IMPATIENCE.
Our life is spent in little things,
In little cares our hearts are drown'd; We move, with heavy-laden wings, In the same narrow round.
We waste on wars and petty strife,
And squander in a thousand ways,
The fire that should have been the life
And power of after days.
We toil to make an outward show,
And only now and then reveal
How far the under currents flow
Of all we think and feel.
Mining in caves of ancient lore,
Unweaving endless webs of thought, We do what has been done of yore : And so we come to nought.
The Spirit longs for wider scope,
And room to let its fountains play
Ere it has lost its love and hope,
Tamed down or worn away.
I wander by the cloister walls,
My fancy fretting to be free
As, through the twilight, voices call
From mountain and from sea.
Forgive me if I feel oppress'd
By Custom, lord of all and me!
My soul springs upward, seeking rest,
And cries for liberty.
LOVE'S SUICIDE.
Alas for me that my love is dead!
Sunk fathom-deep, and may not rise again :
Self-murder'd, vanish'd, fled beyond recall:
And this is all my pain.
'Tis not that She I loved is gone from me;
She lives, and grows more lovely day by day :
Not Death could kill my love,-but, though She lives,
My love has died away.
Nor was it that a form or face more fair
Forswore my troth, for so my love had proved
Eye-deep alone, not rooted in the soul:
And 'twas not thus I loved.
Nor that, by too long dalliance with delight
And recompense of love, my love had grown
Surfeit with sweets, like some tired bee that flags
'Mid roses overblown.
None of these slew my love; but some cold wind,
Some chill of doubt, some shadowy dissidence,
Born out of too great concord, did o'ercloud
Love's subtle inner sense.
So one sweet changeless chord too long sustain'd
Falls at its close into a lower tone;
So the swift train, sped on the long straight way,
Sways and is overthrown.
For difference is the soul of life and love,
And not the barren oneness weak souls prize :
Rest springs from strife, and dissonant chords beget
Divinest harmonies.
At the king's gate the subtle Noon
Wove filmy yellow nets of sun;
Into the drowsy snare too soon
The guards fell, one by one.
Through the king's gate unquestion'd then
A beggar went, and laugh'd—" This brings
Me chance at last to see if men
Fare better, being kings."
The king sat bow'd beneath his crown,
Propping his face with listless hand,
Watching the hour-glass shifting down
Too slow its shining sand.
"Poor man! what wouldst thou have of me?"
The beggar turn'd and, pitying,
Replied, like one in dream-" Of thee
Nothing: I want the king.”
Uprose the king, and from his head
Shook off the crown and threw it by:
"O man! thou must have known," he said,
"A greater king than I.”
Through all the gates unquestion'd then
Went king and beggar, hand in hand :
Whisper'd the king-" Shall I know when
Before his throne I stand ?"
The beggar laugh'd (free winds in haste
Were wiping from the king's hot brow
The crimson lines the crown had traced):
"This is his presence now!"
At the king's gate the crafty Noon
Unwove its yellow nets of sun; Out of their sleep in terror soon
The guards waked, one by one.
"Ho here! ho there! has no man seen
The king?" the cry ran to and fro :
Beggar and king they laugh'd, I ween,
The laugh that free men know.
On the king's gate the moss grew grey;
The king came not. They call'd him dead;
And made his eldest son one day
Slave in his father's stead.
Fair is the night, and fair the day,
Now April is forgot of May,
Now into June May falls away :
Fair day! fair night! O give me back
The tide that all fair things did lack
Except my Love, except my Sweet!
Blow back, O wind! thou art not kind,
Though thou art sweet thou hast no mind
Her hair about my Sweet to bind.
O flowery sward! though thou art bright, praise thee not for thy delight,—
Thou hast not kiss'd her silver feet.
Thou know'st her not, O rustling tree!
What dost thou then to shadow me,
Whose shade her breast did never see?
O flowers! in vain ye bow adown:
Ye have not felt her odorous gown
Brush past your heads my lips to meet.
Flow on, great river! thou mayst deem
That far away, a summer stream,
Thou saw'st her limbs amidst the gleam,
And kiss'd her foot, and kiss'd her knee:
Yet get thee swift unto the sea!
With nought of true thou wilt me greet.
And Thou that men call by my name!
O helpless One! hast thou no shame
That thou must even look the same
As while agone, as while agone
When Thou and She were left alone,
And hands and lips and tears did meet ?
Grow weak and pine, lie down to die,
O body in thy misery,
Because short time and sweet goes by.
O foolish heart! how weak thou art :
Break, break, because thou needs must part
From thine own Love, from thine own Sweet!
BEFORE OUR LADY CAME.
Before our Lady came on earth
Little there was of joy or mirth :
About the borders of the sea
The sea-folk wander'd heavily;
About the wintry river side
The weary fishers would abide.
Alone, within the weaving-room,
The girls would sit before the loom,
And sing no song and play no play,—
Alone, from dawn to hot mid-day,
From mid-day unto evening,
The men a-field would work, nor sing
'Mid weary thoughts of man and God,—
Before thy feet the wet ways trod.
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