The Kingdom of Love Part 13

So I left her to grieve for a faithless lover, And to hide her heart from the cold world's sight As women do hide them, the wide earth over; My G.o.d! _was_ it Grace that I saw to-night?

I thought of her married, and often with pity, A poor man's wife in some dull place.

And now to know she is here in the city, Under the gaslight, and with _that_ face!

Yet I knew it at once, in spite of the daubing Of paint and powder, and she knew me; She drew a quick breath that was almost sobbing And shrank in the shade so I should not see.

There was h.e.l.l in her eyes! She was worn and jaded Her soul is at war with the life she has led.

As I looked on that face so strangely faded I wonder G.o.d did not strike me dead.

While I have been happy and gay and jolly, Received by the very best people in town, That girl whom I led in the way to folly, Has gone on recklessly down and down.

Two o'clock, and no sleep has found me; That face I saw in the street-lamp's light Peers everywhere out from the shadows around me-- I know how a murderer feels to-night.

ARISTARCHUS (THE NAME OF THE MOUNTAIN IN THE MOON)

It was long and long ago our love began; It is something all unmeasured by time's span: In an era and a spot, by the Modern World forgot, We were lovers, ere G.o.d named us, Maid and Man.

Like the memory of music made by streams, All the beauty of that other love life seems; But I always thought it so, and at last I know, I know, We were lovers in the Land of Silver Dreams.

When the moon was at the full, I found the place; Out and out, across the seas of s.h.i.+ning s.p.a.ce, On a quest that could not fail, I unfurled my memory's sail And cast anchor in the Bay of Love's First Grace.

At the foot of Aristarchus lies this bay, (Oh! the wonder of that mountain far away!) And the Land of Silver Dreams all about it s.h.i.+nes and gleams, Where we loved before G.o.d fas.h.i.+oned night or day.

We were souls, in eerie bodies made of light; We were winged, and we could speed from height to height; And we built a nest called Hope, on the sheer Moon Mountain Slope, Where we sat, and watched new worlds wheel into sight.

And we saw this little planet known as Earth, When the mighty Mother Chaos gave it birth; But in love's conceit we thought all those worlds from s.p.a.ce were brought, For no greater aim or purpose than our mirth.

And we laughed in love's abandon, and we sang, Till the echoing peals of Aristarchus rang, As hot hissing comets came, and white suns burst into flame, And a myriad worlds from out the darkness sprang.

I can show you, when the Moon is at its best, Aristarchus, and the spot we made our nest, Oh! I always wondered why, when the Moon was in the sky, I was stirred with such strange longing, and unrest.

And I knew the subtle beauty and the force Of our love was never bounded by Earth's course.

So with Memory's sail unfurled, I went cruising past this world, And I followed till I traced it to its source.

DELL AND I

In a mansion grand, just over the way Lives bonny, beautiful Dell; You may have heard of this lady gay, For she is a famous belle.

I live in a low cot opposite-- You never have heard of me; For when the lady moon s.h.i.+nes bright, Who would a pale star see?

But ah, well! ah, well! I am happier far than Dell, As strange as that may be.

Dell has robes of the richest kind-- Pinks and purples and blues; And she worries her maid and frets her mind To know which one to choose.

Which shall it be now, silk or lace?

In which will I be most fair?

She stands by the mirror with anxious face, And her maid looks on in despair.

Ah, well! ah, well! I am not worried, you see, like Dell, For I have but one to wear.

Dell has lovers of every grade, Of every age and style; Suitors flutter about the maid, And bask in her word and smile.

She keeps them all, with a coquette's art, As suits her mood or mirth, And vainly wonders if in _one_ heart Of all true love has birth.

Ah, well! ah, well! I never question myself like Dell, For I _know_ a true heart's worth.

Pleasure to Dell seems stale and old, Often she sits and sighs; Life to me is a tale untold, Each day is a glad surprise.

Dell will marry, of course, some day, After her belles.h.i.+p is run; She will cavil the matter in worldly way And wed Dame Fortune's son But, ah, well! sweet to tell, I shall not dally and choose like Dell, For I love and am loved by--_one_.

ABOUT MAY

One night Nurse Sleep held out her hand To tired little May.

"Come, go with me to Wonderland,"

She said, "I know the way.

Just rock-a-by--hum-m-m, And lo! we come To the place where the dream-girls play."

But naughty May, she wriggled away From Sleep's soft arms, and said: "I must stay awake till I eat my cake, And then I will go to bed; With a by-lo, away I will go."

But the good nurse shook her head.

She shook her head and away she sped, While May sat munching her crumb.

But after the cake there came an ache, Though May cried: "Come, Sleep, come, And it's oh! my! let us by-lo-by"-- All save the echoes were dumb.

She ran after Sleep toward Wonderland, Ran till the morning light; And just as she caught her and grasped her hand, A nightmare gave her a fright.

And it's by-lo, I hope she'll know Better another night.

VANITY FAIR

In Vanity Fair, as we bow and smile, As we talk of the opera after the weather, As we chat of fas.h.i.+on and fad and style, We know we are playing a part together.

You know that the mirth she wears, she borrows; She knows you laugh but to hide your sorrows; We know that under the silks and laces, And back of beautiful, beaming faces, Lie secret trouble and grim despair, In Vanity Fair.

In Vanity Fair, on dress parade, Our colours look bright and our swords are gleaming; But many a uniform's worn and frayed, And most of the weapons, despite their seeming, Are dull and blunted and badly battered, And close inspection will show how tattered And stained are the banners that float above us.

Our comrades hate, while they swear to love us; And robed like Pleasure walks gaunt-eyed Care, In Vanity Fair.

In Vanity Fair, as we strive for place, As we rush and jostle and crowd and hurry, We know the goal is not worth the race-- We know the prize is not worth the worry; That all our gain means loss for another; That in fighting for self we wound each other; That the crown of success weighs hard and presses The brow of the victor with thorns--not caresses; That honours are empty and worthless to wear, In Vanity Fair.

But in Vanity Fair, as we pa.s.s along, We meet strong hearts that are worth the knowing 'Mong poor paste jewels that deck the throng, We see a solitaire sometimes glowing.

We find grand souls under robes of fas.h.i.+on, 'Neath light demeanours hide strength and pa.s.sion; And fair fine honour and G.o.dlike resistance In halls of pleasure may have existence; And we find pure altars and shrines of prayer In Vanity Fair.