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 Copyright N^. H Xj 
 
 COPXRIGHT DEPOSIT. 
 
SONNETS 
 
 TO 
 
 B. B. R. 
 
 BY 
 
 LABAN LACY RICE 
 
 BOSTON 
 RICHARD G. BADGER 
 
 THE GORHAM PRESS 
 
Copyright, 1921, by L. L. Rice 
 All Rights Reserved 
 
 ^3 
 
 
 u^"- 
 
 Made in the United States of America 
 
 The Gorham Press, Boston, U. S. A. 
 
 AUG 25 1921 
 g)C!.A622549 
 
TO 
 BLANCHE BUCHANAN RICE 
 
SONNETS 
 
SONNETS 
 
 Life has its passions that enthrall the soul, 
 Lifting it high above all common wants ; 
 The herd, with avid taste, sets for its goal 
 And, mindful of naught worthier, loudly vaunts. 
 Two have I had and still have — you and books: 
 Great passions both, soul-sanctifying, strong 
 To uplift, dynamic, scornful of mere looks 
 And show of earthly tinsel, babble and song 
 Of frippery. The lesser passion, books, 
 A consecration of the soul's estate 
 Entails for life, a heritage that brooks 
 No rivalry, save wherein soon and late 
 The greater passion, you, outreaches it 
 Investing life with glory halo-lit. 
 
II 
 
 Beloved, in loving me you have forsworn 
 
 What many w^omen deem beyond compare. 
 
 Have you — my soul would know — e'er wished 
 
 unborn 
 That love your soul for mine sweetly did dare? 
 Has life, for love, had showers of regrets, 
 Windfalls of heart-pent grief and temptests dire 
 Of subtle remorse, that error-like begets 
 A brood of fancies ruthless with desire 
 To run with heaven's hounds? O dearest soul, 
 If aught I've been or am — or must be still — 
 Has checked your proud aspirings toward the goal 
 Of highest happiness, to His just will 
 
 I suiiFerance leave. . . . Above, if not below. 
 May you love's sweetest recompenses know ! 
 
Ill 
 
 I question not your right to ask of me 
 
 How much I love you — love is woman's life; 
 
 So take forthwith, I pray, this golden key 
 
 Of simple words, shaped not in heat or strife 
 
 Of jealous passion, and unlock my heart: 
 
 Therein you'll find I love you with the strength 
 
 Of mighty resolution upheld in part 
 
 By bold intent to parallel the length 
 
 Of your own love for me. . . . And more, you'll 
 
 find 
 I love you with a passion tense as thought 
 Forged in the smithy of some titan mind 
 At whose behest world-quaking deeds are wrought. 
 
 So much, in truth, I love you can't you see 
 
 My love eternal-fruited is to be? 
 
IV 
 
 Behold the landmark! See what changes time 
 Has wrought. Just here the wooden stile on which 
 We used to rest. Yonder the post, wild thyme 
 Still clustering at its base, in it the niche 
 I carved deeply that day about our names 
 While you stood near and watched. , . . But look, 
 
 love, here. . . . 
 This weather-stained impression — Oh, not fame's 
 Own mark so sweet a memory or more dear 
 Could bring me! — yes, your name . . . carved by 
 
 my hand! 
 O soul I love, the chrism of that day 
 Is still upon me . . . these faint letters and 
 This holy place incline my spirit to pray 
 That heaven's over-arching destiny 
 Round out in our twain lives full harmony! 
 
 lO 
 
When I recall the heavy weight of years 
 That bowed your spirit powerless still to break; 
 And glimpse again thru soul-dissolving fears, 
 Potent to set the stoutest heart a-quake, 
 The darkened room, the pain-racked form, you seem 
 As one released from Death's foreclosing hand 
 By miracle. . . . For often as in a dream. 
 Like characters traced in the inconstant sand, 
 I catch dim visions of a wistful face. 
 Pale against snowy pillow, lustrous eyes 
 Piercing my very soul intent to trace 
 Therein the confidence that death defies. 
 
 Life triumphed and your prisoned soul set 
 free. ... 
 
 But only thru love's puissant decree! 
 
 II 
 
VI 
 
 What moments do I prize the most, you ask? 
 Those gracious times when others with sweet praise 
 Of your good deeds a noble heart unmask 
 And towering minarets to your love upraise? 
 Or those fleeting, red-human moments when, 
 We two close-lipped exchanging sweetest vows, 
 I sense the beating of your heart, again 
 The subtlest passions of your soul arouse? 
 No — those rare interims of silence deep 
 Wherein my soul with yours communing finds 
 The unbridled joy that roams the fields of sleep, 
 The ecstasy of God-inspirited minds. 
 
 Grant me such moments, Heaven, and I forego 
 The fruits of pride, vain pomp and earthly show. 
 
 12 
 
VII 
 
 If you perchance survive my love-crowned day, 
 Grieve not for me as one who says farewell 
 And turns his face to distant lands away, 
 Never again to see you and to tell 
 What love means and what life is and is not 
 Without you. ... If God beckons me first, O 
 
 heart 
 Of hearts, remember that the destined lot 
 Of all who love as we is that they part 
 Only to reunite somewhere in God's 
 Great universe and parallel the life 
 They knew on earth — not always free from clods 
 And stones and thorns, from malice, rancor and 
 strife. 
 If I go first, bethink you just a day 
 Must lapse . . . then we shall be together alway ! 
 
 13 
 
VIII 
 
 Love has its seasons four of rich estate: 
 
 Its luscious prime when passions flush the soul 
 
 Surging with riotous joy, yet never sate; 
 
 Its staid maturity wherein the goal 
 
 Of feverish yearnings crossed, life normal runs; 
 
 Its middle age of calmly-featured bliss 
 
 Lovely as placid countenance of nuns; 
 
 Its red-ripe days, like fruit we soon shall miss 
 
 Tenuously quivering on an aged tree. 
 
 Two of these weathered, into third we glide 
 
 Tranquil as vessel on a summer sea 
 
 Oblivious of storm and roaring tide. 
 
 Why fear the last? Since we together cling, 
 We can, assured, defy old age to sting. 
 
 14 
 
IX 
 
 This faded bit of paper ambered by time 
 
 And charactered in words conventional, 
 
 A message brings than which nor rune nor rime 
 
 Of poet to me could be more magical. 
 
 Do you recall it, love, that formal note, 
 
 The first of many your deft fingers penned ? . . . 
 
 "I shall be pleased to accept." . . . Ah, how it 
 
 brought 
 To my impetuous soul favor reverend ! 
 For, as a suppliant takes from queenly hand 
 The gage his gracious sovereign vouchsafes. 
 So I, an artless lover, naive and 
 Rival-abashed, your answer. . . . O never waifs 
 Of fortune sweeter syllables drank in: 
 My soul was sick its love-tryst to begin! 
 
 15 
 
Did not the past hold full security 
 
 That love o'ermasters age and scorns decay, 
 
 My soul, outraged, would flout the purity 
 
 Of God's high purposes nor faith essay 
 
 In noble living. The modest violet 
 
 Queens it in fragrant beauty a few brief hours 
 
 Then yields to mother earth — and we forget; 
 
 Man's vast stupendous works, the mighty towers 
 
 His vanity has reared, some day must fall; 
 
 The heavens themselves, like flimsy parchment 
 
 scroll 
 Whereon are thoughts that myriad hearts enthrall. 
 The mighty hand that made them shall uproU: — 
 
 But love like ours knows not obscurity, 
 
 God-gendered, it preempts futurity! 
 
 i6 
 
XI 
 
 Unlike in much, O gracious heart, we still 
 In most are like. Upon the surface lie 
 Our differences so clearly traced who will 
 May read. Deep-bedded where no prurient eye 
 Dare gaze are those more subtle likenesses 
 That God and we behold. 'Tis they in-form 
 Our souls, unerring charts and compasses 
 Supply, for holier living furnish norm. 
 Bold heresy — the many-mouthed charge 
 That in divergence of taste lies amplest hope 
 Of wedded joy! The truth is, where the marge 
 Of like and unlike thinnest grows the scope 
 Of bliss is widest. Therefore joy in this: 
 Our love thru likest tastes near-perfect is. 
 
 17 
 
XII 
 
 Dearest, I can not hope to pay the debt 
 
 With which my soul is charged. Would you have 
 
 me, 
 Thru love's quit-claim, eternal bankrupt be, 
 Therefore love's pauper? How shall I offset 
 The largesse of your soul? How hope to match 
 In sweet intensity your passion's fire 
 Or, lifted high above earth's flushed desire. 
 Visions your soul discovers expect to catch? 
 Love's debtors wear no chains. Huge prison gates 
 Immure them not. Access to the throne room 
 Is ne'er denied; nor fear they word of doom 
 Since love forgives even the soul that hates. 
 
 Mortgaged to sweet desires, impoverished suitor. 
 Let me live on, therefore, your soul's great debtor. 
 
XIII 
 
 Were I to love you with my eyes alone, 
 
 Guilty of high treason I should be. 
 
 Forbid, sweet Heaven, such fatuity — 
 
 My senses thus my reason to dethrone ! 
 
 Beauty to many women, loveliness 
 
 Of soul to few is given. Beloved, in you 
 
 I find confederate these graces two, 
 
 Like sisters of unequal comeliness. 
 
 The younger, of earthen mould, sweet deference 
 
 pays 
 To her whose loveliness is heaven-bom, 
 As sombre shadows of the early morn 
 Recede before the sun's advancing rays. 
 
 Treason, therefore, of me shall claim no 
 dole. . . . 
 
 Because I love you with both eye and soul. 
 
 19 
 
XIV 
 
 Happy the land, our wise men say, that breaks 
 Not with its past. Happy likewise the course 
 Of love that knows not rupture, nor heartaches 
 That rend lives twain and paralyze the force 
 Of conjoint effort. Nature with means diverse, 
 Lavish of power, may glorify the earth 
 With light and w-armth or lay it under curse 
 Of the storm's wrack. ... So life and love from 
 
 birth. 
 Days there have been — a few — when our frail bark 
 Seemed drifting, perverse, on a treacherous sea 
 Of foolish misunderstanding: — but the dark 
 Winds hushed quickly and soon unto the lea 
 Where Love holds his eternal court we came. 
 Strengthened, close-bonded and purified thru 
 shame. 
 
 20 
 
XV 
 
 What can I hope to give, O gracious heart, 
 In full requital of your bounteous love? 
 Words seem inept and thoughts I would impart 
 Sicken and pall the more I strive to prove 
 What else would rate me but a thankless clod 
 Insensate, lost to every finer touch 
 The grace of which makes man akin to God, 
 High-souled, deep-passioned. , . . Love, I would be 
 
 such 
 To match with perfectness your passion's flame. 
 Which like to that of sacred Vestal glows 
 With force undying, yesterday the same 
 As now, next year, forever — maugre woes. 
 
 Alas, a beggar I, little can offer 
 
 While you with queenly wealth rich largesse 
 proffer ! 
 
 21 
 
XVI 
 
 They lie who say that love a spendthrift is, 
 Else you and I are bankrupt. Put the test? 
 So be it, dearest, for, though oft confest, 
 A lie is still a lie. God's truth in this — 
 Our love has grown by so much as we've given 
 Each to the other. . . . Paradox, you'll say, 
 Yet truth thru paradox is God's own way 
 To the world's heart. . . . Lovers like us driven 
 To bankruptcy for lavish giving! The gold 
 Of Ophir and of Ind, Al Haroun's wealth, 
 Abdullam's fabled treasures heaped by stealth. 
 The pearls of Afric and of isles untold: — 
 
 In love's own coin all this we've given — even 
 more, 
 
 And still love has vast fields of virgin ore. 
 
 22 
 
XVII 
 
 Child of no strange romance, sponsored by no 
 Mischance of fortune, our love its course has run, 
 Placid, for most, like isles where soft winds blow 
 Beneath blue skies under the tropic sun ; 
 Troubled, perchance, when will against will has 
 
 clashed — 
 Even the great Olympians knew discord — 
 Gently, not as the pitiless waves that lashed 
 To ruin some dauntless sea-faring horde; 
 Forbearing amid the round of daily toil, 
 Not warping or warped, as planets sometimes may; 
 Forthright in courtesy, needing no foil 
 For its own homely joys serene as day 
 
 When winds are hushed and the sun hangs low 
 in the west 
 
 And tired earth warns man it is time to rest. 
 
 23 
 
XVIII 
 
 Too soon the day will come — if Heaven ordain 
 I must survive you — when like shattered flower, 
 Untimely sped by frost in evil hour, 
 I shall behold you gaoled in Death's domain. 
 Why may not we, as those twin stars of night — 
 Conjoined in rhythmic movement, life to life. 
 Like souls of perfect lovers void of strife — 
 That pale and disappear from mortal sight, 
 Thus, having orbed ourselves in human ken, 
 Our tiny cycle of existence run. 
 Our devoirs rendered, common duties done. 
 Together at Death's gate adieu to men 
 Regretful Bid and pass, soul wed to soul. 
 To Heaven's portal, man's divinest goal? 
 
 24 
 
XIX 
 
 Forsooth, I wish you other than you are! 
 
 Why such a question, dear? What subtle change 
 
 Bethink you thru love's holy avatar. 
 
 By processes devout and passing strange. 
 
 Might make you sweetlier coveted? . . . Suppose 
 
 Your beauty like the morning's radiance, 
 
 Your eyes as lustrous as a full-blown rose, 
 
 Your voice with melody at variance. 
 
 Your mind scintillant as the stars at night — 
 
 Would these bring added loveliness to your soul? 
 
 This is your jewel, precious to me as light 
 
 To one benighted. Beauty is time's dole 
 
 And mind is loveless . . . your soul is my 
 star — 
 
 Why should I wish you other than you are? 
 
 25 
 
XX 
 
 Grieve not that some will lightly rate our love. 
 Envy, like hawk, was ever wont to seek 
 His quarry, darting swiftly from above. 
 Malice, alas! makes short shrift of the meek, 
 While slander with his serpent's tooth dares all 
 To set his deadly fangs in beauty's form. 
 These can not harm — for Love has built a wall 
 Encircling us and canopied lest storm 
 Assail — so be it we keep inviolate 
 The mighty passion, heaven-kindled flame 
 That recks not any quenching, and consecrate 
 It to love's uses. . . . Then let who will cast blame ! 
 In this, dear heart, lies our security: 
 That love is wisdom, all else fatuity. 
 
 26 
 
XXI 
 
 My soul did hold high carnival that day, 
 
 Amid the trappings of exultant love, 
 
 When sickened, tortured, maddened by delay, 
 
 I pressed you for an answer and you wove 
 
 About me with three words of magic power 
 
 The golden meshes of affection rare 
 
 As one might count the moments of an hour 
 
 Spent in God's paradise. Oh, wondrous fair 
 
 The universe that day! The clouds to me 
 
 Were brothers, and like them I spurned the earth, 
 
 Soaring where only souls newly set free 
 
 By love requited, thru a second birth 
 
 Enter that holy realm we know must be 
 Fair charted in the soul's geography! 
 
 27 
 
XXII 
 
 Beloved, in loving you I am twice blest, 
 Both giver and given, infallibly approved, 
 Since loving you I am by you beloved 
 And, therefore, love's darling doubly confest. 
 If to receive is lesser blessedness. 
 Then nobler, you, for who gives more is nearer 
 God. Content, though, I with the far dearer 
 Portion of sweet love's own loveliness; 
 For foolish were I to vie with you in this. 
 As fabled Marsyas who with Apollo strove 
 For mastery, since life to you is love 
 And love means giving. Mine the double bliss. 
 Therefore, of loving you, my soul-approved, 
 And by you richlier still being beloved. 
 
 28 
 
XXIII 
 
 Often I wonder why you love me so; 
 
 How scatheless the frail vessel of your life 
 
 Has plowed tumultuous seas with rich cargo 
 
 Of purest love; how thru the welter and strife 
 
 Of clashing elements, the flotsam, all 
 
 The treacherous derelicts that foul the course 
 
 You've sailed serenely on, heeding the call 
 
 Of that great pilot, love. . , . And when, perforce, 
 
 Your voyage ended, you have crossed the bar 
 
 And do not find me waiting on the shore, 
 
 Turn your eyes seaward and not very far 
 
 In the offing my rude bark sea-drenched and sore 
 
 Bereft you'll find . . . for know, your love shall 
 
 lead me 
 Thru life, thru death — yea thru eternity! 
 
 29 
 
XXIV 
 
 Fie, love! what need is there of sophistry 
 To plead my cause? Do not receding years 
 Afford your soul release from mordant fears 
 That I may tire in love's sweet ministry? 
 Question your heart. Do you believe its love 
 For me, thru the past years so richly given, 
 So chaste you have no need of being shriven, 
 Will ever wane? Shall coming years disprove 
 Your oft-protested vows? If so, perhaps — 
 I'm only human, dear — my love might tire 
 Of voicing its deep passionate desire 
 For you. . . . But fie! so long as Heaven caps 
 The earth with beauty your love will abide 
 And my own love for you naught shall betide. 
 
 30 
 
XXV 
 
 When I am dead and men perchance dilate 
 Upon the earthly deeds my hands have wrought, 
 Beware lest you, emotion-mastered, prate 
 Like silly child. Say merely that I fought 
 Open and fair scorning the coward's hold — 
 Thus and no more. Millions have done as well; 
 Why babble of deeds, which are as tales twice-told 
 And therefore irksome? . . . Let who dares retell! 
 But this, since love not deeds your theme must be. 
 To the winds fling bidding them waft afar: 
 The love I bore you ever seemed to me 
 My soul's great passion, holy as the star 
 That led the Magi across desert space 
 And piloted the shepherds to His face. 
 
 31 
 
XXVI 
 
 I have been conscious ever thru the years 
 Of subtle changes wrought by daily use 
 In both of us, changes that seemed to fuse 
 Our differences, purging idle tears 
 And, thru accord of souls, grounding all fears 
 Of ever-widening interests, clashing views, 
 Which love's sweet confidences so abuse 
 That time instead of greening only seres. 
 And now, what of the years that lie ahead? 
 Shall custom stale them and drab usage dull; 
 Must we in them discern a glory fled 
 And find, the kernel gone, life but a hull ? 
 
 Folly, the thought! where love has wrought so 
 well 
 
 Nothing save death our happiness can knell. 
 
 32 
 
XXVII 
 
 And do you never tire of hearing me 
 
 Repeat the oft-voiced phrase? Is love to you — 
 
 Beshrew me if I utter word untrue — 
 
 As breath to life, as depth to rayless sea? 
 
 So be it, and w^ith sweet celerity. 
 
 As when one sips delicious nectar-brew, 
 
 I phrase the words precious as honey-dew: 
 
 I love you . . . you . . . yes, you . . . just you 
 
 only! 
 What magic lurks in words, what power behind 
 Their subtle chemic force when linked with love 
 Can open to the soul, as sight to the blind, 
 Visions of what the angels know above? 
 Oh, now I pray that you may never tire 
 Of hearing words shall match your soul's desire! 
 
 33 
 
xxvin 
 
 Whatever grace these halting verses claim, 
 I yield it solely unto you, my Muse. 
 Ah, now I comprehend why Beatrice' name 
 To Dante was of so divine a use! 
 Your comeliness deserves a nobler pen ; 
 Your loveliness of soul, more gracious lines 
 Than these I trace or dare to trace again. 
 Envisaging to my soul in sweet confines 
 Of thought the image of yourself potent 
 To evoke from silent depths my meed of praise. 
 Unworthy I, 'tis your strong love has lent 
 Me winged hopes and taught my spirit to raise 
 Itself aloft in realms of poesy 
 Illumed, sustained by golden fantasy. 
 
 34 
 
XXIX 
 
 How dear the little tricks young lovers use! 
 Crafty ogling, clandestine messages, 
 Cryptic remarks, mysterious signs, gages 
 Of passion shrouded as soul of a recluse. 
 Do you recall them, dear, the precious notes 
 Slyly exchanged when our love yet was young, 
 The parting glance amid the churchly throng, 
 The darkling whistle trilling from our throats 
 Ecstatic as the mocker's call to mate? 
 O golden days when love took love on faith, 
 When grief was insubstantial as a wraith 
 And hope, divinely clad, was laureate! 
 
 Dearest, life without memories shrined as ours 
 Is like a garden fair wanting sweet flowers. 
 
 35 
 
XXX 
 
 Life has its mysteries so subtly spun 
 
 We aye live in a welter of surmise. 
 
 In you, beloved, I find such mystery, one 
 
 More luring than the heaven-light in your eyes. 
 
 A thousand times I've plummeted your soul 
 
 And times ten thousand trailed your furtive thought, 
 
 Only to find in searching for the whole 
 
 Of you infinitesimal portion, naught 
 
 Save what the surface is to ocean's deeps. 
 
 'Tis true — love has so wrought that we are one, 
 
 Yet into your sweet depths I peer as peeps 
 
 Into earth's all-excluding depths the sun. 
 
 Enigma you, abysmal, subtle, profound. . . . 
 
 Less or more would I love if your soul my mind 
 could impound? 
 
 36 
 
XXXI 
 
 Thru all the ages men on high emprise 
 Have sallied forth buoyant with hope divine: 
 Captains of lordly troops in phalanxed line, 
 Sailors in gallant barks of merchandise, 
 Discoverers of new worlds, statesmen wise. 
 Inventors, great philanthropists, in fine, 
 All those, elect of earth, who never decline 
 Combat or peril intent to grasp the prize. 
 Such high adventure likewise have I known 
 Within the realm love claims as his demesne. 
 Transcending aught chivalric knight may own 
 Of prowess waged in honor of his queen. 
 
 For to have won and kept such love as yours 
 Is emprise perfect, one that grandly lures. 
 
 37 
 
XXXII 
 
 My soul today is like a buffeted ship 
 
 Seeking the quiet haven of your love. 
 
 The dun clouds lower and the mad w^inds whip 
 
 The roily waves to fury. But above 
 
 The elemental clash of wind and wave, 
 
 Clear sounding as the tones of silver lute, 
 
 I hear your reassuring voice and crave 
 
 The harbor's refuge where the winds are mute. 
 
 Oh, what if my frail bark drift from i'is course; 
 
 If storms of passion hurl it on the reef; 
 
 Or winds of vain caprice with pitiless force 
 
 Toss it about as autumn gusts the leaf? 
 
 Courage, and yet more courage, O my soul. . . . 
 
 How sweet the thought of rest beyond the goal! 
 
 38 
 
XXXIII 
 
 And yet, my soul no "de profundis" lifts, 
 
 Since your strong love has kept me from despair 
 
 And over-arched me with such tender care 
 
 I have had little need of other gifts. 
 
 Perchance had you — O heart, forgive the 
 
 thought. . . . 
 As well expect the sun forget to shine, 
 Or mighty ocean in a sieve confine ! 
 But that your deep afifection in me wrought 
 Such faith as topples mountains, ladders builds 
 To heaven's gate, the dead brings back to life, 
 Surcease invokes of fratricidal strife 
 And cynic doubts contaminate yelpings stills, 
 My love, my life, my all had proved sterile — 
 Out of the depths I should be crying still. 
 
 39 
 
XXXIV 
 
 O what is love that over me your sway 
 Is rhythmic as that of moon on earth's wild tides? 
 Whence comes the power mighty to allay 
 The mad unrest that in all hearts abides? 
 True miracle is wrought — but how? Is there 
 Amid the spheres some vast magnetic force 
 From which, two souls each unto each laid bare, 
 Streams energy that warps them from the course 
 Of single effort merging the twain as one? 
 Or must we truckle to drab science and say 
 That, sense on sense impinging, love is none 
 Other than lowly child of common clay? 
 
 Let who will answer. . . . This is certainty: 
 Invincible love vouchsafes you sovereignty! 
 
 40 
 
XXXV 
 
 Why should you think, beloved, your work in vain? 
 If what thru many toilsome years I've wrought 
 Withstands corroding time, none will disdain 
 Your ample portion of the honors sought. 
 No great deed ever saw the light of day 
 But S(Mne true woman sponsored it. Think not. 
 Therefore, to lurk within my shadow. Lay 
 This sweetly to your anxious heart : that what 
 Desert is yours I scorn to claim. Could I 
 The serried phalanxes of toil have faced, 
 Inspiriting love denied me? Or what high 
 Turrets have scaled by your strong faith not braced ? 
 
 Oh, the little is much when love is the priceless 
 leaven, 
 
 For it's just the difference, sweet, between earth 
 and heaven! 
 
 41 
 
XXXVI 
 
 How shall I match the music of your heart? 
 In vain I touch the strings of my soul's lyre. . 
 Discord mars all. O love, to me impart 
 Your subtle skill so that my soul may quire 
 Its passions deep in unison with yours! 
 Sweet as the notes of mock-bird singing at eve 
 To cheer its nesting mate, your music lures 
 While my coarse strains seem but a make-believe. 
 Am I but echoing voice, a poor, sick soul 
 Whose cadences are faint? Like viol cracked 
 Must I in broken music find my dole. 
 The fate of all by lethal discords racked? 
 
 Oh, love, again I lift the heartfelt plea. . . . 
 
 The secret teach of your soul's melody! 
 
 42 
 
XXXVII 
 
 Great Men have known great loves in ages past 
 
 Eternalized in song or deathless verse: 
 
 Paola and Francesca, passion-aghast, 
 
 Untimely sped by Malatesta's curse; 
 
 Dante and Beatrice of heavenly mien ; 
 
 Petrarch and Laura; Brutus and Portia brave; 
 
 Browning and his beloved — poesy's queen; 
 
 Marc Antony, fair Cleopatra's slave. . . . 
 
 Loves worthy and unworthy: let them stand. 
 
 Like these immortals fealty I proclaim 
 
 To love's enthrallment ; kinship I demand 
 
 For that my love is great as theirs and fame 
 As rightly mine, since love from low estate 
 Exalts a lover to high heaven's gate. 
 
 43 
 
XXXVIII 
 
 If Death should steal upon me unaware, 
 Grieve not with vain regrets your life away, 
 For naught avails the tense, febrile display 
 Of sorrow. Why your happiness forswear? 
 Death's but an incident of life, a rare 
 Transcendent moment when thru rank decay 
 Of plasmic mould the soul, released, its way 
 Wings swift to higher realms. ... I know not 
 
 where. 
 In this find healing for your anguished heart: 
 That Love his mighty will in us has wrought, 
 Thru many a year welding us part by part 
 Indissolubly one in purpose. Taught 
 
 Thus richly to know life thru gracious love 
 Our souls, rejoined, eternal troth shall prove. 
 
 44 
 
XXXIX 
 
 What wealth is mine, beloved, in loving you! 
 
 Not he of Lydia whose Pactolean gold. 
 
 Heaped high in brilliant Sardis, to withhold 
 
 The Persian hordes was impotent, is due 
 
 Supremacy. Nor he of Agra who. 
 
 As mighty tales and legends do unfold ! — 
 
 How little need herewith to be retold! — 
 
 The Taj with matchless glory did endue. 
 
 Such wealth, dear heart, with mine can not compare, 
 
 Whose mintage is of heaven where love abides; 
 
 And as the sands are scattered by the tides, 
 
 So Mammon's goodly heritage must fare. 
 
 But love, which is my wealth, untouched shall be 
 
 By aught I ween of dread fatality! 
 
 45 
 
XL 
 
 When memory, unveiling silent years, 
 
 Pale phantoms of a past long dead reveals. 
 
 Into my soul a ghostly rabble steals: 
 
 Ashen regrets and inappeasable fears, 
 
 Spectres of good deeds still-born, spirit desires 
 
 That perished of inanition, shadowy hopes 
 
 Of service vast as empire of the Popes 
 
 That withered in the heat of passions' fires. 
 
 O soul of souls, the years of my dead life — 
 
 God's mercy on them! — but for your matchless love, 
 
 To rival which ever in vain I strove. 
 
 Had been like music of a broken fife 
 
 In hands of one whose soul with love afire 
 Could not, for its defects, voice love's desire ! 
 
 46 
 
XLI 
 
 What other soul could my soul love as yours? 
 
 Beauty more rare, I've known, emotion-lit. 
 
 More subtly sensuous charms and sprightlier wit, 
 
 But never soul that ampler love inures. 
 
 O heart, with you is neither better nor worse, 
 
 Nor white nor black, nor idle rich nor poor. 
 
 Sinner nor saint, renowned savant nor boor — 
 
 Your soul immures all of God's universe! 
 
 Love is your life. The fragrant flower you touch 
 
 Yields richer perfume. Mercy follows you 
 
 As quickened life revivifying dew; 
 
 Nor doubt I your own love for me is such 
 
 In purity as is an angel's breath. 
 
 Than life more precious, stronger even than 
 death. 
 
 47 
 
XLII 
 
 How lightly time has fallen on our love! 
 Thrice more than thirty winters' icy breath, 
 Fell harbinger of that dread monster, Death, 
 Have sought vainly our love-right to disprove: 
 The sheer monotony of household cares, 
 The drudgery that waits on common toil, 
 The racking anguish bred of ceaseless moil, 
 The sickening task of plucking up rank tares, 
 The rapier thrusts of envy-stricken hearts, 
 The unkind kindness of reputed friends, 
 The cruel jests that hate with malice blends, 
 The virus that a spiteful soul imparts — 
 
 All these, dear heart, most impotently strove. . 
 
 How lightly time has fallen on our love! 
 
 48 
 
XLIII 
 
 Often I muse on that sweet day in youth 
 When first I saw you unaware and felt 
 Instant desire, all lesser passions melt 
 And fuse by dint of first love's mystic truth 
 Into one mighty passion, not uncouth 
 With low impulse, but pure as though I knelt 
 At love's high altar or in Elysium dwelt 
 Withdrawn afar from man's constraint or ruth. 
 Though time the leash has slipt since that sweet day 
 And strands have silvered that were burnished gold ; 
 Though wrinkles creep where roses used to play, 
 Reminder, dear, that you are growing old. . . . 
 
 Undimmed that memory still like jacynth ray 
 
 Of Urim — in antique story told. 
 
 49 
 
XLIV 
 
 As one rapt with music of Paradise, 
 So I that memorable day long years ago 
 When softly you said "Yes." Love, the surprise 
 Of that ecstatic moment none can know! 
 The heavens opened and I passed within, 
 Earth and its sordid cares clean out of sight; 
 The angels sang to me — I seemed akin 
 To seraph souls that know nor day nor night 
 But only one unending bliss with God! 
 Strange that three simple letters voiced by you, 
 The music of one softly-spoken word, 
 My soul from earth to heavenly portals drew! 
 Ah, love, as well expect a star to capture 
 As I forget aught of that matchless rapture! 
 
 50 
 
XLV 
 
 The fresh May wind blew softly on us twain, 
 The maple leaves bent low and whispered love, 
 From the deep stillness of a cedar grove 
 A mock-bird trilled his rapture sovereign. 
 The field lark whistled notes of gladdest cheer, 
 The crows with raucous caw flapped gaily by, 
 The lush grass in a fragrant meadow nigh 
 Breathed redolence of joy unstained by tear. 
 What bliss it was that day to be alive 
 And walk in adoration by your side: 
 To yearn the passing moment might abide 
 Eternal — that no further my soul strive ! 
 O radiant memory of our maiden stroll. 
 How rich am I thru years of loving toll! 
 
 51 
 
XLVI 
 
 When summer's majesty I see decline 
 As autumn with his blighting frost draws near, 
 I hate that Death in this should give me sign 
 Of his fell purpose — that a life so dear 
 To mine own soul must from my soul be riven, 
 Perhaps when life and love, conjunct in joy. 
 Confederate in sweet hopes, of misdeeds shriven. 
 Have loosed them from the grosser things that cloy 
 And fetter the soul's free movements. . . . Loathed, 
 
 the thought 
 That ambushes my plans and haunts me day 
 And night with stressful fears like spectres wrought 
 Of a mind diseased pervious to quick decay! 
 But this churl Death, obdurate though he be. 
 Knows well your soul he can not filch from me. 
 
 52 
 
XLVII 
 
 I've heard men prate of love in the same breath 
 They praised their dogs, their caddies, flippantly, 
 As God's fools sometimes slaver about death, 
 Or Brahman speaks of pariah, scornfully. 
 I've known men at the marriage altar vow 
 To cherish love eternally — and before 
 The fragrant bridal flowers had withered somehow 
 Give love a mortal stab. . . . Dearest, the ore 
 With others may run thin, play out, its lead 
 May crop forth and the lure end ... as for me — 
 The vein but widens as the years recede 
 And richer grows; therefore unfalteringly 
 I face old age with stout heart confident 
 That never shall love find me indigent. 
 
 53 
 
XLVIII 
 
 Beloved, when our two souls stand face to face 
 In presence of Him who judges small and great, 
 Will your soul, awed by Love's compelling grace. 
 Plead for my soul that it be spared a fate 
 Worse than Nirvana? For I'm conscious, love, 
 Abashed, of my own soul's stark indigence. 
 While you shall need no word of mine to prove 
 Your own soul's richly jeweled opulence. 
 Oh, in that moment when by His just word 
 I may for countless aeons be rapt from you. 
 Will you not intercede with our dear Lxjrd 
 That whither your soul fares my soul fare too ? 
 
 Pardon I crave for this so selfish plea. . . . 
 
 I can bear all He sends with you near me. 
 
 54 
 
XLIX 
 
 Love must be granted its hyperboles, 
 For souls that breathe great passions each to each 
 Find common terms inept and in sweet orgies 
 Of honeyed phrases revel w^ithout breach 
 Of love's decorum . . . ; justly so, yet when 
 Their passion stalks across the printed page 
 Restraint becomes seemly. Forgive me then 
 If my cold lines to your soul give umbrage 
 In that you miss those nameless epithets. 
 The thousand sugared words we lovers use 
 And prize so, cryptic turns of thought, assets 
 None but a loveless fool would dare refuse. 
 Does this suffice, or have I vainly striven, 
 Before your soul's confessional still unshriven? 
 
 55 
 
Dearest, these fifty sonnets love-enchained — 
 One for each twelvemonth God has vouchsafed 
 
 you — 
 Nurslings of an affection heaven-ordained 
 And chrismed with joy, like dead soul born anew, 
 I lay now at your feet. What though with cold, 
 Critical breath the world exhale disdain, 
 And some to whom no secrets love has told 
 Ciy "Fie!" ... If you but stoop to lift them, 
 
 fain 
 Am I to reck aught else . . . and, dearest, as you 
 Have often pressed wild flowers to your breast, 
 Azaleas fair, pale lilies — even rue, 
 Smile graciously on this my love's behest: 
 
 Enfold within your heart these yearning lines 
 Wherein my soul its secrets sweet enshrines! 
 
 56