English

When morning comes, the last pale star
Must crowd all sail and flee:
The wave that leaps the harbour-bar
Says " Farewell " to the sea.
The violet in the hollow lane
May long to linger there:
Nay, it must pass! The golden grain
Must leave the furrows bare.

" Farewell! " they say, " Adieu! " they cry,
All sweet sad earthly things:
The loveliest sun-kissed rose must die;
The swallow spreads her wings.
The crocus with its golden smile
Must vanish from the grass:
The tulip tarries for awhile,

No friend shall follow and face the burning glare
Of thought, in those fierce realms towards which I lead:
No lesser love shall triumph, or succeed
In breathing that divine sun-stricken air.
Yet well and tenderly my sweet shall fare; —
She shall not thirst, — her white foot shall not bleed, —
She shall not pant for brook or flowery mead:
Love is enough, — and Love's fount shall be there.

Love's silver waters tender and divine
Shall spring around us at this staff of mine, —
The stroke of this my living staff of song:

The sun streamed over vale and hill,
How joyous all things seemed!
Far in the distance, clear and still,
The yellow cornfields gleamed.
Fair was the summer land;
I held in mine your hand;
Your eyes drew mine, and in their depths I dreamed,
Holding in mine your hand!

Then, on another golden day,
Among the wildwood bowers,
Love had its golden word to say
The while we gathered flowers.
" O love, my heart is thine;
Be thou for ever mine;
Life's loveliest purest gifts will all be ours,
If thou art ever mine! "

A tuft of mignonette, a withered rose!
Numberless foolish hearts have treasured such.
Now, as I lift them from their long repose,
They turn to dust and crumble at a touch —
Poor flowers that meant so much!

They meant — pure love and limitless belief
In summer's faithfulness, in sunny skies:
They mean — one lonely pang of silent grief,
Just one true tear that in a moment dries,
For even sorrow dies.

So with the millions who have hoarded flowers:
The frail love-token lasts, the heart's love goes.

The true possession is the holy sense
Of love and of ecstatic victory.
Such true possession, love, was given to me:—
A glory of triumph tenderly intense.
A passion without envy or offence
Was mine,—and that clear passion's blest reward
Was the achievement of a golden sword
That severed all the barriers dark and dense.

One night when thou wast reading of my love,
My yearning drew thee,—and thy spirit came,
Like a white-winged and golden-crested dove,
With plumage touched by passion as by flame:

Woman is part of Nature. She was born
 From the bright sea-wave. She and flowers are one.
Can your cold Western culture e'er adorn
 Her who is taught by sea-waves and the sun?

Oh, God deliver me from Western dreams!
 Give me warm moonlight on an Arab tent:
Within, the touch that thrills, the glance that gleams;
 Soft bosom o'er me through the darkness bent.

Then am I saved and crowned,—for bliss is there,
 And perfect bliss is heaven. Whate'er men say,
I hold that God set stars within the air

TO ERNEST BIRCH

O THOU who through high Music's golden gate
Hast right of entrance to the land divine
Wherein the poets' crowns and sceptres shine,
Thy coming we, Song's warders, celebrate.
Thou art a poet-soul beyond debate: —
Thy music thunders out like Milton's line:
Thou canst describe in music and design;
Thy music sighs forth love, or volleys hate.

But surely, far beyond the eternal hills
And the slow river that pale men revere
More than earth's quiet violet-girdled rills,
Shall love and all things doubtful be made clear.
Earth's autumn, red and solemn and austere,
Shall blossom into green May-scented spring,
And the opening of a green eternal year
Arouse the happy praise of everything; —
Then shall the hills and heaven's copses ring
With notes of throstles that were broken-hearted,
And whistle of nightingales too weak to sing

Not all the suns that throng the soundless spaces
Are worth the radiance of one loving heart;
The least and humblest of all human faces
Hath nobler import in the eyes of Art.

Gaze through your glass till ye be stricken with blindness!
Peer at the heavens whose bright star-clusters gleam!
One human heart that glows with loving-kindness
Outshines the stars, and makes your heavens a dream.

Fair Science trumpets her own praise so loudly
She fails to catch creation's under-tune;

LINES Written ON AGAIN R EADING AN OLD R OMANCE

O I SOLINA , loved in boyish fashion,
Loved when the heart was nobly pure and free,
Again I read thy tale of love and passion,
Again forget the world and gaze on thee.

Romance beyond romance is in thy story:
I read the wild tale thirty years ago —
Yet still I see the sunlight's ceaseless glory
Poured over plains and hills of Mexico.