love poem

O Evening! thou art lovely: — in thy dress
Of sober gray I woo thee, when thy star
Comes o'er the hazy hills, that rise afar,
When tender thoughts upon my spirit press,
And with the whispering gales and fanning airs
The quiet swelling of my bosom pairs;
And by the lake that lieth motionless,
Low in the secret hollow, where the shade,
By bending elms and drooping willows made,
Displays its peaceful canopy, and gives
A moving picture to the lymph below,
Where float the sapphire sky, the clouds of snow,

O, Love was made to mourn,
Its home is not below;
While in this being's bourn,
It still must weep in woe.

Its home is in the skies;
A wanderer with men,
It turns its longing eyes
To find that home again.

But there are forms so bright,
So fair, they seem its own;
They glow, like stars at night,
When clouds away have flown.

And there we fondly turn,
And think, that love's pure fire
Will ever brightly burn,
The spirit's vestal pyre.

But oh! how short the light,

Should love return before I die,
If haply love could live so long,
He will not come with smile or sigh,
Nor wake in me the gift of song.

No, rather with a lordly scorn
I would receive the fatal trust,
For pleasures out of season born
Are ashes at the core, and dust.

And beauty's eyes might plead in vain,
And music's voice intone forever —
I should hear nothing in the strain
But one sad note of never, never.

I dare not worship Love, whose warm hands hold
The true immortal worth of mortal breath,
And every deathless beauty this side death,
And seeds wherein are hidden manifold
Spring's promise, summer's glory, autumn's gold —
I dare not, for so many voices say,
" I am the Mighty Love thou must obey —
The Love thy dreams foreshadowed and foretold. "
I thirst for Love, and yet I dare not slake
My thirst at his cool fountain's singing flow;
I long to love, and yet I dare not stake
Eternal happiness upon one throw;

I

Mother-Queen, Mother-Queen,
How hast thou heard, how hast thou seen,
Thy people's woe?
Are there not golden bars between
The high and low?
How hast thou heard? How hast thou seen?
How dost thou know?
What can our lowly sorrow mean
To one so high?
Though thou listen, and though thou lean,
Down from the sky,
Thou canst not tell our sorrow and teen,
Nor hear us sigh.

II

Throned afar
On a golden star,
How canst thou guess
What sore distress,

I had been lost and lonely, and the stars
Like dust in desert places had been whirled,
And even things of beauty had been bars
Between me and the Spirit-of-the-World.

For vainly, ever vainly, had I sought,
In many a lovely body's lily shrine,
Beauty of Spirit, till one morning brought
Such beauty in that lovely body of thine.

Then through thine eyes into thy soul I went,
And through mine eyes thy spirit flashed like flame:
For one eternal moment we were blent,
And all the world a world of Love became.

Lord, thou on earth didst love thine own,
Didst love them to the end;
O still from thy celestial throne,
Let gifts of love descend.

The love the Father bears to thee,
His own Eternal Son,
Fill all thy saints, till all shall be
In pure affection one.

As thou for us didst stoop so low,
Warmed by love's holy flame,
So let our deeds of kindness flow
To all who bear thy name.

One blessed fellowship in love,
Thy living Church should stand,
Till faultless, she at last above,

Lover of Beauty, to the world he gave
Beauty of Love, of beauteous things the best;
Lover of Courage, he himself was brave
To bear the brunt of battle, and the test

Of pain and sorrow; and though now his way
Lies in the silent Land of the Unseen,
Still are his courage and his love our stay,
Still on his faith and fortitude we lean.

O valley of waving broom,
O lovely, lovely light,
O heart of the world, red-gold!
Breast high in the blossom I stand;
It beats about me like waves
Of a magical, golden sea.

The barren heart of the world
Alive at the kiss of the sun,
The yellow mantle of Summer
Flung over a laughing land,
Warm with the warmth of her body,
Sweet with the kiss of her breath.

O valley of waving broom,
O lovely, lovely light,
O mystical marriage of Earth
With the passionate Summer sun!

Thy beauty is bugle and banner — bugle, and banner, and prize!
I march to the beat of thy heart, and the oriflamme of thine eyes.
My falchion flashes thy smile, as I fight to the far-off goal —
The star of love that burns on the battlement of thy soul.
O Queen! the bugle is blowing, the banners flutter and stream;
Thy heart is beating such music, I fight as one in a dream.
I am blind; in my blood there is thunder; there is lightning around and above;
I have cloven a cohort asunder, I swoon on the ramparts of love.