The Lord of Misrule, and Other Poems Part 6

The May-tree on the hill Stands in the night So fragrant and so still, So dusky white.

That, stealing from the wood In that sweet air, You'd think Diana stood Before you there.

If it be so, her bloom Trembles with bliss.

She waits across the gloom Her shepherd's kiss.

Touch her. A bird will start From those pure snows,-- The dark and fluttering heart Endymion knows.

OLD LETTERS

Read them? Strangle that sick cry?

Christ G.o.d, no!

Shut the box. Lock the lid.

You'll be safer--so.

Could you read one crooked word Scrawled so long ago, Love would rise before your face And blind you, like a blow.

_Close it! Quickly! For I caught, In a childish hand, Something that she never thought I should understand._

So I crouch. And shall our G.o.d Prove Him baser yet, He who filled her eyes with light Quite renounce His debt,

Give her worlds to love, and then-- Ere the sun be set, Strike her down and coffin all?

Christ, shall _He_ forget?

_Close it! Quickly! For I caught, In a childish hand, Something that she never thought I should understand._

LAMPS

Immense and silent night, Over the lonely downs I go; And the deep gloom is p.r.i.c.ked with points of light Above me and below.

I cannot break the bars Of Time and Fate; and if I scan the sky, There comes to me, questioning those cold stars, No signal, no reply.

Yet are they less than these-- These village-lights, which I do scan Below me, or far out on darkling seas Those messages from man?

Round me the darkness rolls.

Out of the depth, each lance of light Shoots from lost lanthorns, thrills from living souls, And shall I doubt the height?

No signal? No reply?

As through the deepening night I roam, Hope opens all her cas.e.m.e.nts in the sky And lights the lamps of home.

AT EDEN GATES

_To Eden Garden_--so the sign-post said; I could not see the road; But, where the Suss.e.x clover blossomed red Its runaway blisses flowed.

I traced them back for many a night and day, --The way she, too, had gone!-- Till lo, the terrible Angel in the way Inexorably shone.

Up to the Gates, a fearless fool I came; Between the lily and rose Fluttering these evil rags of sordid shame, A thing to scare the crows.

"And hath the Master given thee, then, no word?"

The scornful Angel smiled: Only two souls may pa.s.s my Flaming Sword,-- The Lover and the Child.

I raised my head,--"Now let all h.e.l.l make mirth, Where Love went, I go, too!"

His eyes met mine. The sword sank to the earth, And let her lover through.

THE PSYCHE OF OUR DAY

As constant lovers may rejoice With seas between, with worlds between, Because a fragrance and a voice Are round them everywhere: So let me travel to the grave, Believing still--for I have seen-- That Love's triumphant banners wave Beyond my own despair.

I have no trust in my own worth; Yet have I faith, O love, for you, That every beauty in bloom or leaf, That even age and wrong May touch, may hurt you, on this earth, But only, only as kisses do; Or as the fretted string of grief Completes the bliss of song;

That you shall see, on any grave The snow fall, like that unseen hand Which O, so often, pressed your hair To cherish and console: That seas may roar and winds rave But you shall feel and understand What vast caresses everywhere Convey you to the goal.

So was it always in the years When Love began, when Love began With eyes that were not touched of tears And lips that still could sing-- And all around us, in the may, The child-G.o.d with his laughter ran, And every bloom, on every spray, Betrayed his fluttering wing.

So hold it, keep it, count it, sweet, Until the end, until the end.

It is not cruelty, but bliss That pains and is so fond: Crush life like thyme beneath your feet, And O, my love, when that strange friend, The Shadow of Wings, which men call Death Shall close your eyes, with that last kiss, Ask not His name. A rosier breath Shall waken you--beyond.

PARACLETE

Tongue hath not told it, Heart hath not known; Yet shall the bough swing When it hath flown.

Dreams have denied it, Fools forsworn: Yet it hath comforted Each man born.

Once and again it is Blown to me, Sweet from the wild thyme, Salt from the sea;

Blown thro' the ferns Faint from the sky; Shadowed in water, Yet clear as a cry.

Light on a face, Or touch of a hand, Making my still heart Understand.