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 Lover's Rosary 
 
 By 
 
 James Brookes More 
 
 The Cornhill Company 
 Boston 
 

 Copyright, 1918 
 
 by 
 
 THE CORNHILL COMPANY 
 
 '©CI.Ano:a72 
 
 ^9. A 
 
To 
 
 The Dear Inspiration Departed 
 
THE LOVER'S APOLOGY 
 
 There is a pleasure in reading that which expresses 
 beautiful thoughts in plain and unadorned language; 
 and there is a pleasure in that which is lovely and 
 beautiful but expressed in symbols — although the 
 shadowed meanings may at first baffle the reader. 
 
 Is it not the poet's business to record the desires 
 of the heart as well as the calculations of the mind? 
 When Life turns its kaleidoscope, contrasting shapes 
 and colours unite in harmonious designs; and so, 
 the apparent contradictions of the mind and heart 
 may be combined to form a completed destiny. 
 
 If I have offered anything of beauty, let it not be 
 denied for the sorrow that is found in truth. 
 
 A chain of beads, used for counting prayers, may 
 be called a " Rosary," but such a string, or chain, is 
 more correctly named a " Chaplet." A Chaplet is 
 composed of fifty -nine beads; and when the devotee 
 has told the fifty-nine beads three times, he has 
 thereby completed a "Rosary." My dear reader, 
 when you have the third time read this chain of 
 sonnets, fifty-nine, you will have completed " The 
 Lover's Rosary." And, as the beads are often made 
 of precious jewels, let us hope some pearls may be 
 found: alas, I fear many are fashioned of ashes. 
 
 The curious reader may discover the method of 
 rhymes by which the sonnets are linked together. 
 
Part I 
 PEARLS 
 
THE LOVER'S ROSARY 
 PEARLS 
 
 How often have I wandered by some stream, 
 That laughing bubbled on its joyful way, 
 And absent-minded, while my mind was fay. 
 Forgot the world to revel in a dream: — 
 
 The splendid sun that makes the ripples gleam, 
 The quivering birds, sweet-singing all the day. 
 The velvet banks, anon with blossoms gay. 
 All these the ground- work of my dreaming, seem 
 
 Transfigured from mortality to things 
 
 Surpassing heaven. Such a wight, bewitched, 
 I revel in a world of phantasy. — 
 
 For you, my love, let Fancy preen her wings. 
 And like a doting miser, thrice enriched. 
 Surround me with your golden memory: — 
 
The Lover's Rosary 
 
 II 
 
 While one day strolling through a factory, 
 
 I saw a great machine, some genius made. 
 
 As busily it wove a rich brocade 
 
 Of silken texture; and it seemed to me, 
 
 While watching it, absorbed in re very, 
 A mist descended, or a silent shade 
 Surrounded, or an unseen spirit laid 
 A veil upon it. — Quickly and silently 
 
 The turning wheels and clicking needles change 
 To noiseless forms that as they swiftly move 
 Weave a strange fabric of my destiny : — 
 
 The patterns on the mystic warp arrange 
 In characters that prophecy our love. 
 Though recent, ends not with eternity. 
 
Pearls 
 
 III 
 
 Far from its crag that beetles o'er the sea, 
 A mere speck in the sky, an eagle sails — 
 Slowly fading — and while my sight avails, 
 A sense of desolation weighs on me. 
 
 But soon upon the wings of Revery 
 
 My spirit follows as my vision fails; 
 And careless of the time or adverse gales. 
 Floats with the bird through skies of phantasy. 
 
 Unhappy omen ! — When I talked with you 
 
 A sense of apprehension weighed me down. 
 That your sweet spirit from my gaze might float ! 
 
 Far as my free thought to that eagle flew 
 
 Oh, let me follow — if my love has flown — 
 Follow to worlds etherial and remote! 
 
The Lover's Rosaby 
 
 IV 
 
 Gold is the aged miser's antidote 
 
 For all the ills of poor humanity; 
 But while he fondles that insanity, 
 His life escapes him as a drifting boat: 
 
 Brave in his words, the lozel loves to quote 
 A witless jargon of profanity — 
 Gathered from comrades of like vanity — 
 But at the last as thorns they vex his throat : 
 
 Believe me, dearest, rich with golden speech, 
 You, the sweet miser of Love's flattery. 
 Are drifting slowly from the life you prize: 
 
 Not like the lozel — I must now beseech 
 
 You swear not "No" when "Yes" your oath 
 
 should be; — 
 From a small word the poisoned arrow flies. 
 
Pearls 
 
 Kisses and kind words, tears and woful sighs, 
 Anger and petulance, sweet winning ways, 
 Fretful or radiant as unsettled days 
 When storm and sunshine lurk in fickle skies ; 
 
 Silly with wisdom or with nonsense wise. 
 Worthy of motley or immortal bays, — 
 Your whims divert me : — but one virtue stays 
 Unchanged within you, as the gem defies 
 
 Dissolving ocean and corroding years ; 
 
 In this you change not; true as tempered steel 
 That bent or twisted straightens when released; 
 
 Let him you've yielded love forget his fears, 
 For loyal to the passion that you feel. 
 Your love, once given, always is increased. 
 
The Lovee's Rosary 
 
 VI 
 
 Whether a sordid passion or a feast 
 
 Of soul and reason is the greater joy 
 May be debated. Let who will destroy 
 His better self and wallow as the beast 
 
 In pleasures earthly, long I've ceased 
 To think of love that as a base alloy 
 Depends upon the touch of flesh. The toy 
 That pleases with its tinsel is the least 
 
 Enjoyed when once its fraud is realized — 
 And yet there is a radiance of the mind 
 That shines forth from the person that we love, 
 
 By which the body is idealized : — 
 
 Your beauty has so dazzled me that blind 
 To every reason I can nothing prove. 
 
Pearls 
 
 VII 
 
 All things of beauty were designed for love — 
 Our hearts delight in many-tinted flowers, 
 Nodding in nooks and water-circled bowers, — 
 Haunt of the wild fowl and the timid dove; — 
 
 The deep cool lake, the wide sky swung above, 
 Beautiful both, if blue or gray with showers; — 
 The white clouds, menaced by tall city towers. 
 Or Godly spires that point where angels move : — 
 
 All these our souls delight to dote upon, 
 
 And others many, but of things most fair 
 The beauty of a maid surpasses all: 
 
 And, since of these by far the loveliest one. 
 If you are not love's pattern, I will swear 
 That Nature's ways are never natural. 
 
The Lover's Rosary 
 
 VIII 
 
 How sweet when nearly waking, dreams recall 
 The image of a dear and absent friend; — 
 The sleeper, fondly struggling not to end 
 His drowsy passion, still imagines all 
 
 More beautiful than life. A willing thrall 
 Of empty visions, he will even lend 
 Himself to conscious error, and extend 
 The flight of time, if he may longer loll 
 
 In stolen rapture. — As the sleeper's trance 
 Your image is before my swimming eyes. 
 Awake or sleeping, always — everywhere: 
 
 But not a soulless, pictured radiance 
 
 Of you — only your presence satisfies — 
 I'd rather awake and see you standing there. 
 
Peaels 
 
 IX 
 
 Dreaming of things not earthly and most rare, 
 AngeHc forms are pictured in the mind, 
 While, to the loveliness around us blind, 
 Our vision feeds on phantoms of the air: 
 
 All those outlines of vacancy compare 
 
 With counterparts on earth, that we might find 
 In humble circumstances, loved, enshrined 
 And worshiped, though we pass them unaware. 
 
 How often have I pictured you in dreams. 
 As some celestial spirit, not of earth, 
 And dreamed my love was what I deified : 
 
 But now, you only loving, that which seems 
 Of fancy is forsaken. — Your true worth 
 In truth suflScient, — I am satisfied. 
 
The Lover's Rosary 
 
 X 
 
 'Twas only yesterday that you denied 
 
 All love for me, and spitefully maintained 
 You hated and despised me; whether feigned 
 Or truthful I was helpless to decide: 
 
 But now you smile and flutter by my side. 
 
 And love is in your glances : whether trained 
 A flirt you play me thus, or whether pained 
 With slight excuse you pouted, I'll not chide. 
 
 Nor criticise; because, in spite of all 
 
 Your contradictions and caprices, I 
 
 Am confident that I have read your heart: 
 
 Although you strive against me, I recall 
 A thousand actions that have certainly 
 Declared the truth your lips will not impart. 
 
Pearls 
 
 XI 
 
 If poetry is the text-book of the heart. 
 
 Then I should conquer the strong citadel 
 That you have battled for so long and well 
 With all your batteries of guile and art: 
 
 Soon as my love had gained a feeble start, 
 I fed my fancy, — silent in my cell, — 
 On all romances that the poets tell 
 Of Venus and the trick of Cupid's dart. 
 
 Alack, your will has woven such a spell. 
 
 That, sitting with you, I forget the way 
 Pursued by lovers, fabled of old time; 
 
 And so, rejecting their example, dwell 
 
 Upon the manner of the present day, — 
 That shows true love in action, not in rhyme. 
 
The Lovee's Rosaet 
 
 XII 
 
 Keen as the bloodhound, man imagines crime 
 In actions that are plainly innocent: 
 He seizes on a false clue, and intent 
 Upon his victim overlooks the prime 
 
 Necessities of circumstance and time 
 And proper motive, even to invent 
 Unheard of causes for things never meant, — 
 Riveting chains from deeds almost sublime. 
 
 But I, poor dolt, must follow a false trail 
 
 More silly than the wonder-finding sleuth, — 
 Who rather than his thief should fleck thebars, — 
 
 For every time you flout at me I fail 
 
 To guess your purposed fraud; — always the truth 
 Shines from your eyes as purity from stars. 
 
Pearls 
 
 XIII 
 
 Love is an ancient subject, and the stars 
 
 In lovers' themes have always been the same; 
 But ever since that mischief-maker came. 
 To shoot promiscuous arrows in soft wars. 
 
 The old, old story nothing ever bars; — 
 
 The telling of it is a world-old game; — 
 Perhaps the Heavens, that provide the flame, 
 Unite with Love, as Venus shines with Mars. 
 
 Proud of my art, I purposed not to shame 
 
 These pages, writing sonnets with those two 
 Mingled to form a subject, old and trite; 
 
 But, whether it is wrong or not to blame 
 My love on lunacy, the stars and you 
 Are always present in my dazzled sight. 
 
The Lover's Rosary 
 
 XIV 
 
 Do you remember, just the other night. 
 
 When, happy, I was sitting at yom- feet, 
 A sudden sickness seized me, as the heat 
 Of summer suns may strike with blinding light? 
 
 Pale as the pale moon, in a hasty fright. 
 
 Arising from your crimson-cushioned seat. 
 You brought me red wine, saying, 
 
 "Drink it, Sweet:'* 
 And as I took it I could see the white 
 
 Reflection of a crescent in the wine, — 
 
 Like silver in a wave of burning gold, — 
 Diana imaged by the chaliced vine: 
 
 Can you believe that omen was a sign. 
 That like Diana, beautiful and cold, 
 Your heart may love but never will be mine? 
 
Pearls 
 
 XV 
 
 You seem so fickle, but a hallowed shrine 
 
 Is hidden in your bosom, which you guard 
 With such a jealous care, that no reward. 
 Nor penalty, nor subtly planned design 
 
 Can overcome it. — Nothing so divine — 
 
 Not even the lily, white and yet unscarred, 
 
 And not the richest aromatic nard. 
 
 Nor brilliant crystal from Brazilian mine. 
 
 Are equal to enhance its purity, 
 
 Or lend it ornament. It is because 
 
 You worship in that temple I have failed: 
 
 Although I've proved your passion, certainly, 
 Yet as the vestal of that fane you pause, 
 And check the love that surely has prevailed. 
 
The Lover's Rosary 
 
 XVI 
 
 Silent as a spirit a white cloud sailed 
 
 Alone across the bluest summer sky; 
 
 And as I gazed upon it floating by, 
 
 It seemed a weeping angel, robed and veiled: 
 
 For I could quite discern her features, paled 
 
 And tear-wet, as she witnessed from her high 
 Estate the woes for which the world must sigh. 
 Condemned for sins long ages have entailed : 
 
 And imaged in a dark pool at my feet. 
 
 That same cloud seemed an evil witch. 
 With angry scowl determined on my ill: 
 
 But this astonished me; — the angel, sweet 
 
 In the blue sky, and the dark face in the ditch, 
 Both had your features — explain it if you will. 
 
Pearls 
 
 XVII 
 
 If you should spy Amanga on her hill, 
 
 In wilding arbour, where sweet eglantines 
 Or wandering ivy, tangles with its vine 
 Love-garlands, dipping to the glassy rill; 
 
 The rill that murmurs to the whip-poor-will. 
 
 His cadence blending where the mountain pine 
 Tinctures the breeze with aromatic wine — 
 Delicious juices secret gnomes distil; — 
 
 If you should see her, hidden in that bower. 
 Spreading her nympholepsies of desire — 
 A love-god dreaming — how could you deny 
 
 Your breast to garden love's devoted flower. 
 That sheds a new life, — as the lotus fire 
 In mind and heart — immortal though we die? 
 
The Lover's Rosakt 
 
 XVIII 
 
 Midnight with her most starry canopy- 
 Concealed you in purple as you sat beneath 
 The green magnolia, weaving a love-wreath 
 Of flowers, — gathered when the moon was high. 
 
 I saw you not, nor even heard you sigh. 
 
 Unconscious, sweeter than Aurora's breath. 
 At dawn that steals across the dripping heath 
 From the far mountains, and their mystery: 
 
 But there you waited in the screening shade, 
 
 While I passed by you through the mossy vale. 
 Absorbed, and musing on my cherished dream; 
 
 For I would woo you in a serenade. 
 
 From slumbers gentle to awake and sail 
 Beneath the stars upon a tranquil stream: — 
 
Peakm 
 
 XIX 
 
 Awake, awake! arise from thy dream! 
 
 A splendour envelops the wave and the vale, 
 Down by the banks of the Pond-lily Stream. 
 
 Come hither, come hither! the late moonbeam 
 Has silvered the tree-tops that circle the dale, 
 Down by the banks of the Pond-lily Stream. 
 
 A shallop is waiting in waters that gleam 
 
 With thousands of stars, and the moon-light pale, 
 Down by the banks of the Pond-lily Stream. 
 
 Oh! light as the fairies that trip in thy dream. 
 Oh, swiftly and lightly the shallop will sail, 
 Down by the banks of the Pond-Hly Stream — 
 
 Come hither, come hither! the wave and the vale 
 Are spangled with stars and the moon-light pale ! 
 
The Lover's Rosary 
 
 XX 
 
 Why should the plamtive voice of love prevail 
 When silently the hosts of heaven in bright 
 Procession move, — great armies of the night, — 
 A time and tide when love may hardly fail? 
 
 Why should the love-call of the nightingale 
 
 Sound dearest in the slowly fading light, — 
 The shadows rising with his upward flight, 
 The sun declining in a misty veil? 
 
 The last note of my serenade was husht. 
 
 But no white hand undid your casement bars, — 
 And not a sound disturbed your hallowed shrine: 
 
 But as I turned to go a footstep crusht 
 
 The soft turf at my side, and like the stars 
 That witnessed it, yoiu* eyes were seeking mine. 
 
Pearls 
 
 XXI 
 
 As when some precious vintage of old wine 
 Excites the spirit to its utmost pitch 
 Of exaltation, marvelously rich 
 Chimeras and absurdities combine 
 
 And form illusions, heavenly, divine ; — 
 So passionate elixirs may bewitch 
 The brain to conjure up delusions, which 
 No brush can rival and no touch refine. 
 
 When I am with you, every nerve afire 
 
 And tingling with excitement, I am lost 
 To reason and I crown you with perfection; 
 
 But when I leave you, — as the stars expire 
 In the gray dawn, or as flames die in the frost. 
 The heat of passion yields to cold reflection. 
 
The Lover's Rosary 
 
 XXII 
 
 If beauty is the bloom of your complexion — 
 The lovely luster of your laughing eyes — 
 The trick of a swift dimple that defies 
 The keenest vision — that escapes detection 
 
 Only to be sought for; — why should this affection 
 Make havoc with my judgment? Every prize 
 That such a beauty offers quickly flies — 
 Life, bloom and luster flit with youth's defection. 
 
 Alas, my passion heeds no argument — 
 
 My present joy has routed future ills — 
 My future ills may never come to pass! 
 
 And, always with you, I am confident 
 
 That every wrong a valid reason fills — 
 For usage, gold is better mixed with brass. 
 
Pearls 
 
 XXIII 
 
 Angling one day in waters clear as glass 
 
 I watched the silly fishes 'round the bait, 
 Circle and nibble, witless of their fate, 
 Until the boldest, an audacious bass, 
 
 Snapped at the sharp hook. Quickly on the grass 
 I landed him. — Stooping to estimate 
 His value and to guess his goodly weight. 
 My brain went dizzy. — If the soul should pass 
 
 Forth from the living body, and should wish 
 A life for both the spirit and the clay, 
 'Twould not be more surprising — I could see 
 
 Myself transformed into a silly fish; 
 
 And while I sported in a tranquil bay, 
 You smiled and fixed a baited hook for me. 
 
The Lover's Rosary 
 
 XXIV 
 
 If you consider it you will agree 
 
 To this conclusion. — Multitudes believe 
 Their hearts are honest, though their lips deceive 
 Themselves and others. Many a fallacy 
 
 Is cherished only to bolster what must be 
 
 False to the core; for those who fear and grieve 
 Will clutch at gossamers, hoping to reprieve 
 Their everlasting doom. — Ah, what can we 
 
 Depend upon! If fraud, so prevalent. 
 Makes virtue of necessitous deceit, 
 Must we, too, sacrifice the truth for guile .f^ 
 
 Forget experience, and be confident 
 
 An honest love is truthful. It is sweet 
 To know the one you love is never vile. 
 
Pearls 
 
 XXV 
 
 Before we loved, you greeted with a smile 
 
 Whenever you might meet me on the street; 
 And you were always lovable and sweet, 
 Considerate and kind, and free from guile: 
 
 And so the habit gained on me to while 
 
 Away my evenings, sitting at your feet; 
 And you with pretty ways contrived to cheat 
 The measured hours. — How can we reconcile 
 
 Those days of quiet friendship, so replete 
 With pure ajffection, to the present strife 
 That seems to flourish as our love increases? 
 
 Love must engender madness from its heat; 
 Or, shall we say, because it mingles life 
 A two-fold vigour double fire releases? 
 
The Lover's Rosary 
 
 XXVI 
 
 Why should we grieve that love with age decreases? 
 'Tis easy to believe love lives forever — 
 There is no logic clear enough to sever 
 Such contradictions from the simplest theses. 
 
 Even while I'm certain that your love increases, 
 Your life is stricken with a wasting fever; 
 And what I hold should die not, Death will never 
 Permit to live. — Alas, that virtue ceases ! 
 
 Let me recite my love — a rosary — 
 
 Sweet thoughts of you in symbols, as on beads 
 That hint of thrice five sacred mysteries. 
 
 'Tis all that's left; the future flies from me; — 
 
 The present moment gone, to nothing leads; — 
 And life is but the sum of memories. 
 
Pearls 
 
 XXVII 
 
 Dreamily playing on the ivory keys, 
 
 While slowly the dim twilight seeks the west, 
 A subtle feeling seems to haunt my breast 
 That you are mingling in those harmonies : — 
 
 Strains from old masters, flitting melodies. 
 Sweeter than if an angel's hand caressed 
 His own loved instrument, now float and rest 
 Around me : — Ah, my wondering spirit sees 
 
 Forms not of earth : — as keenest eyes, possessed 
 In youth, when slumber has renewed their power 
 Search in the dawn for blossoms fresh with dew ; — 
 
 Whether those forms exist as spirits blest 
 
 With life, I know not, but the very flower 
 Of life and beauty must remain with you. 
 
The Lover's Rosary 
 
 XXVIII 
 
 Inform my spirit what is really true, 
 
 Ye winging habitants of yielding air! 
 Are ye surrounding us, and everywhere 
 Instinct with life, beneath the utmost blue? 
 
 Or is it all a fiction, always new 
 
 Because our sad wits need it to repair 
 The ravage of destruction, that we dare 
 To conjure shapes our eyes may never view? 
 
 Now that I cannot see your lovely face. 
 
 Each evening when the glorious day-light fails. 
 My soul is rapt in silent reveries : 
 
 As if enchanted, I can see and trace 
 
 In sunset splendours — where the thin rack trails 
 In waves of beryl — sailing argosies. 
 
Peabls 
 
 XXIX 
 
 O amber ships afloat on beryl seas — 
 
 With all your silken sails a-spread for gales 
 That bear you swiftly from our saddened vales 
 To happy islands, — isles that mysteries 
 
 Which now perplex us, — sorrow, death, disease. 
 May never burden, — trim, oh trim your sails ! 
 Hasten from this dark planet where the wails 
 Of stricken spirits pall on every breeze! 
 
 Take with you all that joyful is and blest; 
 
 Leave us no mingling of the true and pure — 
 Envy to temper, and malicious spite — 
 
 For oh, already from our midst the best. 
 
 The purest, truest, to your haven obscure. 
 Careens through ether on her wings of light! 
 
The Lover's Rosary 
 
 XXX 
 
 Oh, sacred pledges hidden from the sight 
 Of alien eyes, recorded dimly here 
 In shadowy symbols ! Words that charm the ear 
 And haunting visions of the secret night. 
 
 Sealed to the curious, yield refined delight. 
 Elusive and discreet, obscurely clear! — 
 Ah, never perish from this book the dear 
 Allusions she will understand aright! 
 
 I feel her presence as I turn these pages — 
 
 And the rich treasure, borne in amber ships 
 Across etherial seas to shores distressing, 
 
 From her Elysium my soul engages — 
 
 It seems I hear the murmur of her lips 
 Denying what her kind eyes are confessing. 
 
Pearls 
 
 XXXI 
 
 She moved upon this earth a joy and blessmg; 
 
 The wild dove knew her voice, and every flower 
 That blossomed in the forest knew the hour 
 When she should pass it by — a witch-like 
 guessing. 
 
 The fragrant violet, for her caressing, 
 
 Lifted its head in cool sequestered bower. 
 And many a bloom, from foot of mossy tower. 
 Envied the turf her gentle foot was pressing. 
 
 Oh, never more will timid homing swallows 
 
 Wheel round her as she comes back flower laden. 
 From spangled meadows by the brooklet- 
 shallows ! 
 
 /I 
 But still I love to think in some Dream-Afden 
 
 She wanders — happy where the day is long — 
 Where swift time lingers for the joy of song. 
 
Part II 
 ASHES 
 
ASHES 
 XXXII 
 
 Now to the world comes one in earnest song, 
 
 With stylus saddened, dipped in blood and tears, 
 
 Shed by those heroes of forgotten years, 
 
 Now veiled in glooms, a silent shadow-throng. — 
 
 Their deeds of glory tarnished in the long 
 
 Sweep of dark ages, lo, the sad world nears 
 Deeper eclipse — fleet-footed Future bears 
 From shadow-voids, to whelm the great and 
 strong. 
 
 Alas, the doomed world may dissolve in space, 
 But never should the truth of love be lost, 
 Nor elemental passion be forgot. 
 
 Oh let my spirit fabled paths retrace. 
 And recreate that dim etherial host. 
 In forms immortal, that they perish not. — 
 
The Lover's Rosary 
 
 XXXIII 
 
 Into the void of death old Chronus tost 
 Essential Deities, now long forgot; 
 Into the shadows, whither we know not. 
 But dead to us and to the future lost: 
 
 If they, immortal, shriveled in the frost 
 
 Of Time's advancing touch, what counterplot 
 May finite beings frame, to change one jot 
 The issue of a final holocaust? 
 
 The proud old oak-tree fades before our eyes. 
 And, hidden in the silent wilderness. 
 Ancestral granite may dissolve in woe: 
 
 Inhaling for its life the body dies; 
 
 And he who pleads immortal Powers to bless 
 A future date — forgets a mortal foe. 
 
Ashes 
 
 XXXIV 
 
 In what dim antres of Forgetfulness 
 Are lingering the Gods of long ago, 
 Who, laughter-loving, mingled in the flow 
 Of mortal tears and human wretchedness? 
 
 Joyous they moved through avenues of distress. 
 And bathed the dark ways in a heavenly glow 
 Of light and reason, that the earth below 
 Might something of immortal hope possess. 
 
 No more among us, all their attributes are blent 
 In One Omnipotent, that dwelleth far 
 Beyond the knowledge of the finite mind : 
 
 And the sweet peace, that hallowed worship lent. 
 Is fast receding, as a fading star 
 Whose feeble virtue — few may seek or find. 
 
The Lover's Rosary 
 
 XXXV 
 
 O happy cherub, leaning o'er the bar 
 
 That separates the City of the Blest, 
 
 Secure from caverns where lost souls, distrest. 
 
 Haunt the sad hollows of a darkened star, — 
 
 Shalt thou not sorrow that such beings are 
 
 Doomed always there to wander without rest - 
 Weeping, with their own wickedness possest - 
 Barred from thy love, from thy kind pity far? 
 
 Behold, our hearts from our unhappy state. 
 In this unstable world of suffering. 
 Conceive like sorrows for the stars unknown; - 
 
 But, O kind angel ! see our equal fate, 
 
 Where Fate flies drunken on unguided wing; 
 A bane to blight us — till the soul has flown. 
 
Ashes 
 
 XXXVI 
 
 What pensive spirit, poised on drooping wing, 
 Has ever ventured from his ghostly vale. 
 Through yielding ether and the moonlight pale, 
 That hither a true message he may bring? 
 
 No more the prophet's cries are quickening 
 The multitudes, and miracles now fail 
 To overcome the doubters that assail 
 The blessed altars where the faithful cling: 
 
 If, then, our hallowed faith is but a dream. 
 And the world welters in a whirl of chance, 
 Why should we sorrow while endowed with 
 breath? 
 
 For, whether wise or merry, it would seem 
 
 The ways are tangled as an opiate's trance, — 
 Till the strange riddle — has been solved by 
 death. 
 
The Lover's Rosary 
 
 XXXVII 
 
 Then let desire to sordid ways advance, 
 
 And, having east aside unreasoned hope, 
 
 We may proceed with unchecked force to cope. 
 
 Victorious, in the Tournament of Chance: 
 
 For what avails it if we break a lance 
 
 For truth and glory, and defeated grope, 
 
 Unaided, down oblivion's fatal slope 
 
 As the spent ghost of Bayard, slain for France? — 
 
 Such was the folly of that peerless soul. 
 
 He dared not tarnish his escutcheon's flower 
 To gain great glory by one action wrong! 
 
 Oh, fatal argument for either goal: 
 
 Choose brutal force and swagger out an hour, 
 Or, swayed by visions, — die to grace a song! 
 
Ashes 
 
 XXXVIII 
 
 Oh, for the tincture of an opiate-flower, 
 
 With triple virtue, and a dream profound 
 In a wide soHtude where not a sound 
 May vex to motion a suspended hour: 
 
 Never to waken from the gentle power 
 
 Of living sleep, but like a dreamer drowned 
 In poppied slumber, to renew a round 
 Of visionary joys in Morpheus* bower! 
 
 By some smooth alchemy, unthought of yet, 
 To mingle in one essence life and death, 
 And float in ecstasy betwixt extremes ! — 
 
 A vain delusion; what can void the debt 
 
 Our dust assumed, when vivified with breath 
 It pledged along extinction — for short dreams. 
 
The Lover's Rosary 
 
 XXXIX 
 
 To bless or ban thee, O destroying Death, 
 Remains a riddle with no answer found; 
 For whether it were better to be bound 
 Forever to this clay with living breath. 
 
 Or let the spirit forth, where wandereth 
 
 In vacant vistas, — void of light and sound, — 
 Unshapen, immaterial forms around 
 Dim nebulae, above or underneath: 
 
 Ah, that may put our courage to the touch. 
 
 May breed up dreadful doubts; dismay the heart 
 Most callous to the outcome of its doom: — 
 
 Sleep or oblivion, aught or naught, is much 
 Beyond the limit wisdom may impart; — 
 And silence is our witness — from the tomb. 
 
Ashes 
 
 XL 
 
 The occult Magian, versed in subtle art, 
 Intent on solving hidden mysteries, 
 Nightly observes the slowly moving skies. 
 Obscurely shadowed on his ancient chart: 
 
 All his quaint patterns of the stars impart 
 
 Disputed knowledge; when a monarch dies. 
 Or deeds of honour to enhance the wise. 
 Rich in their pride, before their souls depart : 
 
 But we, consulting those celestial signs. 
 
 Can only wonder where the spirits dwell, — 
 Long vanished from this world, for weal or woe ;- 
 
 And, wonder as we may, the mind declines 
 
 To answer, whether heaven, or sleep, or hell; - 
 Our dreams must satisfy — until we go. 
 
The Lover's Rosary 
 
 XLIII 
 
 Consider not the substance that we feel, 
 But bid Imagination stretch her wand, 
 That from mysterious voids a phantom land 
 Of woven thoughts her magic may reveal; 
 
 For the racked world, hurled as a crooked wheel, 
 Far through the sky by some Titanic hand, 
 Escapes this pitfall, or that stormy strand. 
 Only to vanish — it is nothing real: 
 
 And, therefore, to abide where silent Thought, 
 Eternal by Enchantment's soft control. 
 Broods in an aery palace of her own, 
 
 Is better, more substantial joy, than aught. 
 
 Supposed of substance, that deludes the soul 
 To sensual pleasures, — mortal when they're 
 known. 
 
Ashes 
 
 XLIV 
 
 When the soft tones of a great anthem roll 
 And quiver in the air — delicious pain — 
 Our morbid pulse beats with the sad refrain, 
 Giving a strange joy to the wakened soul : 
 
 And when we listen to the muffled toll 
 
 Of slow bells, warning us with solemn strain 
 
 What futile ends our labours may attain. 
 
 We look through dark death to a brighter goal. 
 
 Ah, why should discord lead to harmony. 
 
 Or why should sorrow sweetest joy entwine, 
 Or why should darkness lead us to the light? 
 
 Our reason staggers at the wrongs we see; — 
 Surely, our souls must quaff etherial wine 
 To pluck eternal day — from an eternal night. 
 
The Lover's Rosary 
 
 XLV 
 
 Oh, let us top our glasses with red wine 
 And drown in folly sober- vested Care; 
 Ho, all ye wise men! let us motley wear 
 And gaily habit with the surfeit swine: 
 
 For where goes wisdom, if we hew the line 
 And listen to her words that only bear 
 Us ever deeper in a deep despair, 
 Where not the feeblest ray of light may shine? 
 
 Crown only joyful clowns with classic bays. 
 
 And worship Folly in the world's wide fane; 
 Greet with Hght laughter either feast or crust: 
 
 Toils of a life-time for a puff of praise. 
 
 That flits tomorrow, is but labour vain — 
 The weak and strong — dissolve in equal dust. 
 
Ashes 
 
 XL VI 
 
 Alas, if man is only born to drain 
 
 A cup of sorrow, measured to the brim. 
 Why should he drown his anguish in a dim 
 Belief that present woe is future gain? 
 
 What law, or logic, may convince his brain 
 
 How foolish are the hopes that dazzle him? 
 Rather than know his doom, he will not trim 
 One feeble ray that shows his hopes are vain. 
 
 But if shrewd wisdom has increased our woe. 
 Let us forget our sorrows while we dote 
 On graceful birds, on all sweet flowers that 
 bloom, 
 
 And on the moon and stars that come and go. 
 
 And doves, white winged, that on the warm air 
 
 float, — 
 All, why should they be subject to our doom? 
 
The Lover's Rosary 
 
 XLVII 
 
 O sacred Forest of an age remote ! 
 
 The little birds, that hover in thy trees, 
 
 Tune their unchanged immortal melodies 
 
 To Nature's voice that in thy realm doth float. 
 
 And even the speckled toad, ordained to dote 
 Upon the silent Moon, from squatting knees 
 Peers upward, out of boggy pools, and sees 
 Her guiding through the skies her silver boat. 
 
 Alas, each day the cruel hunter sights 
 
 His scientific tubes to slaughter all, — 
 That silence may succeed the sound of song: 
 
 But on the slippery toad his heel alights, 
 
 While hunting luckless victims, and his fall 
 Gives him to Death — that all may suffer wrong. 
 
Ashes 
 
 XLVIII 
 
 Know ye the green hills whence the brooklets brawl 
 Down to the valleys, where the lion's lair. 
 The leopard's den and the serpent's path declare 
 How bounteous Nature may provide for all? 
 
 Know ye the valleys where the lilies loll, — 
 The sleepy hollows where the poppies flare 
 Vermillion splendours in the golden glare 
 Of glowing sunsets, — where the ripe fruits fall 
 
 From hanging branches on huge crocodiles, — 
 
 Where drowsily sprawling on the sun-struck rock 
 The lazy lizzard blinks his beedy eyes? 
 
 Oh, always on her children Nature smiles ! 
 
 Smiles on the wicked, smiles as if to mock 
 That rogues may fatten — when a victim dies. 
 
The Lover's Rosary 
 
 XLIX 
 
 Here, from the rose-bush to this hollyhock. 
 The wily insect has prepared her net, 
 Invisible, fine, sparkling with the wet 
 Round jewels of the dawn, as if to mock 
 
 The fairy fringes of Titania's frock; — 
 
 No hapless victim has been tempted yet 
 To test that tangle, or approached to fret 
 The blossoms, tempting on their thorny stalk: 
 
 But when the gay-moth flaunts a damask wing, — 
 Hunting for honey or an amorous mate, — 
 Her gauzy pinions, as they touch a thread, 
 
 Rouse the fierce ogress from her lair to spring 
 Swift as a tiger. — Oh, disastrous fate. 
 That fraud should live — when innocence is dead! 
 
Ashes 
 
 Enraptured, as he sees through Heaven's gate. 
 With wonders of that other world possest, 
 The Praying Mantis, his long arms addrest 
 In adoration, seems to supplicate 
 
 God's blessing; but ferocity, innate, 
 
 Lurks hidden in his hypocritic breast: 
 Oh, what a universe ! — a devil's jest 
 Where savage guile for innocence may wait: 
 
 Good saints above ! now let us laugh, the while 
 We have our chuckle at old Satan's glee; 
 For, even as the insect seems to pray. 
 
 An urchin's mischief ends his artful guile — 
 Alas, a viper stings the lad's bare knee; 
 And while we mourn — old Satan has his day. 
 
The Lover's Rosary 
 
 LI 
 
 Observe the wisdom of the winging bee. 
 That wanders in a labyrinth, ablaze 
 With healthful blooms of balmy summer days, 
 And garners stores against adversity: 
 
 She gives no credit to Philosophy, 
 
 Who feebly falters in a tangled maze 
 
 Of sounding words, — addressed divergent ways 
 
 To life or death, as either case may be: 
 
 For, though each morning — when the sun awakes 
 The drowsy world again to diligence — 
 Brings her that closer to eternal night. 
 
 She fails not, as the moments go, but takes 
 Rich toll of life, her own life's recompense. 
 And gains fair balance — till her last long flight. 
 
Ashes 
 
 LII 
 
 Far to the north where Arctic's cold, intense, 
 Sweeps over snowy ledges, glittering white. 
 The hunted silver-fox awaits the night. 
 Trusting his cunning to contrive defense: 
 
 Far to the south, in the green thickets dense. 
 The bird of paradise with dazzling flight, 
 Seeks to elude the trapper's eager sight, — 
 His gain her loss, her death his recompense. 
 
 For no necessity the beautiful 
 
 Are slaughtered by the cruel of great might. - 
 Beauty and virtue of cen lose the race. — 
 
 What subterfuge can circumvent that rule. 
 And give to them the gain of vested right, 
 By which the weak may win a doubtful case? 
 
The Lover's Rosary 
 
 LIII 
 
 When through the breaking clouds the rainbow's light 
 Makes glad the valley at the mountain's base, 
 The drooping flowers renew their pretty grace, 
 And lift their petals, fresh with raindrops bright: 
 
 And soon it seems as if a wizard's might 
 
 Is working wonders with the rainbow's rays, 
 Which disappearing leave nor sign nor trace, 
 Save tiny birds that balance in swift flight: 
 
 Out of the rainbow they appear to spring, 
 
 And dart with humming sound among the 
 
 flowers, 
 And flash their splendour till the day is done: 
 
 So, when a lovely soul unfolds her wing, 
 Ah, must she hover in celestial bowers, 
 Only to vanish — in the vast unknown? 
 
Ashes 
 
 LIV 
 
 His pomp forgotten, couched on fragrant flowers, 
 Forever deaf to the discordant moan 
 Of his poor dwarf, now perched on his great 
 
 throne, 
 The Sultan lies in state in silken bowers. 
 
 The courtiers all have fled from the hushed towers. 
 And wait on his assassin; and alone 
 That witless jester wails, in monotone, 
 Fantastic songs, as on the throne he cowers: — 
 
 "Life is a pearl — in a deep ocean rolling — 
 
 Grant me but hfe and your pearls I want none; 
 Sultan and subject, all have a last day. 
 
 " Gauzy- winged pearl of a sultan go soulling — 
 Clown of his foolish fun stroll in the sun — 
 Sultan or zaney, the pearl rolls away. " 
 
The Lover's Rosart 
 
 LV 
 
 Poised as a rapier glittering in the sun, 
 
 The deadly dragon-fly awaits his prey; 
 But near him a frail rosebud gives the day 
 Largess of life that she has briefly won: 
 
 Surely the canker-moth that rose must shun, 
 
 For like an old-time knight, as reckless and gay. 
 The valiant dragon-fly disputes the way — 
 Our gentle rosebud's witless champion. 
 
 A few short hours may span his might in war, 
 And, silent on the velvet-matted moss, 
 Dissolves to dust the short-lived dragon-fly: 
 
 And the limp rose, now leaning sadly o'er 
 Her fallen hero, covers him with loss 
 Of her own petals, — fragrant while they die. 
 
Ashes 
 
 LVI 
 
 How beautiful it seems when the soft gloss 
 Of summer evening on the tranquil plains 
 Falls gently from the moon, while jewelled 
 
 wains. 
 With light surrounding, follow her across 
 
 The darkening dome their flaming points emboss ! 
 But while deceiving rays transform the stains 
 Of deadly contest, — and the sad remains 
 Of those who strove for life but gained its loss, - 
 
 While the charmed sight is ravished, far away 
 Come sounds abhorrent, — as if hell's woe 
 
 swells, — 
 From slinking jackals sobbing frightful mirth. 
 
 And those fair night-forms, when the glare of day 
 Again has poured in nooks of dells and fells, 
 Mortescent — crumble to the crumbUng earth. 
 
The Lover's Rosary 
 
 LVII 
 
 All through the night the languid lily*s bells 
 Sleep on the soft breeze, wafted in her glen, 
 But, quickened into new life, quiver when 
 The wakeful lark his happy matin swells: 
 
 And when the rising sun lights crystal wells. 
 
 And that sweet flower leans o'er the stream, 
 
 again 
 Adoring her Creator, is it in vain 
 That Hfe is only where the Spirit dwells? 
 
 But, even as adoring worship fills 
 
 Her fragile being, from the town, near by. 
 An orphan finds and plucks — the lily's doom: 
 
 And torn from her cool glen amid the hills. 
 To deck the sorrow of a grave, and die. 
 She sighs her life away — against the tomb. 
 
Ashes 
 
 LVIII 
 
 Ever the round world turns a gladdened eye 
 To worship her material God that swings 
 In golden splendour, and a splendour flings, 
 Life-giving, from the universal sky: 
 
 And ever as the joyous moments fly, — 
 
 Ah, whither on their rapid sun-made wings, — 
 The changing world turns from her God and 
 
 brings 
 Darkness intense to hide her Deity. 
 
 And, lo, our changing souls may worship now, 
 Persuaded in a God of blessed sway, 
 Sufficient to the need, benign to save; 
 
 But on the morrow stifle every vow. 
 
 No more submissive to that faith, and say. 
 The mystery of life — turns to the grave. 
 
The Lover's Rosary 
 
 LIX 
 
 What, then, is left to grace our fitful day. 
 If at the last, to some vortexual cave, 
 Our exhalations, vanished from the grave, 
 Fade into nothing from dissolving clay? 
 
 Is there no path, no sure immortal way, 
 To lead this spirit, that the Spirit gave. 
 Over the marge of Death's Leathean wave. 
 That Time may gain what Time has snatched 
 away? 
 
 Ah, whether man must vanish; or his flitting soul 
 Die never; or, as evolutions roll 
 Tremendous cycles, he achieve his goal — 
 
 Absorption in the One Omnipotent — 
 
 How shall I know? Till then let this Lament, 
 Immortal, be my living monument. 
 
Seaver-HowlandPress 
 
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