English

Ten years ago with sweetest young emotion
Before thy feet
I cast a swift tumultuous tossing ocean
Of fancies fleet.

I flung before thee flowerbuds bright and burning,
And many a dream,
And passion white and pure, and tender yearning,
A fair heart-stream.

Where art thou now, and where are all the fancies
That flamed and flew?
Where are the swift-winged splendid sweet romances
That climbed the blue?

Where are the long waves wonderful and hoary
That swept the strand?

I gaze upon the night. Ah! thou art breathing
The same sweet odours, the same gracious air;
In thy pure locks the same night-winds are wreathing
Scents delicate and flowery petals rare.
The same calm holy stars do rest above us;
The same moon glitters at the window-pane;
The soul of the tender self-same God doth love us;
We are refreshed alike by summer rain.
Sleep sends upon us both her healing beauty,
The eternal wings of sacred darkness brood
Above us both, — we dream alike of duty,

I.

A Year of love, and not one quarrel yet!
Most strange it seems to some that this should be.
Nothing to pain us! nothing to regret!
Bright sunlight in the eyes that gaze at me!

II.

Yet this is as it should be. Life is short:
Not long enough to make a loved one weep.
We love in sober earnest, not in sport;
Where quiet waters flow, the stream runs deep.

III.

Love, who hast aided where so many failed
And given me rest and solace for awhile,

Yes: the same meadows, — the horizon clear, —
The same tall poplars by the unchanged streams;
For just one moment the pale exile dreams
That sweet unchanged fair former France is here.
But what is this that seizes eye and ear? —
What is that far-off smoke, — those fiery gleams?
A sound of shouts, — a sound of women's screams, —
French soldiers, wild and blood-stained, fleeing in fear!

This was his welcome. As his eager glance
Shot forth, it met a mixed ill-omened throng, —
Blue tunics flying before the Uhlans' lance;

Lo! the poet sings to roses
And the hours of summer days:
In the woods his heart reposes
Where the white-armed nymph delays:
He may watch the chaste adorning
Of the golden-haired sweet morning,
Unrebuked for ardent gaze.

Through his heart storm strife and anguish;
All his soul is racked with pain;
Often through long hours that languish
Must he garner song's red grain:
Thou , — thou hast no heart to suffer;
When the surges' heads grow rougher
Thou in harbour dost remain!

Death that healest the weary,
Descend thou upon me,
Dividing life's days dreary
With surge of sea.

Lo! my spirit's summer
Fades, is past and gone:
O thou swift sure comer,
Speed thou on!

Not one love abideth;
No more roses gleam;
Time all loves derideth,
Every dream.

Not one woman waits now,
Not one love avails;
At thine awful gates now
Passion pales.

Lo! through the unbroken
Silence comes thy voice,
Sweet, of silvery token,
Saying, " Rejoice.

Oh where the immortal and the mortal meet
In union than of wind and wave more sweet,
Meet me, O God —
Where thou hast trod
I follow, along the blood-print of thy feet.

Oh, though the austere ensanguined road be hard
And all the blue skies shine through casemates barred,
I follow thee —
Show thou to me
Thy face, the speechless face divinely marred.

Lo! who will love and follow to the end,
Shall he not also to hell's depths descend?
Shall he not find
The whole world blind,

" What shall I give him? " So a maiden said —
" With brave pure labour he sang songs of me;
What shall my final tear-touched token be,
Now that he lies pale, voiceless, heedless, dead?
Shall it be some ripe rose of loveliest red,
Or snowdrop drooping petals tenderly,
Or blue-grey valiant thistle from the sea
Beside whose waves our wandering steps were led? "

So doubted she: but then there came a voice,
An audible direction from the air,
Saying, " Thy first thought was the seemlier choice;

I.

To thee far-off beside the waves
 That even in winter gleam with light.
 This greeting from a realm of night
And streets like graves.

II.

I send thee, love, the tenderest kiss
 That ever thrilled across the air
 To change December's gaunt despair
To summer's bliss.

III.

All health, all gladness, love, be thine;
 Bright days, soft slumbers, till we meet,—
 Till laughter flashes from thy sweet
Young eyes on mine!

IV.

Measureless spirit! In whom the winds unite
Their viewless strength, — for whom the stars and seas
Sing, — and the soft voice of the fragrant breeze
Of summer, and the snow-storms wild and white;
Through whom the human limitless delight
Of passion trembles: — at whose kingly knees
Love rests content, while evil quails and flees;
Thy brow with God's own golden dawn is bright.

All blood-stained terror, and pale sin, and crime,
Thou viewest with equal, yet most burning, eyes: —
Before thee open the blue folds of skies: —