Love Letters of a Violinist and Other Poems Part 8

XX.

Say only this; but pray for me withal, And let a pitying thought possess thee then, Whether at home, at sea, or in a glen In some wild nook. It were a joy to fall Dead at thy feet, as at a trumpet's call, For I should then be peerless among men!

[Ill.u.s.tration: Letter VII HOPE]

LETTER VII.

HOPE.

I.

O tears of mine! Ye start I know not why, Unless, indeed, to prove that I am glad, Albeit fast wedded to a thought so sad I scarce can deem that my despair will die, Or that the sun, careering up the sky, Will warm again a world that seem'd so mad.

II.

And yet, who knows? The world is, to the mind, Much as we make it; and the things we tend Wear, for the nonce, the liveries that we lend.

And some such things are fair, though ill-defined, And some are scathing, like the wintry wind; And some begin, and some will never end.

III.

How can I think, ye tears! that I have been The thing I was--so doubting, so unfit, And so unblest, with brows for ever knit, And hair unkempt, and face becoming lean And cold and pale, as if I late had seen Medusa's head, and all the scowls of it?

IV.

Oh, why is this? Oh, why have I so long Brooded on grief, and made myself a bane To golden fields and all the happy plain Where once I met the Lady of my Song, The lady for whose sake I shall be strong, But never weak or diffident again?

V.

I was too shorn of hope. I did employ Words like a mourner; and to Her I bow'd, As one might kneel to Glory in its shroud.

But I am crown'd to-day, and not so coy-- Crown'd with a kiss, and sceptred with a joy; And all the world shall see that I am proud.

VI.

I shall be sated now. I shall receive More than the guerdon of my wildest thought, More than the most that ecstasy has taught To saints in Heaven; and more than poets weave In madcap verse, to warn us, or deceive; And more than Adam knew ere Eve was brought.

VII.

I know the meaning now of all the signs, And all the joys I dreamt of in my dreams.

I realise the comfort of the streams When they reflect the shadows of the pines.

I know that there is hope for celandines, And that a tree is merrier than it seems.

VIII.

I know the mighty hills have much to tell; And that they quake, at times, in undertone, And talk to stars, because so much alone And so unlov'd. I know that, in the dell, Flowers are betroth'd, and that a wedding-bell Rings in the breeze on which a moth has flown.

IX.

I know such things, because to loving hearts Nature is keen, and pleasures, long delay'd, Quicken the pulse, and turn a truant shade Into a sprite, equipp'd with all the darts That once were Cupid's; and the day departs, And sun and moon conjoin, as man with maid.

X.

The lover knows how grand a thing is love, How grand, how sweet a thing, and how divine More than the pouring out of choicest wine; More than the whiteness of the whitest dove; More than the glittering of the stars above; And such a love, O Love! is thine and mine.

XI.

To me the world, to-day, has grown so fair I dare not trust myself to think of it.

Visions of light around me seem to flit, And Phoebus loosens all his golden hair Right down the sky; and daisies turn and stare At things we see not with our human wit.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

XII.

And here, beside me, there are mosses green In shelter'd nooks, and gnats in bright array, And lordly beetles out for holiday; And spiders small that work in silver sheen To make a kirtle for the Fairy Queen, That she may don it on the First of May.

XIII.

I hear, in thought, I hear the very words That Arethusa, turn'd into a brook, Spoke to Diana, when her leave she took Of all she lov'd--low-weeping as the birds Shrill'd out of tune, and all the frighten'd herds Scamper'd to death, in spite of pipe and crook.

XIV.

I know, to-day, why winds were made to sigh And why they hide themselves, and why they gloat In some old ruin! Mote confers with mote, And sh.e.l.l with sh.e.l.l; and corals live and die, And die and live, below the deep. And why?

To make a necklace for my lady's throat.

XV.

And yet the world, in all its varied girth, Lacks what we look for. There is something base In mere existence--something in the face Of men and women which accepts the earth, And all its havings, as its right of birth, But not its quittance, not its resting-place.

XVI.