Dreams and Days: Poems Part 11

You should have known it from the first!

This was the truth they taught:

No treasured thing in heaven or earth Holds potency more weird Than our hearts hold, that throb from birth With wavering flames insphered.

And when from me the gems you took, On that strange April day, My nature, too, I gave, that shook With pa.s.sion's fateful play.

The mingled fate my love should give In these mute emblems shone, That more intensely burn and live-- While I am turned to stone.

V

_Listen now to what is said By the eighth opal, flas.h.i.+ng red And pale, by turns, with every breath-- The voice of the lover after death._

EIGHTH OPAL

I did not know before That we dead could rise and walk; That our voices, as of yore, Would blend in gentle talk.

I did not know her eyes Would so haunt mine after death, Or that she could hear my sighs, Low as the harp-string's breath.

But, ah, last night we met!

From our stilly trance we rose, Thrilled with all the old regret-- The grieving that G.o.d knows.

She asked: "Am I forgiven?"-- "And dost thou forgive?" I said, Ah! how long for joy we'd striven!

But now our hearts were dead.

Alas, for the lips I kissed And the sweet hope, long ago!

On her grave chill hangs the mist; On mine, white lies the snow.

VI

_Hearkening still, I hear this strain From the ninth opal's varied vein:_

NINTH OPAL

In the mountains of Mexico, Where the barren volcanoes throw Their fierce peaks high to the sky, With the strength of a tawny brute That sees heaven but to defy, And the soft, white hand of the snow Touches and makes them mute,--

Firm in the clasp of the ground The opal is found.

By the struggle of frost and fire Created, yet caught in a spell From which only human desire Can free it, what pa.s.sion profound In its dim, sweet bosom may dwell!

So was it with us, I think, Whose souls were formed on the brink Of a crater, where rain and flame Had mingled and crystallized.

One venturous day Love came; Found us; and bound with a link Of gold the jewels he prized.

The agonies old of the earth, Its plenitude and its dearth, The torrents of flame and of tears, All these in our souls were inborn.

And we must endure through the years The glory and burden of birth That filled us with fire of the morn.

Let the diamond lie in its mine; Let ruby and topaz s.h.i.+ne; The beryl sleep, and the emerald keep Its sunned-leaf green! We know The joy of sufferings deep That blend with a love divine, And the hidden warmth of the snow!

TENTH OPAL

Colors that tremble and perish, Atoms that follow the law, You mirror the truth which we cherish, You mirror the spirit we saw.

Glow of the daybreak tender, Flushed with an opaline gleam, And pa.s.sionate sunset-splendor-- Ye both but embody a dream.

Visions of cloud-hidden glory Breaking from sources of light Mimic the mist of life's story.

Mingled of scarlet and white.

Sunset-clouds iridescent, Opals, and mists of the day, Are thrilled alike with the crescent Delight of a deathless ray Shot through the hesitant trouble Of particles floating in s.p.a.ce, And touching each wandering bubble With tints of a rainbowed grace.

So through the veil of emotion Trembles the light of the truth; And so may the light of devotion Glorify life--age and youth.

Sufferings,--pangs that seem cruel,-- These are but atoms adrift: The light streams through, and a jewel Is formed for us, Heaven's own gift!

LOVE THAT LIVES

Dear face--bright, glinting hair; Dear life, whose heart is mine-- The thought of you is prayer, The love of you divine.

In starlight, or in rain; In the sunset's shrouded glow; Ever, with joy or pain, To you my quick thoughts go

Like winds or clouds, that fleet Across the hungry s.p.a.ce Between, and find you, sweet, Where life again wins grace.

Now, as in that once young Year that so softly drew My heart to where it clung, I long for, gladden in you.

And when in the silent hours I whisper your sacred name, Like an altar-fire it showers My blood with fragrant flame!

Perished is all that grieves; And lo, our old-new joys Are gathered as in sheaves, Held in love's equipoise.

Ours is the love that lives; Its springtime blossoms blow 'Mid the fruit that autumn gives, And its life outlasts the snow.

IV