The Poems of Henry Van Dyke Part 21

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When I embrace her in a fragrant shrine Of climbing roses, my first kiss shall fall On you, sweet eyes, that mutely told me all,-- Through you my soul will rise to make her mine.

Upon your drooping lids, blue-veined and fair, The touch of tenderness I first will lay, You springs of joy, lights of my gloomy day, Whose dear discovered secret bade me dare!

And when you open, eyes of my fond dove, Your look will s.h.i.+ne with new delight, made sure By this forerunner of a faithful love.

Tis just, dear eyes, so pensive and so pure, That you should bear the sealing kisses true Of love unhoped that came to me through you.

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This was my thought; but when beneath the rose That hides the lonely bench where lovers rest, In friendly dusk I held her on my breast For one brief moment,--while I saw you close, Dear, yielding eyes, as if your lids, blue-veined And pure, were meekly fain at last to bear The proffered homage of my wistful prayer,-- In that high moment, by your grace obtained,

Forgetting your avowals, your alarms, Your anguish and your tears, sweet weary eyes, Forgetting that you gave her to my arms, I broke my promise; and my first caress, Ungrateful, sought her lips in sweet surprise,-- Her lips, which breathed a word of tenderness!

VII

AN EVOCATION

When first upon my brow I felt your kiss, A sudden splendour filled me, like the ray That promptly runs to crown the hills with bliss Of purple dawn before the golden day, And ends the gloom it crosses at one leap.

My brow was not unworthy your caress; For some foreboding joy had bade me keep From all affront the place your lips would bless.

Yet when your mouth upon my mouth did lay The royal touch, no rapture made me thrill, But I remained confused, ashamed, and still.

Beneath your kiss, my queen without a stain, I felt,--like ghosts who rise at Judgment Day,-- A throng of ancient kisses vile and vain!

VIII

RESIGNATION

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Well, you will triumph, dear and n.o.ble friend!

The holy love that wounded you so deep Will bring you balm, and on your heart asleep The fragrant dew of healing will descend.

Your children,--ah, how quickly they will grow Between us, like a wall that fronts the sun, Lifting a screen with rosy buds o'errun, To hide the shaded path where I must go.

You'll walk in light; and dreaming less and less Of him who droops in gloom beyond the wall, Your mother-soul will fill with happiness When first you hear your grandchild's babbling call, Beneath the braided bloom of flower and leaf That We has wrought to veil your vanished grief.

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Then I alone shall suffer! I shall bear The double burden of our grief alone, While I enlarge my soul to take your share Of pain and hold it close beside my own.

Our love is torn asunder; but the crown Of thorns that love has woven I will make My relic sacrosanct, and press it down Upon my bleeding heart that will not break.

Ah, that will be the depth of solitude!

For my regret, that evermore endures, Will know that new-born hope has conquered yours; And when the evening comes, no gentle brood Of wondering children, gathered at my side, Will soothe away the tears I cannot hide.

_Freely rendered from the French_, 1911.

RAPPEL D'AMOUR

Come home, my love, come home!

The twilight is falling, The whippoorwill calling, The night is very near, And the darkness full of fear, Come home to my arms, come home!

Come home, my love, come home!

In folly we parted, And now, lonely hearted, I know you look in vain For a love like mine again; Come home to my arms, come home!

Come home, dear love, come home!

I've much to forgive you, And more yet to give you.

I'll put a little light In the window every night,-- Come home to my arms, come home.

THE RIVER OF DREAMS

The river of dreams runs quietly down From its hidden home in the forest of sleep, With a measureless motion calm and deep; And my boat slips out on the current brown, In a tranquil bay where the trees incline Far over the waves, and creepers twine Far over the boughs, as if to steep Their drowsy bloom in the tide that goes By a secret way that no man knows, Under the branches bending, Under the shadows blending, And the body rests, and the pa.s.sive soul Is drifted along to an unseen goal, While the river of dreams runs down.

The river of dreams runs gently down, With a leisurely flow that bears my bark Out of the visionless woods of dark, Into a glory that seems to crown Valley and hill with light from far, Clearer than sun or moon or star, Luminous, wonderful, weird, oh, mark How the radiance pulses everywhere, In the shadowless vault of lucid air!

Over the mountains s.h.i.+mmering, Up from the fountains glimmering,-- Tis the mystical glow of the inner light, That s.h.i.+nes in the very noon of night, While the river of dreams runs down.

The river of dreams runs murmuring down, Through the fairest garden that ever grew; And now, as my boat goes drifting through, A hundred voices arise to drown The river's whisper, and charm my ear With a sound I have often longed to hear,-- A magical music, strange and new, The wild-rose ballad, the lilac-song, The virginal chant of the lilies' throng, Blue-bells silverly ringing, Pansies merrily singing,-- For all the flowers have found their voice; And I feel no wonder, but only rejoice, While the river of dreams runs down.

The river of dreams runs broadening down, Away from the peaceful garden-sh.o.r.e, With a current that deepens more and more, By the league-long walls of a mighty town; And I see the hurrying crowds of men Gather like clouds and dissolve again; But never a face I have seen before.

They come and go, they s.h.i.+ft and change, Their ways and looks are wild and strange,-- This is a city haunted, A mult.i.tude enchanted!

At the sight of the throng I am dumb with fear, And never a sound from their lips I hear, While the river of dreams runs down.

The river of dreams runs darkly down Into the heart of a desolate land, With ruined temples half-buried in sand, And riven hills, whose black brows frown Over the shuddering, lonely wave.

The air grows dim with the dust of the grave; No sign of life on the dreary strand; No ray of light on the mountain's crest; And a weary wind that cannot rest Comes down the valley creeping, Lamenting, wailing, weeping,-- I strive to cry out, but my fluttering breath Is choked with the clinging fog of death, While the river of dreams runs down.

The river of dreams runs trembling down, Out of the valley of nameless fear, Into a country calm and clear, With a mystical name of high renown,-- A name that I know, but may not tell,-- And there the friends that I loved so well, Old companions forever dear, Come beckoning down to the river sh.o.r.e, And hail my boat with the voice of yore.

Fair and sweet are the places Where I see their unchanged faces!

And I feel in my heart with a secret thrill, That the loved and lost are living still, While the river of dreams runs down.

The river of dreams runs dimly down By a secret way that no man knows; But the soul lives on while the river flows Through the gardens bright and the forests brown; And I often think that our whole life seems To be more than half made up of dreams.

The changing sights and the pa.s.sing shows, The morning hopes and the midnight fears, Are left behind with the vanished years; Onward, with ceaseless motion, The life-stream flows to the ocean, While we follow the tide, awake or asleep, Till we see the dawn on Love's great deep, And the shadows melt, and the soul is free,-- The river of dreams has reached the sea.

1900.

SONGS OF HEARTH AND ALTAR