Sonnets and Songs Part 2

XV

_Love and Death_

I can believe that my Beloved dies, That all her virtue, all her youth shall fail, And life, her rosy life, grow cold and pale, To bloom again in braver Paradise.

I must believe that death shall close her eyes, And hold her heart beyond a heavy veil, Where silences surround her spirit frail And waste the form where all my loving lies.

Ah, G.o.d! but no. And is my love so weak?

Her heart may pause, may falter and grow still, But not her laugh, the color in her cheek-- That may not fade; the catch that lifts her breath, Sobbing against my heart. Essay your will-- These are too dear to fill _your_ grave, O Death!

XVI

_The Message_

When one has heard the message of the Rose, For what faint other calling shall he care?

Dark broodings turn to find their lonely lair; The vain world keeps her posturing and pose.

He, with his crimson secret, which bestows Heaven on his heart, to Heaven lifts his prayer, And knows all glory trembling through the air As on triumphal journeying he goes.

So through green woodlands in the twilight dim, Led by the faint, pale argent of a star, What though to others it is weary night, Nature holds out her wide, sweet heart to him; And, leaning o'er the world's mysterious bar, His soul is great with everlasting light.

XVII

_Tempest and Calm_

First came the tempest, and the world was torn Upon its mighty pa.s.sion--all the deep Trembled before it. From the haggard steep To the sweet valley with its brooding corn, Its foaming lips in expletives of scorn Lashed into life the world's eternal sleep; Then, caught with madness, in gigantic leap Expired upon the heights where it was born.

And then a hush--the dripping, tender rain Falls in warm tears. The thunder could not wake The grief that silence in her soul has furled.

Soft sighs the wind, the sea is gray with pain-- The fulness of a heart too tense to break-- And deep, unuttered sadness in the world.

XVIII

_After Rain_

The country road at lonely close of day Rests for a while from the long stress of rain; Dripping and bowed, the green walls of the lane Reflect no glistening light, no colors gay Has dying Summer left. The sky is gray, As though the weeping had not eased the pain.

The Autumn is not yet, and all in vain Seems Summer's life--a blossom cast away.

The air is hushed, save in the emerald shade The rain still drips and stirs each fretting leaf To soft insistence of its little grief.

The hopeless calm all thought of life denies-- But hark! out through the silence, unafraid, A robin ripples to the chilly skies.

XIX

_Not through this Door_

Not through this door of elemental calm, Patient, wet woodland, resting after rain, Brooding brown fields that wait the sleeping grain-- Not through this door may the wrecked spirit's balm-- Come in and take possession. There's a psalm Nature has crooned to weariness and pain, Easing the tumult of the world-worn brain, Sweet, wholesome mother of the open palm.

But the disastrous heart cries out for men, Strife where the fight is reddest. Verily Peace comes with fighting with the strength of ten, Here where the world is young, with naught to see.

But day blow out across the long, low sky-- Peace means an emptiness, which rests to die.

XX

_Pot-Pourri_

All my dead roses! Now I lay them here, Shrined in a beryl cup. The mysteries Of their sweet hauntings and their witcheries Are not more subtle than this jewel clear, Are not more cold and dead. The winter's spear Has fallen on their heart, a heart so wise With lore of love. Dead roses. Beauty lies Hid in a perfume still supremely dear.

Roses of love, time killed you one by one, Laughed at my pains as sad I gathered up All the fair petals banished from the sun.

Witness my triumph--how the dead loves bless Life--from my heart, which is their beryl cup, Crowning the winter of my loneliness.

XXI

_Eadem Semper_

How shall I hold you? By a scimitar Of flashing wit suspended o'er your head, Oh, my Beloved? Or with lips rose-red Lure you to Lethe? Shall I stand afar, Pale and remote and distant as a star, Challenging love? Or by a scarlet thread Jealousy's wiles, beguile by scorn and dread?

Wounding the heart I love with hateful scar.

Nay, I can take no action, play no play; All my wit falters when I hear you speak, All my wise guile with which your wooing strove Vanishes as the sun of yesterday.

I can but lay my cheek against your cheek-- Love me or leave me, I can only love.

XXII

_To a Woman_