The Poems of Henry Van Dyke Part 17

So let the way wind up the hill or down, O'er rough or smooth, the journey will be joy: Still seeking what I sought when but a boy, New friendship, high adventure, and a crown, My heart will keep the courage of the quest, And hope the road's last turn will be the best.

RELIANCE

Not to the swift, the race: Not to the strong, the fight: Not to the righteous, perfect grace Not to the wise, the light.

But often faltering feet Come surest to the goal; And they who walk in darkness meet The sunrise of the soul.

A thousand times by night The Syrian hosts have died; A thousand times the vanquished right Hath risen, glorified.

The truth the wise men sought Was spoken by a child; The alabaster box was brought In trembling hands defiled.

Not from my torch, the gleam, But from the stars above: Not from my heart, life's crystal stream, But from the depths of Love.

DOORS OF DARING

The mountains that inclose the vale With walls of granite, steep and high, Invite the fearless foot to scale Their stairway toward the sky.

The restless, deep, dividing sea That flows and foams from sh.o.r.e to sh.o.r.e, Calls to its sunburned chivalry, "Push out, set sail, explore!"

The bars of life at which we fret, That seem to prison and control, Are but the doors of daring, set Ajar before the soul.

Say not, "Too poor," but freely give; Sigh not, "Too weak," but boldly try; You never can begin to live Until you dare to die.

THE CHILD IN THE GARDEN

When to the garden of untroubled thought I came of late, and saw the open door, And wished again to enter, and explore The sweet, wild ways with stainless bloom inwrought, And bowers of innocence with beauty fraught, It seemed some purer voice must speak before I dared to tread that garden loved of yore, That Eden lost unknown and found unsought.

Then just within the gate I saw a child,-- A stranger-child, yet to my heart most dear; He held his hands to me, and softly smiled With eyes that knew no shade of sin or fear: "Come in," he said, "and play awhile with me; I am the little child you used to be."

LOVE'S REASON

For that thy face is fair I love thee not; Nor yet because thy brown benignant eyes Have sudden gleams of gladness and surprise, Like woodland brooks that cross a sunlit spot: Nor for thy body, born without a blot, And loveliest when it shines with no disguise Pure as the star of Eve in Paradise,-- For all these outward things I love thee not:

But for a something in thy form and face, Thy looks and ways, of primal harmony; A certain soothing charm, a vital grace That breathes of the eternal womanly, And makes me feel the warmth of Nature's breast, When in her arms, and thine, I sink to rest.

THE ECHO IN THE HEART

It's little I can tell About the birds in books; And yet I know them well, By their music and their looks: When May comes down the lane, Her airy lovers throng To welcome her with song, And follow in her train: Each minstrel weaves his part In that wild-flowery strain, And I know them all again By their echo in my heart.

It's little that I care About my darling's place In books of beauty rare, Or heraldries of race: For when she steps in view, It matters not to me What her sweet type may be, Of woman, old or new.

I can't explain the art, But I know her for my own, Because her lightest tone Wakes an echo in my heart.

"UNDINE"

'Twas far away and long ago, When I was but a dreaming boy, This fairy tale of love and woe Entranced my heart with tearful joy; And while with white Undine I wept Your spirit,--ah, how strange it seems,-- Was cradled in some star, and slept, Unconscious of her coming dreams.

"RENCONTRE"

Oh, was I born too soon, my dear, or were you born too late, That I am going out the door while you come in the gate?

For you the garden blooms galore, the castle is _en fete_; You are the coming guest, my dear,--for me the horses wait.

I know the mansion well, my dear, its rooms so rich and wide; If you had only come before I might have been your guide, And hand in hand with you explore the treasures that they hide; But you have come to stay, my dear, and I prepare to ride.

Then walk with me an hour, my dear, and pluck the reddest rose Amid the white and crimson store with which your garden glows,-- A single rose,--I ask no more of what your love bestows; It is enough to give, my dear,--a flower to him who goes.

The House of Life is yours, my dear, for many and many a day, But I must ride the lonely sh.o.r.e, the Road to Far Away: So bring the stirrup-cup and pour a br.i.m.m.i.n.g draught, I pray, And when you take the road, my dear, I'll meet you on the way.

LOVE IN A LOOK

Let me but feel thy look's embrace, Transparent, pure, and warm, And I'll not ask to touch thy face, Or fold thee in mine arm.

For in thine eyes a girl doth rise, Arrayed in candid bliss, And draws me to her with a charm More close than any kiss.

A loving-cup of golden wine, Songs of a silver brook, And fragrant breaths of eglantine, Are mingled in thy look.

More fair they are than any star, Thy topaz eyes divine-- And deep within their trysting-nook Thy spirit blends with mine.

MY APRIL LADY

When down the stair at morning The sunbeams round her float, Sweet rivulets of laughter Are rippling in her throat; The gladness of her greeting Is gold without alloy; And in the morning sunlight I think her name is Joy.

When in the evening twilight The quiet book-room lies, We read the sad old ballads, While from her hidden eyes The tears are falling, falling, That give her heart relief; And in the evening twilight, I think her name is Grief.