Puslapio vaizdai
PDF
„ePub“

Fair Lady?

Now by each knight that e'er hath prayed
To fight like a man and love like a maid,
Since Pembroke's life, as Pembroke's blade,
I' the scabbard, death, was laid,

Fair Lady,

I dare avouch my faith is bright

That God doth right and God hath might.
Nor time hath changed His hair to white,

Nor His dear love to spite,

Fair Lady.

I doubt no doubts: I strive, and shrive my clay,
And fight my fight in the patient modern way
For true love and for thee-ah me! and pray
To be thy knight until my dying day,

Fair Lady."

Made end that knightly horn, and spurred away Into the thick of the melodious fray.

And then the hautboy played and smiled,
And sang like any large-eyed child,
Cool-hearted and all undefiled.

"Huge Trade!" he said,

"Would thou wouldst lift me on thy head And run where'er my finger led!

Once said a Man-and wise was He

Never shalt thou the heavens see,

Save as a little child thou be."

Then o'er sea-lashings of commingling tunes

The ancient wise bassoons,

Like weird
Gray-beard

Old harpers sitting on the high sea-dunes,
Chanted runes:

[ocr errors]
[ocr errors]

Bright-waved gain, gray waved loss,
The sea of all doth lash and toss,
One wave forward and one across :
But now 'twas trough, now 'tis crest,
And worst doth foam and flash to best,
And curst to blest.

Life! Life! thou sea-fugue, writ from east to west,

Love, Love alone can pore

On thy dissolving score
Of harsh half-phrasings,
Blotted ere writ,

And double erasings
Of chords most fit.

Yea, Love, sole music master blest,
May read thy weltering palimpsest.
To follow Time's dying melodies through,
And never to lose the old in the new,
And ever to solve the discords true-
Love alone can do.

And ever Love hears the poor-folks' crying,
And ever Love hears the women's sighing,
And ever sweet knighthood's death-defying,
And ever wise childhood's deep implying,
But never a trader's glozing and lying.

And yet shall Love himself be heard,
Though long deferred, though long deferred:
O'er the modern waste a dove hath whirred:
Music is Love in search of a word."

BALTIMORE, 1875.

MY SPRINGS.

IN the heart of the Hills of Life, I know
Two springs that with unbroken flow
Forever pour their lucent streams
Into my soul's far Lake of Dreams.

Not larger than two eyes, they lie
Beneath the many-changing sky
And mirror all of life and time,
-Serene and dainty pantomime.

Shot through with lights of stars and dawns,
And shadowed sweet by ferns and fawns,
-Thus heaven and earth together vie
Their shining depths to sanctify.

Always when the large Form of Love
Is hid by storms that rage above,
I gaze in my two springs and sce
Love in his very verity.

Always when Faith with stifling stress
Of grief hath died in bitterness,
I gaze in my two springs and see
A Faith that smiles immortally.

Always when Charity and Hope,
In darkness bounden, feebly grope,
I gaze in my two springs and see
A Light that sets my captives free.

Always, when Art on perverse wing
Flies where I cannot hear him sing,
I gaze in my two springs and see
A charm that brings him back to me.

When Labor faints, and Glory fails,
And coy Reward in sighs exhales,
I gaze in my two springs and see
Attainment full and heavenly.

O Love, O Wife, thine eyes are they,
-My springs from out whose shining gray
Issue the sweet celestial streams

That feed my life's bright Lake of Dreams.

Oval and large and passion-pure

And gray and wise and honor-sure ;

Soft as a dying violet-breath

Yet calmly unafraid of death ;

Thronged, like two dove-cotes of gray doves,
With wife's and mother's and poor-folk's loves,
And home-loves and high glory-loves
And science-loves and story-loves,

And loves for all that God and man
In art and nature make or plan,
And lady-loves for spidery lace
And broideries and supple grace

And diamonds and the whole sweet round
Of littles that large life compound,
And loves for God and God's bare truth,
And loves for Magdalen and Ruth,

Dear eyes, dear eyes and rare complete-
Being heavenly-sweet and earthly-sweet,
-I marvel that God made you mine,
For when He frowns, 'tis then ye shine!

BALTIMORE, 1874.

« AnkstesnisTęsti »