Music, and Other Poems Part 3

For love is but the heart's immortal thirst To be completely known and all forgiven, Even as sinful souls that enter Heaven: So take me, dear, and understand my worst, And freely pardon it, because confessed, And let me find in loving thee, my best.

May, 1902.

THE CHILD IN THE GARDEN

When to the garden of untroubled thought I came of late, and saw the open door, And wished again to enter, and explore The sweet, wild ways with stainless bloom inwrought, And bowers of innocence with beauty fraught, It seemed some purer voice must speak before I dared to tread that garden loved of yore, That Eden lost unknown and found unsought.

Then just within the gate I saw a child,-- A stranger-child, yet to my heart most dear; He held his hands to me, and softly smiled With eyes that knew no shade of sin or fear: "Come in," he said, "and play awhile with me; "I am the little child you used to be."

January, 1903.

LOVE'S REASON

For that thy face is fair I love thee not; Nor yet because the light of thy brown eyes Hath gleams of wonder and of glad surprise, Like woodland streams that cross a sunlit spot: Nor for thy beauty, born without a blot, Most perfect when it s.h.i.+nes through no disguise Pure as the star of Eve in Paradise,-- For all these outward things I love thee not:

But for a something in thy form and face, Thy looks and ways, of primal harmony; A certain soothing charm, a vital grace That breathes of the eternal womanly, And makes me feel the warmth of Nature's breast, When in her arms, and thine, I sink to rest.

February, 1904.

PORTRAIT AND REALITY

If on the closed curtain of my sight My fancy paints thy portrait far away, I see thee still the same, by night or day; Crossing the crowded street, or moving bright 'Mid festal throngs, or reading by the light Of shaded lamp some friendly poet's lay, Or shepherding the children at their play,-- The same sweet self, and my unchanged delight.

But when I see thee near, I recognize In every dear familiar way some strange Perfection, and behold in April guise The magic of thy beauty that doth range Through many moods with infinite surprise,-- Never the same, and sweeter with each change.

May, 1904.

THE WIND OF SORROW

The fire of love was burning, yet so low That in the dark we scarce could see its rays, And in the light of perfect-placid days Nothing but smouldering embers dull and slow.

Vainly, for love's delight, we sought to throw New pleasures on the pyre to make it blaze: In life's calm air and tranquil-prosperous ways We missed the radiant heat of long ago.

Then in the night, a night of sad alarms, Bitter with pain and black with fog of fears, That drove us trembling to each other's arms-- Across the gulf of darkness and salt tears, Into life's calm the wind of sorrow came, And fanned the fire of love to clearest flame.

March, 1903.

PATRIA

I would not even ask my heart to say If I could love some other land as well As thee, my country, had I felt the spell Of Italy at birth, or learned to obey The charm of France, or England's mighty sway.

I would not be so much an infidel As once to dream, or fas.h.i.+on words to tell, What land could hold my love from thee away.

For like a law of nature in my blood I feel thy sweet and secret sovereignty, And woven through my soul thy vital sign.

My life is but a wave, and thou the flood; I am a leaf and thou the mother-tree; Nor should I be at all, were I not thine.

June, 1904.

LEGENDS

A LEGEND OF SERVICE

It pleased the Lord of Angels (praise His name!) To hear, one day, report from those who came With pitying sorrow, or exultant joy, To tell of earthly tasks in His employ: For some were sorry when they saw how slow The stream of heavenly love on earth must flow; And some were glad because their eyes had seen, Along its banks, fresh flowers and living green.

So, at a certain hour, before the throne The youngest angel, Asmiel, stood alone; Nor glad, nor sad, but full of earnest thought, And thus his tidings to the Master brought: "Lord, in the city Lupon I have found "Three servants of thy holy name, renowned "Above their fellows. One is very wise, "With thoughts that ever range above the skies; "And one is gifted with the golden speech "That makes men glad to hear when he will teach; "And one, with no rare gift or grace endued, "Has won the people's love by doing good.

"With three such saints Lupon is trebly blest; "But, Lord, I fain would know, which loves Thee best?"

Then spake the Lord of Angels, to whose look The hearts of all are like an open book: "In every soul the secret thought I read, "And well I know who loves me best indeed.

"But every life has pages vacant still, "Whereon a man may write the thing he will; "Therefore I read in silence, day by day, "And wait for hearts untaught to learn my way.

"But thou shalt go to Lupon, to the three "Who serve me there, and take this word from me: "Tell each of them his Master bids him go "Alone to Spiran's huts, across the snow; "There he shall find a certain task for me: "But what, I do not tell to them nor thee.

"Give thou the message, make my word the test, "And crown for me the one who answers best."

Silent the angel stood, with folded hands, To take the imprint of his Lord's commands; Then drew one breath, obedient and elate, And pa.s.sed, the self-same hour, through Lupon's gate.

First to the Temple door he made his way; And there, because it was an holy-day, He saw the folk by thousands thronging, stirred By ardent thirst to hear the preacher's word.

Then, while the echoes murmured Bernol's name, Through aisles that hushed behind him, Bernol came; Strung to the keenest pitch of conscious might, With lips prepared and firm, and eyes alight.

One moment at the pulpit steps he knelt In silent prayer, and on his shoulder felt The angel's hand:--"The Master bids thee go "Alone to Spiran's huts, across the snow, "To serve Him there." Then Bernol's hidden face Went white as death, and for about the s.p.a.ce Of ten slow heart-beats there was no reply; Till Bernol looked around and whispered, "WHY?"

But answer to his question came there none; The angel sighed, and with a sigh was gone.

Within the humble house where Malvin spent His studious years, on holy things intent, Sweet stillness reigned; and there the angel found The saintly sage immersed in thought profound, Weaving with patient toil and willing care A web of wisdom, wonderful and fair: A seamless robe for Truth's great bridal meet, And needing but one thread to be complete.

Then Asmiel touched his hand, and broke the thread Of fine-spun thought, and very gently said, "The One of whom thou thinkest bids thee go "Alone to Spiran's huts, across the snow, "To serve Him there." With sorrow and surprise Malvin looked up, reluctance in his eyes.

The broken thought, the strangeness of the call, The perilous pa.s.sage of the mountain-wall, The solitary journey, and the length Of ways unknown, too great for his frail strength, Appalled him. With a doubtful brow He scanned the doubtful task, and muttered "HOW?"

But Asmiel answered, as he turned to go, With cold, disheartened voice, "I do not know."

Now as he went, with fading hope, to seek The third and last to whom G.o.d bade him speak, Scarce twenty steps away whom should he meet But Fermor, hurrying cheerful down the street, With ready heart that faced his work like play, And joyed to find it greater every day!

The angel stopped him with uplifted hand, And gave without delay his Lord's command: "He whom thou servest here would have thee go "Alone to Spiran's huts, across the snow, "To serve Him there." Ere Asmiel breathed again The eager answer leaped to meet him, "WHEN?"

The angel's face with inward joy grew bright, And all his figure glowed with heavenly light; He took the golden circlet from his brow And gave the crown to Fermor, answering, "Now!

"For thou hast met the Master's bidden test, "And I have found the man who loves Him best.

"Not thine, nor mine, to question or reply "When He commands us, asking 'how?' or 'why?'

"He knows the cause; His ways are wise and just; "Who serves the King must serve with perfect trust."