms in ceaseless prayer To the unpitying heavens, that they might die, Rather than drag their weary lives out there.

Thro' starless nights the untold hours wear on, All awful phantom shapes affright the wood-- And morning light but brings th' unwinking sun, To torture with its glare their solitude.

In those grim wilds no sweet-voiced bird will sing, No flowers will bloom within those trackless lands, Nor is there trace of any living thing, Save those gaunt giants, holding up their hands.

And when they fall, still round the unknown spot Howls the rough wind, till in the common ground They end the life which is--and yet is not,-- A riddle where no meaning shall be found.

THE LOVE OF THE ROSE

Trilled forth the Nightingale In sweetest sleep of day-- Unto his love, the rose, Ah golden heart, unclose!

For love, my fairest rose, will last for aye.

So, thro' the waning night She learned to wear her crown; Yielded her heart's sweet strife And found that love was life Set to the time the dear bird lilted down.

But when the morning came The red sun burned above; Hid are the night birds all, Flower petals fade and fall; The rose is dead--and what became of love!

IN THE GREEN YEW

The wind is howling in angry pain, Ah me, and I cannot rest; On such a night home is best, Why does she stand in the same old place With the smile of smiles on her cold white face And call me thro' the rain?

Ah--the Wind has died from the Fear of her smile-- And I creep quite still-- On over the hill, To where she stands 'mid the scented yew And where I now am standing too, And she sees me all the while.

A little green snake curls thro' her hair-- The scent of the yew is strong and sweet-- Her eyes have drawn me to her feet, And I lie along on the drenching ground And worship--and watch the snake curl round, His tongue shoots thro' the air.

Now--slowly she takes her eyes from me, And I dream and wait, Till in shades of hate My love of her smile has faded quite And I spring to kill her, there in the night-- But only the yew I see.

THE DEAD NIGHT