love poem

God having given Love, it cannot be
That he should take it. I am calm to wait
Till as a rosebud at his palace-gate
That unforgotten face of her I see, —
For this and nothing else shall come to me,
In this life or the next, or soon or late: —
I fall into the outspread arms of fate,
And — find they are the pleasant arms of thee!

Does God in heaven seek love and sigh for praise?
Neither is his from me, being left forlorn.
For so the double heart of God is torn
Asunder; and for any song I raise,

DAWN TO SUNSET

Beneath the high majestic morning gleaming
Once field and mount and moor and forest lay:
O'er joyous vale and hill I wandered, dreaming
That all life's hours were as the dawn of day.

The sun's touch woke the golden daffodilly;
His clear beam drew the snowdrop from repose:
Then first love said, " My heart is like the lily! "
And passion said, " My soul is as the rose! "

But France, fair France, that held her stedfast way
Mocked, cursed or preached at, — France that ever knew
That deep in Beauty's form lay hid the true
Secret that gives its golden life to day
And sends the blue waves leaping through the bay
And on the rose bestows its passionate hue, —
Shall not the Power whose eyes are dawns renew
Her force, and grant her Art's domains to sway?

No voice replies. This only is grandly sure, —
Where God and Love and Beauty and Woman are
There also shines the sun, there flower and star

WITHOUT AND WITHIN

Iron outside. — To face the world and fate
Strength as of finely-woven subtle steel.
Strength which can conquer time and never kneel
Till the last foe has passed outside the gate.
Strength as of iron to encounter hate
And snap the arrows of the world piecemeal.
A strong brave heart that in no wise doth feel
The shock of spears that strike the blue breast-plate.

Is not love sweeter in that we have dared
To look upon the very face of death?
That we have trembled at his icy breath
Yet have not faltered, but have bravely shared
With him the chaplets laughing love prepared
When life was like one ever-fragrant wreath? —
Is love not sweeter in that underneath
Lurks the grim eyeless terror, serpent-haired?

Is love not sweeter when two souls have said,

That pains me so! To think the sunlight knew,
The blossoms knew (or how could they have bloomed!)
The sunsets knew thee, wild and crimson-plumed,
Spreading their plumage over ceaseless blue.
I was the one heart in the world untrue!
That saddens me; for now so many entombed
Sweet thoughts of thine may never be resumed.
Can Nature's hand repeat one sunset's hue?

I cannot penetrate with fiery speed
The far star-spaces, — search the silent night
For thoughts of thine that made dark spaces bright

There never should be bitter words or pain
Between a lover and a loving soul.
From the first starting to the faint far goal
Dimly descried on Time's eternal plain
— The goal where white-peaked mountains soar and reign
And where the far-off mountain-thunders roll —
From love's beginning till death maketh whole
Or sundereth, there should be not one tear-stain.

It is within the reach of human hearts
To love and love, and never to bring grief.
The wild and passionate love that carries darts

I.

Through walls and doors Love goes:
His lips are in the rose;
His feet are on the hills;
His voice is in the rills.

II.

His breath is in the breeze;
He thunders in strong seas;
And through the arcades of morn
He winds his hunting-horn.

III.

What do ye, ye who bind
Love? Can Love be confined
By earthly bars or grates
Or bolts or brazen gates?

IV.

Through walls the winged kiss flies,
And over gloom of skies:
Through foes that cluster round

When passion fails us, and when Woman fails, —
When we are weary of the roses scent
And not one song can bring our souls content,
Yea, when the very flush on Love's cheek pales, —
What help is left us then, — what hope avails?
What pleasure tarrieth when Love's robes are rent
Asunder, and his golden hours are spent,
And the wind whistles round his house and wails?

When even Woman's lips are no more red,
And the sun ceases, and the silver moon
Is tarnished, and the pleasant stars are dead,

I.

Have not I been as Love through all these years and given
The bloom of flowers and light of stars to thee?
Have not I raised thee high within song's bright-blue heaven? —
What hast thou given to me?

II.

Lo! flower on flower and star on star the bright months bring thee,
And songs on songs have floated o'er the sea.
My harp were traitor indeed if ever it failed to sing thee:
What wilt thou give to me?

III.