Sonnets of the Head and Heart 
 
 "Joseph Warren Beach 
 
Class 
 
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 Copyright N ( 
 
 
 COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2011 with funding from 
 The Library of Congress 
 
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Sonnets of the 
 Head and Heart 
 
 Joseph Warren Beach 
 
 ft Hp.ARTI et V6RITATI fl 
 
 IMfj ' — ' *X J 
 
 Boston: Richard G. Badger 
 
 The Gorham Press 
 
 1903 
 
Copyright, 1903, by Joseph Warren Beach 
 All Rights Reserved 
 
 THE LIBRARY OF 
 CONGRESS, 
 
 I Two Copies Received | ._ 
 
 S km '8 1903 \ fssi 77 o 
 
 Copyright Entry | r,., ^/ 
 
 •• CLASS* & XXe. No. I / «# J 
 
 COPY B. 
 
 Printed at 
 
 The G or ham Press 
 
 Boston 
 
To. 
 
Contents 
 
 Pag» 
 
 Swallow Flights 
 
 Praise of the Body 9 
 
 The Pursuit of Pleasure - - 10 
 
 Bacchantes - - - - 11 
 
 Nightmare 12 
 
 Ephemerae 13 
 
 The Cloud .... 14 
 
 Revelation - - - - 15 
 
 Animism 16 
 
 A Nocturne - - - - 17 
 
 Proteus - - - 18 
 
 Protestants - - - 19 
 
 The Swimmer 20 
 
 The Pursuit of the Ideal - - 21 
 
 The World of a Pessimist - - 27 
 
 In the Forest of Arden - - 43 
 
 Disillusion .... 65 
 
Swallow ffligbts 
 
praise of tbe 3Bofc£ 
 
 As one for whom the dazzling noonday beams 
 Are tempered in the cloister's dim retreat, 
 Surveys in gules and azure at his feet 
 
 The sun's white heraldry, that richly streams 
 
 Through storied glass : so in my soul that seems 
 A sense-embowered cell, the rays that beat 
 Fervent without, are robbed of all their heat, 
 
 And I am bathed in gules and azure dreams. 
 
 Ah, much-abused body that of old 
 
 Men deemed a glass opaque that baffled still 
 The efforts of the spirit after light, 
 
 I love thee for thy rich and manifold 
 
 Division of that light — so dost thou fill 
 
 The soul with entertainment infinite. 
 
Zbc pursuit of pleasure 
 
 Nay, thou whose body's every tingling sense 
 Is like a window to let in delight, 
 Whom all the world doth winsomely invite 
 
 To wanton with felicities intense, — 
 
 Well mayst thou don thine armour of defense 
 
 To frown upon the buxom world, and fight ; 
 Well mayest thou, in grinning hell's despite, 
 
 With all those sweet amenities dispense. 
 
 But we that follow pleasure as she flies, 
 Begging a paltry alms for our content, 
 
 And never have beheld her gracious eyes, 
 Have yet no pleasant trespass to repent, 
 
 And we shall follow till our last hope dies 
 And our last volt of energy is spent. 
 
 10 
 
Baccbantee 
 
 Come, let us kindle ecstasy with wine 
 
 Of license, and divesting us of shame, 
 Crown us with ivy in the wine god's name, 
 
 And purple clusters of his wanton vine. 
 
 And then let eyes with eager fury shine, 
 
 And fury flushed and gleaming limbs inflame, 
 And all, forgetful of immortal fame, 
 
 Dance, in a reeling, torch-illumined line. 
 
 We dance, and the ear-splitting cymbals crash, 
 
 We dance, and rend the heavens with our cries 
 Wild as the cries of desert beasts by night. 
 So for a while the frantic bodies flash, 
 
 Till one by one, each panting carcase lies 
 Obscure and quiet in the dubious light. 
 
 11 
 
IRiabtmare 
 
 At dawn, the dim obscurity of sleep 
 
 Was troubled with returning tides of thought, 
 Disordered and tumultous, and fraught 
 
 With monsters of the intellectual deep. 
 
 I dreamed that Space, bewildered, could not keep 
 Her wonted order more, but was distraught, 
 And trusty Time, with sad confusion wrought, 
 
 Whole centuries of years would overleap. 
 
 And mid the wreck of all my wonted world, 
 Wherein she found no hope of lasting rest, 
 
 My spirit mourned for every baffled sense, 
 With vain illusions evermore oppressed, 
 Exposed to ignominious accidents 
 And from confusion to confusion whirled. 
 
 12 
 
jgpbemerae 
 
 The room was chill and dark, until a door 
 Swung open of a sudden, and behold ! 
 A glorious shaft of light dispersed the cold. 
 
 Now through the breach the glittering legions pour, 
 
 And lo ! where all was emptiness before, 
 
 The dancing motes in myriads untold — 
 Till of a sudden, with the shaft of gold, 
 
 They vanish, and are gone for evermore. 
 
 Dust-motes are we that dance into the day _ 
 Of gladness in the sun's propitious smile, 
 Creatures of his, with whom he does beguile 
 
 The tedious hours of idle time's delay. 
 
 A moment in the sunlight we shall play, 
 And we shall vanish in a little while. 
 
 13 
 
Thou fleeting speck of white that farest still 
 
 Wind-driven through the sky, nor wilt abide, 
 Leading along the sunny mountain-side 
 
 Thy mote of shadow like a ghost of ill, 
 
 Thy phantom flight impalpable doth fill 
 
 My heart with longing evermore denied. 
 The old enigmas evermore divide 
 
 My powers of thought, and paralyze the will. 
 
 Thou holdest in thy bosom, with the rain — 
 
 But with the rain thou wilt not give it birth - 
 The secret of all being : for with mirth 
 
 Either thou farest blithe for some demesne 
 Where dream-felicities forever last, 
 Or, helpless, thou art driven with the blast. 
 
 14 
 
I dreamed my sore-distracted eyes in vain 
 
 Sought whither in the darkness they should turn 
 Some secret of the labyrinth to learn 
 
 That might relieve the trouble of my brain. 
 
 And suddenly methought the wide domain 
 Of dubious chaos inwardly did burn, 
 As if some prisoned god did strongly yearn 
 
 To make the meaning of the riddle plain. 
 
 Long spears of light shot out on every hand, 
 And all the substance of the world did fall 
 In simple, ranged lines symmetrical, 
 
 Out of the chaos of unmeaning war 
 Breeding a form my soul could understand, 
 
 And on the dark disorder dawned a star. 
 
The wind is up, and every silent thing 
 
 Has found a soul of motion and delight. 
 
 / The crisp leaves soar as if some merry sprite 
 
 Were lifting them aloft on wanton wing. 
 
 And to my fanciful imagining 
 
 They sing mysterious carols in their flight. — 
 Yet is it e'er beyond mine utmost might 
 
 To catch a single note of all they sing. 
 
 Because thy song is inarticulate, 
 
 Full-sounding Nature, to my human ear, 
 
 Untrained to catch the subtler range of sound, 
 I will not unbelieving hesitate, /", # ; ; -',i 
 
 But deem the song thou singest without peer 
 For sense and sage significance profound. 
 
 16 
 
H IRocturne 
 
 Faint murmurs die upon the dreamy hush, 
 
 And strange lights vaguely glimmer, for the moon 
 Veils in a pensive mist, this midmost June, 
 
 Her brightness as a virgin veils her blush. 
 
 Across the leaves mysteriously brush 
 
 The wind's light skirts, and still in languid swoon 
 The willows and the ghostly poplars croon, 
 
 While faint and far the river waters rush. 
 
 The night is like a silver goblet full — 
 
 Full to the brim, with fragrant liquor flush — 
 Ready, should some enchanter's fingers crush 
 
 The final drop — one charmed syllable — 
 Sufficient to allay immortal woe, 
 In floods of mystic wine to overflow. 
 
 17 
 
Knowest thou yet my voice? Or hast thou heard 
 In vain the murmurs of thy paradise ? 
 When to the horn's melodious enterprise 
 The low voice of the violin demurred, 
 
 Was it not still the glad cry of the bird? 
 
 And when you felt your love's bewitching eyes 
 Upon you, did you entertain surprise 
 
 That in your own heart the same longing stirred? 
 
 I am a god protean, for my name 
 
 Is named diversely. I am called the Word 
 Because I made the world. As Love I fill 
 The veins of all the universe with flame. 
 
 And because my desire, though long deferred, 
 Is ever won at last, men call me Will. 
 
 18 
 
Protestants 
 
 Steady as sands within the hour-glass fall, 
 
 Somewhither sets all Nature like a tide. 
 
 Into the west the hounding breezes ride 
 By squadrons, and each quiet interval 
 Is filled with clamor of the waterfall. 
 
 Only upon this gusty river-side 
 
 You will not budge, old pine, but in your pride 
 Heed not your mistress' low, imperious call. 
 
 Only yourself, and I, that set my will 
 
 Against the will of Nature manifest, 
 
 Opposing to her stern commandment still 
 The yearning of my human interest. 
 
 So shall we some few bitter drops distil 
 
 And triumph, but we shall not win to rest. 
 
 19 
 
Zbe Swimmer 
 
 I cannot see beyond the mounting wave. 
 
 There is no mercy in the leaden sky. 
 
 1 strangle with salt water, and my cry 
 Beats on the billow's merciless concave 
 Unheeded. Fathom-deep above my grave 
 
 The bitter, overwhelming waters lie. 
 
 Ah Christ ! if still thine offered help be nigh, 
 Enfold me with thine arms of love, and save ! 
 
 Thine arms have closed about me, and I sink 
 Abandoned and voluptuous away, 
 Like one that cheats the overburdened day 
 With dreams engendered of Lethean drink — 
 Amid the green, malicious sea's alarms 
 Pillowed, and sure in my strong swimmer's arms. 
 
 20 
 
Zhe purauit of the Ideal 
 i 
 
 So long have I been faithful — but thy face 
 Ever eludes me, gleaming on some height 
 Uncertain, like a glint of stars at night 
 
 Illusive in the shimmering azure space. 
 
 Intangible, unguessed is all thy grace, 
 
 A spirit-grace, that still evades the sight 
 Of sensuous eye, and will not bear the light 
 
 Of mortal gaze, nor yield to man's embrace. 
 
 Oh, whither dost thou lure me on a way 
 
 So cheerless and austere ? Were but some goal 
 
 At last assured where thou shouldst crown my 
 ills 
 With sweet reward of amourous delay, 
 
 And yield thee to the yearning of my soul 
 
 In some fair glade among the purple hills ! 
 
 21 
 
II 
 
 But nay, thy beauty is not measured so 
 As is the rose's for her velvet red, 
 Or lily's for the proud poise of her head. 
 
 Upon thy cheek there is no mortal glow, 
 
 Nor maiden charm that mortal sense may know 
 Upon thine unsubstantial form is shed — 
 No breast's half-fancied fulness, men are led 
 
 To follow blindly as the waters flow. 
 
 My spirit flies to thee and straight is filled, 
 
 But my fierce blood with unfulfilled desire 
 
 Burns ever unassuaged ! Thou canst not think, 
 In thy sweet bosom where all strife is stilled, 
 
 How my pale lips, parched with the inward fire, 
 Cry out from dawn to dark for saving drink. 
 
 22 
 
Ill 
 
 So long have I been faithful, mistress mine, 
 
 And still I follow thee, with straining eyes, 
 Lest thy so tenuous form should fade, in skies 
 
 Of melting light lost like a pearl in wine, 
 
 Or else engulphed in gloom, and then no sign 
 Were left me. For thy light alone belies 
 The bitter sentence of the wind that sighs 
 
 Disconsolate down the drear slope to the brine. 
 
 And so I toil along the ragged hills, 
 
 Footsore and weak under the empty sky, 
 
 And never wait to count the weary cost. 
 I known thy sovran beauty, how it fills 
 
 The hungry soul. I know that I should die — 
 The better part of me — if thou wert lost 
 
 23 
 
Zhe Worlfc of a pesaimiat 
 
I dreamed that after many days I came 
 
 Upon the object of my last desire, 
 Through very fury of malicious flame 
 
 Winning at last unto my haven entire. 
 And there, resplendent in my lady's bower, 
 
 I knelt in mail, and felt my lady's face 
 Smile over me, and felt her hand's sweet dower 
 
 Laid on my bent head with an angel's grace. 
 And why, alas ! when I was free to rise 
 
 And clasp my lady to my swelling breast, 
 Came there a mist of loathing on mine eyes, 
 
 And o'er my limbs an instant need of rest? 
 Down at her feet my fainting spirit slips — 
 I cannot lift the full cup to my lips ! 
 
 27 
 
II 
 
 To me that look upon your pageantry, 
 
 Refulgent lady Life, with shrinking sense, 
 It wears no vague, seductive mystery, 
 
 Now I have pierced your armour of pretence. 
 That ivory-gleaming, siren woman's flesh 
 
 The rich embroidered satins well array — 
 I have no strength of manhood to enmesh 
 
 With lust of such illusory display. 
 For when I raised mine eyes upon your face 
 
 Of chiseled beauty, and upon your eyes, 
 My arms refused that long desired embrace, 
 
 The fruit of toil and tireless enterprise. 
 Mine eyes, caught fast in your eyes' fatal snare, 
 Turned shuddering: from the secret lurking- there. 
 
 28 
 
Ill 
 
 For thee the whole creation has gone mad 
 
 With ecstasy of action, and the sleep 
 That made the world's blind heart serenely glad 
 
 No longer bathes it in oblivion deep ; 
 But wild dreams interrupt that sweet repose, 
 
 Teasing and torturing the troubled brain. 
 Day after day the raging fever grows, 
 
 And further spreads its nets of fervent pain. 
 Alas, that ever seeds of discontent 
 
 Should have brought forth this weed of enterprise, 
 That rankly overtops the wall ! So meant 
 
 That witch that did the fatal charm devise, — 
 Scheming a crop of bitterness to reap 
 From the unviolated gardens of old sleep. 
 
 29 
 
IV 
 
 First the bare atoms, in the silent sea 
 
 Where they were sleeping dreamless, felt a breeze 
 Of trouble stirring. Then reluctantly 
 
 Did they abandon their estate of ease, 
 Infected with the fever of desire, 
 
 To whirl through endless orbits of distress, 
 And kindle one another into fire 
 
 With furious and feverish caress. 
 Thence were the fiery constellations born, — 
 
 Whole broods of worlds brought forth at one embrace, 
 Planets, and comets wandering forlorn, 
 
 And all the suns that fill heaven's echoing space, 
 Like anvils smitten with old Vulcan's might, 
 With vain reverberations of keen light. 
 
 30 
 
V 
 
 Then when the earth, ejected from the sun 
 
 With violent explosion, had once learned 
 A regular recurrent course to run, 
 
 She dozed a moment as she turned and turned. 
 But swift the fever of life flared up again. 
 
 The ooze of ocean felt a trouble grow 
 Within its bowels, where the vital pain 
 
 Through protoplasmic cells began to flow. 
 Then were the green, pellucid depths thick hung 
 
 With marvellous vegetation, and the earth 
 Carpeted deep with mingling greens that flung 
 
 A veil of plenty o'er the primal dearth. 
 So swift the poison sped, and spread the curse 
 Of amorous life through all the universe. 
 
 31 
 
VI 
 
 Still in the dim soul of the silent green 
 
 Lurked a suggestion of yet fuller life, — 
 A groping instinct for a sense more keen 
 
 And varied armour for extended strife. — 
 For some must perish where so many strove 
 
 With frantic madness for their own distress. 
 And so grew sentience, and the sentient throve, 
 
 And ripened slowly into consciousness. 
 And many organs painfully were wrought, 
 
 Fulfilling many functions in the beast. 
 So through long ages mercilessly fought 
 
 The votaries of life, and still increased 
 The flame of insuppressible desire, 
 As life went on from higher form to higher. 
 
 32 
 
VII 
 
 But never grew content, nor would the race 
 
 Sink back, with its achievements satisfied, 
 Into oblivion's long desired embrace. 
 
 Ever a voice within the creature cried 
 For labours herculean to engage 
 
 The growing spirit — every added sense 
 Brought in its train new weary wars to wage. 
 
 And last the brain of man, with his immense 
 Grasp on the past and future and the far, 
 
 Subduing space and nimble time, gave birth 
 To that intestine, universal war 
 
 That rages unassuaged through all the earth, 
 Engaging all the strength of humankind, — 
 A war of spirit forces in the mind. 
 
 33 
 
VIII 
 
 Ah, what a piece of work, the poet sings, 
 
 Is this fine product of the ages, — man ! 
 And down the corridors of time there rings 
 
 An empty echo since the race began — 
 Ah, what a piece of work ! — The passing breeze 
 
 Makes in the firs its immemorial moan. 
 Methinks I hear the toiling centuries, 
 
 Bent o'er their endless task together groan, 
 Fashioning that renowned infinitude 
 
 Of human faculties, — devoted slaves, 
 Their foreheads all with bloody sweat imbrued : 
 
 And as I watch them ebbing like vain waves 
 That vainly flowed, I cannot find a voice 
 With those triumphant echoes to rejoice. 
 
 34 
 
IX 
 
 " The life so short, the craft so long to learn " — 
 
 Whether of love or of whatever art 
 Poet or sage the hopelessness discern, 
 
 That strikes despair in to the yearning heart, 
 Would all the cycles of the years suffice 
 
 To win full satisfaction? Lo, they spread 
 Eternally unrolling, to entice 
 
 Yet farther those fond pilgrims they have led 
 After the fleet horizon for so long. 
 
 The fleet horizon will not be outrun 
 By any panting suitor. She is strong 
 
 With victories innumerable won, 
 And counts it most unmaidenly disgrace 
 To yield her ever unto man's embrace. 
 
 35 
 
X 
 
 In form and moving fashioned so express 
 
 That very breathing is felicity, 
 And fate seems ever stooping to caress, — 
 
 So in the laureled sage of Germany, 
 Prophet and lover perfectly combined, 
 
 More than in any other of our day 
 Life springs up like a fountain unconlined, 
 
 Whereon the frolic sunlight loves to play. 
 Fittest indeed that labours with delight, 
 
 Rejoicing in the triumphs of the past, 
 And still exulting in sufficient might 
 
 To subjugate the future, with its vast 
 Display of gleaming bastions to be stormed, 
 With soul-delighting functions well performed. 
 
 36 
 
XI 
 
 In form and moving fashioned so express, 
 
 Great athlete, sinewed for Olympian games, 
 That ran to greet life's varied business 
 
 Exulting, I must think of other names, — 
 Byron and Schopenhauer — men of might 
 
 That, for some petty maggot in the brain, 
 Found only anguish where you found delight, 
 
 And for blithe exercise, a bed of pain. 
 Yet were they of immortal lineage, 
 
 The children of Olympus manifest, 
 And we that claim a dubious heritage 
 
 Of happy godhead, cannot hope, at best, 
 For aught but shameful slavery and toil, 
 The hapless villeins of a barren soil. 
 
 37 
 
XII 
 
 Ah, Lady without Mercy, ere I faint, 
 
 A respite grant — alas, my foolish prayer ! 
 To dream that she might harken to my plaint, 
 
 So long inexorably cold and fair ! 
 For ever as the momentary dream 
 
 Displays her in resplendent beauty wreathed, 
 A maddening mirage, whose features gleam 
 
 Bright as a flashing scimitar unsheathed, 
 Alluring as the fragrance of old wine, 
 
 And palpable as self ; and as I move, 
 Ecstatic and assured to make her mine, 
 
 And reap full satisfaction of my love — 
 Sudden a baffling veil doth round her fall, 
 And I am left alone — without the wall ! 
 
 38 
 
XIII 
 
 Alone, and quite confounded in the night, 
 
 Chilled with the breath of some bleak, homeless wind, 
 I lie unmanned, nor ask for any might, 
 
 Unto my frozen harbourage resigned. 
 My utmost longing, in this desperate case, 
 
 Is but to lie untroubled with desire, 
 My weary head low-pillowed in that place, 
 
 Where frost and sleep with Lethe might conspire. 
 But ere the waves of sweet oblivion 
 
 Can drown me deep in peace, that siren voice, 
 Calling me from my business half done, 
 
 Inexorably overrules my choice, 
 And spurs my jaded flanks with specious lies 
 Up endless hills of fruitless enterprise. 
 
 39 
 
XIV 
 
 Not from thine unrelenting loftiness, 
 
 That never will vouchsafe me any grace, 
 Do I derive my most extreme distress : 
 
 For I have long foregone that sweet embrace 
 Of thine elusive body, and would fain 
 
 Expel thine image from my hopeless heart. 
 But of thy cruelty do I complain, 
 
 That never wholly wilt from me depart, 
 And leave me to my much-required rest ; 
 
 But when of hopeless venturing I tire, 
 And fall exhausted upon Lethe's breast, 
 
 Thou dost new trouble in my soul inspire, 
 And lure me — fool ! — to follow once again 
 O'er hill and hollow my old path of pain. 
 
 40 
 
XV 
 
 As some brave martyr that, upon the rack, 
 
 In midmost torture will not once complain, 
 Until the swoon comes, mercifully black, 
 
 To wrap away all feeling ; yet again 
 When he awakes to find a fiendish hate 
 
 Has spared his life for torture more intense, 
 He will cry out at last, and execrate 
 
 The life that brings him back his suffering sense 
 So is it with our giant universe, 
 
 Devoted to immortal agony. 
 Methinks, with each renewal of the curse 
 
 Of tingling life through all eternity, 
 The whole creation uttereth a cry 
 To be delivered of its pain and die. 
 
 41 
 
XVI 
 
 O ye, all ye that ride into the fight, 
 
 To battle for that sovran Lady Life, 
 Radiant in mail, and confident in might 
 
 For triumph in the all-engaging strife, 
 When you shall lay down at your Lady's feet 
 
 The precious trophies that your might has won, 
 Honour, and riches, and what joys most sweet 
 
 Your hearts desire beneath the smiling sun : 
 Pause not for me a moment in your ride, 
 
 Your headlong ride into the hot melee, 
 Nor bend an ear to one that limps beside 
 
 The universal road — lest I should say, 
 Myself most impotent, some killing word 
 That you were better dead than to have heard ! 
 
In Zhc forest of Br&en 
 
This busy water, so unconscious quite 
 
 Of me who spy it out, among the ferns 
 Low hidden, no least lesson deeper learns 
 
 Of shrilling gust that churns it into white 
 
 Or sun that glorifies it into gold 
 
 Inlaid with glowing purple. For all day 
 These shallow waves among the reeds display 
 
 A changing Moorish pattern, and are bold 
 
 To shift without a warning arabesques 
 So delicate to Japanese grotesques 
 
 Of oily watersnakes, a shadowy brown 
 Upon the palest blue : as, in some dream, 
 A dim face merges into one agleam, 
 
 And then the whole in shadow dwindles down. 
 
 45 
 
II 
 
 So easily impressed with beauties ! Yes, 
 
 And swift to leave one beauty ere its husk 
 Be scarcely penetrated. Now at dusk 
 
 Seems yon smooth stretch more stable? Can you guess 
 
 This imaged cedar, perfect in detail 
 
 Even to the crested blue-bird on the spray, 
 
 Before the coming of the night will fail, 
 
 And leave a single bright star where it lay? 
 
 So unremembering the restless deep, 
 
 So unenduring all its lovely dreams ! 
 This dry, dead beetle scarcely more asleep — 
 
 This most minute green insect, which, it seems, 
 Can have no name, that vainly seems to strive, 
 How more than all the billowy lake alive ! 
 
 46 
 
Ill 
 
 All yesterday the water sped serenely, 
 
 A million sparkles o'er a floor of blue, 
 
 Toward yonder mountain's foot, as though in view 
 
 There were some goal to northward ; now in queenly 
 
 Inconstancy, she takes up a new burden, 
 
 White-crested -wave treading upon the heels 
 Of panting white-capped wave, until one feels 
 
 The southward goal is worthy better guerdon. 
 
 All seeming, all unmeaning, all in vain — 
 
 Not so my soul, O God, not so my soul ! 
 I'll not allow it such a passive scroll 
 
 For fate to print his fickle will on : stain, 
 And then wash white again ; or glorify 
 
 Only to tone it back to neutral dye ! 
 
 47 
 
IV 
 
 A year ago I could have well believed 
 
 My soul such passive matter, pliant still 
 To any shaping hand, the idle will 
 
 Of god or lilied goddess, who relieved 
 
 This way the bare monotony of bliss — 
 Matter inconstant as the aimless sands 
 Of shifting rivers, constant but in this, 
 
 Tomorrow cannot trace today's warm hands. 
 
 For this hour's song was an inscription graved 
 Where last hour's appetite had faded out. 
 Each doubt gave way to the ensuing doubt 
 
 Each temporary chief his title waived 
 At last. I reasoned from analogy : 
 Waters remember not, nor soul of me. 
 
 48 
 
V 
 
 But God has since been very good to me, 
 
 That I such doctrine can no longer hold. 
 
 I have been shown a sacred mystery, 
 
 And as with strong wine it has made me bold, — 
 
 Bold to defend, whate'er may fade away, 
 
 The permanence of love. For has not God, 
 Beloved, struck the spark in me, his clod, 
 
 Flashed you for light upon the higher way? 
 
 For I have seen a beauty it were vain 
 
 Waste feeble words in limning ; and though firm 
 In trust God still will succor with his rain, 
 
 Never shall faith in any further term 
 Of bliss divert me from my one fair dole, — 
 The beauty of a naked human soul. 
 
 49 
 
VI 
 
 Ah, do you wince, dear heart, and does it pain 
 That I this tawdry tribute bring of verse 
 
 To hang about your shrine, taking in vain 
 
 That heart-embowered name of you, and worse, 
 
 Setting its sterling seal upon my plate ? 
 
 I think that you are jealous of my rime, 
 Fearing this comely handmaid may, in time, 
 
 Supplant the mistress Love she served of late. 
 
 You must be wrong, my dear, to feel this dread 
 
 That so discredits Love, and Song, and me. 
 
 But say the word, and I will let it be. 
 This riming, though it were my daily bread. 
 
 For though the bard be prone to praise, ' twere 
 wrong, 
 
 When Love commands desist, to raise the song. 
 
 50 
 
VII 
 
 My heart exulted to believe you cared, 
 
 Yet pained me too, love, when you once betrayed 
 This strange mistrust of Love's meek serving-maid, 
 
 And thus touched me, nor even Love's self spared. 
 
 For I had loved Song as the interpreter 
 
 Of Love's dumb language merely, nor had dreampt 
 Any could woo Song from great Love exempt, 
 
 The empty words, the soft, narcotic purr. 
 
 And still I hold Song cannot stand alone : 
 
 Song is the blushing flesh-wreath, Love the bone. 
 Let him who would forget his Love beware : 
 Clasp he mere Song, he clasps but empty air. 
 
 Love chose not Song, but Song chose Love instead. 
 
 " Whither thou goest, I will go," she said. 
 
 51 
 
VIII 
 
 Then do not think love, like that feeble pain 
 
 Of anger, can burn all its soul away 
 
 Through vent of words, nor that, from day to day, 
 I thus shall ease my ache. Is it not plain 
 All joys in heaven and earth I count no gain 
 
 Beside this sole transcendent good of love, 
 
 And since on my anointed head this dove 
 Descended, I can nothing more attain? 
 
 And so, its vestal, 'tis my single care 
 
 Never to let this sacred flame burn out. 
 Therefore I shelter it from gusts without 
 
 Beneath the concave palm of song : e'en there 
 Deeming it safest from the sad world-soil, 
 Fed by pure, artless song's unfailing oil. 
 
 52 
 
IX 
 
 For if your face should slip away, dear soul 
 
 That my soul kneels to, face that was unveiled 
 For those brief seconds — if those features failed, 
 
 And into dread oblivion's darkness stole, 
 
 What then were left upon this desolate sphere 
 
 To urge me from the welcome drink of death — 
 What shadowy solace, or what feeble breath 
 
 Of heaven reward my empty sojourn here ? 
 
 Not Song could friend me : when I should arise, 
 In mockery of all earth holds to prize, 
 
 Dead Love, with dry tears, shuddering, from your 
 clay, 
 To woo the slender form that mourneth near, 
 She, incorruptible, would blanch with fear, 
 
 Cover her eyes, and silent slink away. 
 
 53 
 
X 
 
 Earth without you were but an empty shell, 
 
 You animating Love. The myriad sheen, 
 The shifting glory of its gold and green, 
 
 And all its modesties, and all the spell 
 
 Of moonlight, and the thrill of early morn 
 Have you for inspiration and for life, 
 And all the ecstacy of birds is rife 
 
 With love to be, and love already born. 
 
 Love is beneath it all, and if love fail, 
 
 There is no beauty in the rose's blush, 
 No sweet suggestion in the mellow hush 
 
 Of moonrise, and this fascinating veil 
 
 Holds us no longer, for no spirit-wind 
 Makes wave its silken meshes from behind,. 
 
 54 
 
XI 
 
 " But since you came to love so late, what then? — 
 Did earth provide no beauty for your soul, — 
 To drive away the wolf, no slightest dole 
 
 Of spirit-provender? " The world of men, 
 
 Ere I discovered Love, and God's dear world 
 
 Of blue and green seemed an Arcadian vale, 
 Where, breathless, I must find, ere sunlight fail,, 
 
 The nymph of Love in wood and water furled. 
 
 And now that I have found Her, life's a school 
 
 Where, She beside me, I may roam, and learn 
 What mysteries may lurk beneath a fern, 
 
 What forms of love lie mirrored in a pool, — 
 Labor of love to pass no leaf unturned, 
 Lest some least violet lesson be not learned. 
 
 55 
 
XII 
 
 One woke upon an island in the sea, 
 
 A barren sand-rift ; and he was alone. 
 
 But he was fresh from sleeping, and there shone 
 /Afar the promise of a day to be. 
 For o'er the ocean's rim there rose the sun 
 
 Of all his hopes, a solitary mast. 
 
 Ruddy with youth he waited till at last 
 The ardent race unto his isle was run. 
 
 He signals ; but they pay no heed. He cries 
 Frantic with fear ; but on the vessel flies, 
 
 Swiftly its way into the west to carve — 
 Till, 'mid the splendors of the passing day, 
 Haggard, he sees the black mast sink away, 
 
 And, white-haired, he is left alone to starve. 
 
 56 
 
XIII 
 
 You think my love is some abstraction, bred 
 
 Of idle musing in a lovely place, 
 
 As far away from earth as the calm, bright face 
 Of yonder drowsy moon, and quite as dead 
 As moonlight misty on the lilies' bed. 
 
 You think it but a drunken ecstasy 
 
 Of garden-haunting humming-bird or bee, 
 A disembodied love, on lilies fed. 
 
 O common source from which all mortals drink, 
 Pure fountain-head that waters all the green, 
 I "would not scorn you, but that I have been 
 
 Bolder than most, and where the many think 
 
 The journey ends, I still have pierced tne woods, 
 And found my spring among the solitudes. 
 
 57 
 
XIV 
 
 Warm breath upon my cheek ; this well-loved arm 
 
 About my neck, and clasping me so close ! 
 
 All timid-bold — for so the good queen chose, 
 \Vho might have scorned, to shut me in from harm. 
 This dear face, spirit-bright, that I, o'er-bold, 
 
 At arm's length in the dim light do peruse ; 
 
 Two lips atremble, that I may not use 
 To quench my lips' thirst iu — my heart cries, hold ! 
 
 Two lips so round and red, that show you full 
 
 Of this good earthly warmth — your panting breast, 
 My breast now leans on, does the same attest — 
 
 O soul my love has found so beautiful, 
 
 My face hid in your bosom, I must grow 
 
 Into a silence : for I love you so ! 
 
 58 
 
XV 
 
 Because I am a spirit, then, I love 
 
 That spirit- You with love that, like perfume 
 Of swinging censer, through the stellar gloom 
 
 Unhindered, rises to the courts above. 
 
 Before you, day and night, I feed a flame 
 
 Of such love with the purest oil of God, 
 Offering worthy my love's gracious nod 
 
 Of recognition, — love without a shame. 
 
 And then, because I am a man — alas ! 
 
 I know not whether I should joy or greet — 
 I love you for your body's painful sweet 
 
 With all that brutal passion. — In the grass 
 I hide my face — forgive me if you can, 
 I love you with the mad love of a man. 
 
 59 
 
XVI 
 
 And have I spun this beauty out of me, — 
 
 From my soul's substance quarried marble pure 
 To chisel such a Venus forth? " Be sure, 
 
 From that rich store-house where the lock and key 
 
 Secure your heaped ideals, you project 
 
 That pictured fancy, prisoned in a beam, 
 Upon this girl ; the light cut off, she'd seem 
 
 A very common mortal, I suspect." 
 
 " A very common mortal " — blasphemy ! 
 Not for her dower of beauty, let it be 
 
 Greater or less, but that my eyes have seen 
 Into her inmost soul God's lightnings shine, 
 
 I love her. For whate'er she may have been, 
 Then she was made, not beautiful, but mine ! 
 
 60 
 
XVII 
 
 Are you not mine ? Why then the blessed flash 
 That showed us to each other, nude of soul, 
 
 Nor did that nakedness at all abash, 
 
 But by a bond of knowledge set the whole 
 
 World at a distance? — or do I grow fond, 
 
 And there was no such thing; but you, clear-eyed, 
 Pity this visionary, heartless to deride 
 
 My dream of such imaginary bond? 
 
 I cannot think it. Therefore let us kneel, 
 
 Hand clasped in hand, before the unknown God, 
 Who, while He has scarce menaced with His rod, 
 
 Does thus His attribute of love reveal, — 
 Grateful to tears, whatever rules above, 
 For this inestimable gift of love. 
 
 61 
 
XVIII 
 
 This morning through the valley rides the breeze 
 With face set constant to the north, and drives 
 The waves before him northward like the lives 
 
 Of subject millions. Subject unto these, 
 
 The pliant water-grasses point the same, 
 
 Obedient to the current. Each poor mouth 
 
 Echoes the king's " North, north! " till he proclaim 
 
 A new course, when the shout will be, " South, 
 south ! " 
 
 Shall my soul be a bunch of ribbon-grass, 
 
 Servile and fawning, shouting now for you 
 
 And then tomorrow for another? — pass, 
 
 Dark vision ! — Let me be but constant, true : 
 
 Bending once only, on the water lie 
 
 Pointing forever north, though I should die ! 
 
 C2 
 
XIX 
 
 I sometimes wonder — and I hold my breath — 
 
 Could God, who, through the fortunes of this life, 
 I hold, is ever fitting us for death, 
 
 Mean — cruel plunge of necessary knife — 
 Those few sweet, sad days when we trod on air 
 
 As some vague betterment for each at length — 
 Your purity should purge my foul spots fair, 
 
 My passion sear your tenderness to strength. 
 
 Then when God looked upon His work and found 
 It well done, did He tear us twain apart, 
 
 With wisdom for us purblind too profound, 
 
 Judging, our bliss enjoyed, an aching heart 
 
 Were best balm for the sorely ailing soul — 
 
 Joy done with, then with grief complete the whole? 
 
 63 
 
XX 
 
 My dear, we cannot by absurd deceit 
 
 Evade God's law, nor by our puny strength 
 Frustrate ; nor can we doubt that thus, at length, 
 
 We should but our own groping, blind selves cheat 
 
 Of our allotted bliss. But we can hope, 
 
 Hope till we wrench our poor hearts with the pain, 
 That God will make this simple purpose plain, 
 
 »We two shall toil together up the slope. 
 
 O little, timid body, with the heart 
 
 So very big and brave, I cannot part 
 
 With one I love so tenderly and well. 
 It were to sacrifice my very life, 
 
 My bulwark set against this sad world's bell, 
 My inspiration, and — God grant — my wife ! 
 
 64 
 
Disillusion 
 
o 
 
 to- 
 ss 
 
 -J 
 
I 
 
 Alas, brave words, that hide the lurking fear 
 And kindle momentary warmth, will soon 
 Blush into silence, as the sophist moon 
 
 That breeds them pales, and in the ghostly leer 
 
 Of gray dawn all the dread truth shall appear ! 
 
 Ah, braggart words betray the worse poltroon — 
 Ere long the boast upon the lips of June 
 
 Turns wailing as the halcyon breezes veer. 
 
 I have been very loud in protestation : 
 
 When doubts pressed hardest, highest was my vaunt. 
 Buoyed on a wave of frantic exultation, 
 
 I have hurled skulking doubt his taunt for taunt. 
 But now I am o'erwhelmed with shade on shade 
 Of stalking fears that my weak soul invade. 
 
 87 
 
II 
 
 I fear that I shall lose the sense of you, 
 
 The glowing sense of you that made life worth. 
 
 My ears grow dull unto your voice's mirth. 
 Mine eyes grow dim, nor catch the wonted hue 
 And flush of your sweet body as it drew 
 
 Tints from the fairest flowers of the earth. 
 
 No longer at the touch of you is birth 
 Of bliss ineffable and ever new. 
 
 At last my heart — selfish, forgetting heart ! — 
 No longer sensible to every breath 
 
 That once had wrung its taut strings into song, 
 Feebly responds to yours his answering part, 
 As to some reminiscent air of death 
 
 Might stir some loose-stringed harp that slum- 
 bered long. 
 
 68 
 
Ill 
 
 Hour after hour, in the teeming night 
 
 Within the deep wood where I wander, blows 
 Face after face into a perfect rose, 
 
 Limned on the darkness with a spirit-light, 
 
 And every petal glimmers shadow-bright. 
 They are the faces of the souls of those 
 I would imprint in memory, and close 
 
 In my heart's jealous prison against flight. 
 
 But ah, there is not one that will remain 
 For a familiar comfort in the way, 
 
 Or witness for my heart at his own bar. 
 Old features subtly fade, dissolve away, 
 
 While new ones brighten ever. What the gain 
 Since I can fix no constant, polar star? 
 
 69 
 
IV 
 
 Is there no depth then in these souls of ours 
 
 Where love may strike deep roots that shall remain, 
 Or is their soil too shallow to sustain 
 
 More lusty growths, that it should tax our powers 
 
 So hard to nurse a night these pale moon-flowers, — 
 Helpless, when moonless morning comes again, 
 To stay their petty ardour from its wane 
 
 Though we should weep a sea of pensive showers ? 
 
 Vain souls, we wring our heart's last, warmest red 
 To water these wan flowers, and fondly deem 
 Their roots strike down into eternity — 
 Till suddenly, the soft night being sped, 
 
 We wake to find all but a feeble dream, 
 Our vision vanished irrecoverably. 
 
 70 
 
V 
 
 Ah, seal my rash mouth up with kisses, dear, 
 
 Lest I should blurt out irrevocably 
 
 Some desperate sentence. Let us rather be 
 Both dumb and blind, than that a doubt should peer 
 Into our poor hearts with malignant leer, 
 
 Or whisper steal in between you and me ! 
 
 Let us ignore a jealous fate's decree — 
 With folding arms fence out the invading fear. 
 
 Can we not thus, in clinging, wild embrace, 
 
 Shut out the world and the world's withering doubt? 
 
 Can we not, doting on each other's face, 
 
 And tingling with each other's touch, shut out 
 
 Our very souls, and kindle in some vein 
 
 Love-warmth, and for an instant love again? 
 
 71 
 
VI 
 
 Nay, sovran Love, let me not look askance 
 
 Where those flowers bloom. My foot must never 
 stay 
 
 In thy steep path, nor eyes uncertain stray 
 To glean that siren sweetness with a glance. 
 Dreading to lose thy dim-lit countenance, 
 
 I dare not thy faint summons disobey : 
 
 Lest somehow, suddenly in broad midday, 
 I should be stricken with some blinding trance, 
 
 And waking, should behold a country strange, 
 With alien features all forlorn, and hills 
 
 Where restless, driven shadows sadly range, 
 
 Bondslaves of shameful thirst that nothing stills, 
 
 And haply I should meet on the vain heath 
 
 My lost soul, in the desolate land of death. 
 
 72 
 
VII 
 
 Learn we through trailing of the broken wing 
 
 Our simple lesson of humility. 
 
 Rashly aspiring to the larks, would we 
 With those empyreal singers soar and sing. 
 So on heroic quest far venturing, 
 
 A sudden weakness came on you and me, 
 
 And from the clear seventh heaven instantly 
 We fell to this our lowly travailing. 
 
 Never again shall we so pierce the blue 
 
 With flashing pinions at the sun's red heart. 
 But time at last performs his healing part : 
 
 And mid the branches of earth-rooted yew 
 Our invalid ambition shall grow strong, 
 And we shall venture forth again with song. 
 
 73 
 
VIII 
 
 Many a soft illusion has the moon 
 
 Wrought for us, dear, all of a summer night, 
 Who yielded willing to his gentle might 
 
 Of flattering hypnotism — all too soon 
 
 Scattered beneath the searching glare of noon ! 
 The passionate roses, in his fostering light, 
 Shot suddenly to fair and wondrous height. 
 
 How should we not regret so rich a boon? 
 
 Yet am I for the sun, that gilds at morn 
 The heaven-aspiring fir-tops on a hill ! 
 
 I count it scarce a loss when his brave horn 
 
 Dispels that dear dream-fancy. There is still. 
 
 When kissing lips turn languid, summer nights, 
 
 The sunlit path together on the heights. 
 
 74