Astrophel and Other Poems Part 10

Strong as death is the dark day's breath whose blast has withered the life we see Here where light is the child of night, and less than visions or dreams are we: Strong as death; but a word, a breath, a dream is stronger than death can be.

Strong as truth and superb in youth eternal, fair as the sundawn's flame Seen when May on her first-born day bids earth exult in her radiant name, Lives, clothed round with its praise and crowned with love that dies not, his love-lit fame.

III

Fairer far than the morning star, and sweet for us as the songs that rang Loud through heaven from the choral Seven when all the stars of the morning sang, s.h.i.+nes the song that we loved so long--since first such love in us flamed and sprang.

England glows as a sunlit rose from mead to mountain, from sea to sea, Bright with love and with pride above all taint of sorrow that needs must be, Needs must live for an hour, and give its rainbow's glory to lawn and lea.

Not through tears shall the new-born years behold him, crowned with applause of men, Pa.s.s at last from a l.u.s.trous past to life that lightens beyond their ken, Glad and dead, and from earthward led to sunward, guided of Imogen.

THE BALLAD OF MELICERTES

IN MEMORY OF THEODORE DE BANVILLE

Death, a light outs.h.i.+ning life, bids heaven resume Star by star the souls whose light made earth divine.

Death, a night outs.h.i.+ning day, sees burn and bloom Flower by flower, and sun by sun, the fames that s.h.i.+ne Deathless, higher than life beheld their sovereign sign.

Dead Simonides of Ceos, late restored, Given again of G.o.d, again by man deplored, Shone but yestereve, a glory frail as breath.

Frail? But fame's breath quickens, kindles, keeps in ward, Life so sweet as this that dies and casts off death.

Mother's love, and rapture of the sea, whose womb Breeds eternal life of joy that stings like brine, Pride of song, and joy to dare the singer's doom, Sorrow soft as sleep and laughter bright as wine, Flushed and filled with fragrant fire his lyric line.

As the sea-sh.e.l.l utters, like a stricken chord, Music uttering all the sea's within it stored, Poet well-beloved, whose praise our sorrow saith, So thy songs retain thy soul, and so record Life so sweet as this that dies and casts off death.

Side by side we mourned at Gautier's golden tomb: Here in spirit now I stand and mourn at thine.

Yet no breath of death strikes thence, no shadow of gloom, Only light more bright than gold of the inmost mine, Only steam of incense warm from love's own shrine.

Not the darkling stream, the sundering Stygian ford, Not the hour that smites and severs as a sword, Not the night subduing light that perisheth, Smite, subdue, divide from us by doom abhorred, Life so sweet as this that dies and casts off death.

Prince of song more sweet than honey, lyric lord, Not thy France here only mourns a light adored, One whose love-lit fame the world inheriteth.

Strangers too, now brethren, hail with heart's accord Life so sweet as this that dies and casts off death.

AU TOMBEAU DE BANVILLE

La plus douce des voix qui vibraient sous le ciel Se tait: les rossignols ailes pleurent le frere Qui s'envole au-dessus de l'apre et sombre terre, Ne lui laissant plus voir que l'etre essentiel,

Esprit qui chante et rit, fleur d'une ame sans fiel.

L'ombre elyseenne, ou la nuit n'est que lumiere, Revoit, tout revetu de splendeur douce et fiere, Melicerte, poete a la bouche de miel.

Dieux exiles, pa.s.sants celestes de ce monde, Dont on entend parfois dans notre nuit profonde Vibrer la voix, fremir les ailes, vous savez S'il vous aima, s'il vous pleura, lui dont la vie Et le chant rappelaient les votres. Recevez L'ame de Melicerte affranchie et ravie.

LIGHT: AN EPICEDE

TO PHILIP BOURKE MARSTON

Love will not weep because the seal is broken That sealed upon a life beloved and brief Darkness, and let but song break through for token How deep, too far for even thy song's relief, Slept in thy soul the secret springs of grief.

Thy song may soothe full many a soul hereafter, As tears, if tears will come, dissolve despair; As here but late, with smile more bright than laughter, Thy sweet strange yearning eyes would seem to bear Witness that joy might cleave the clouds of care.

Two days agone, and love was one with pity When love gave thought wings toward the glimmering goal Where, as a shrine lit in some darkling city, Shone soft the shrouded image of thy soul: And now thou art healed of life; thou art healed, and whole.

Yea, two days since, all we that loved thee pitied: And now with wondering love, with shame of face, We think how foolish now, how far unfitted, Should be from us, toward thee who hast run thy race, Pity--toward thee, who hast won the painless place;

The painless world of death, yet unbeholden Of eyes that dream what light now lightens thine And will not weep. Thought, yearning toward those olden Dear hours that sorrow sees and sees not s.h.i.+ne, Bows tearless down before a flameless shrine:

A flameless altar here of life and sorrow Quenched and consumed together. These were one, One thing for thee, as night was one with morrow And utter darkness with the sovereign sun: And now thou seest life, sorrow, and darkness done.

And yet love yearns again to win thee hither; Blind love, and loveless, and unworthy thee: Here where I watch the hours of darkness wither, Here where mine eyes were glad and sad to see Thine that could see not mine, though turned on me.

But now, if aught beyond sweet sleep lie hidden, And sleep be sealed not fast on dead men's sight For ever, thine hath grace for ours forbidden, And sees us compa.s.sed round with change and night: Yet light like thine is ours, if love be light.

THRENODY

Watching here alone by the fire whereat last year Sat with me the friend that a week since yet was near, That a week has borne so far and hid so deep, Woe am I that I may not weep, May not yearn to behold him here.

Shame were mine, and little the love I bore him were, Now to mourn that better he fares than love may fare Which desires, and would not have indeed, its will, Would not love him so worse than ill, Would not clothe him again with care.

Yet can love not choose but remember, hearts but ache, Eyes but darken, only for one vain thought's poor sake, For the thought that by this hearth's now lonely side Two fast friends, on the day he died, Looked once more for his hand to take.

Let thy soul forgive them, and pardon heal the sin, Though their hearts be heavy to think what then had been, The delight that never while they live may be-- Love's communion of speech with thee, Soul and speech with the soul therein.

O my friend, O brother, a glory veiled and marred!

Never love made moan for a life more evil-starred.

Was it envy, chance, or chance-compelling fate, Whence thy spirit was bruised so late, Bowed so heavily, bound so hard?

Now released, it may be,--if only love might know-- Filled and fired with sight, it beholds us blind and low With a pity keener yet, if that may be, Even than ever was this that we Felt, when love of thee wrought us woe.

None may tell the depths and the heights of life and death.

What we may we give thee: a word that sorrow saith, And that none will heed save sorrow: scarce a song.

All we may, who have loved thee long, Take: the best we can give is breath.