A Lovers Diary, vol 1 | Page 5

a seat?Where I can feel the end of things complete,?Where no hot breath of ill can scorch the brow.
O mystic wings of Art, about thee Truth?Makes atmosphere of purity and power;?'Tis man's breath kills the spring's soft-petaled flower--
Ye give a refuge for the heart of youth.
Ye give a value for all loss in age,?When feebled eyes search for forgotten springs;?Ye fan the breeze that turns the moulded page,
And carry back the soul to ardent things.?Poor payment can I give, but here engage?I thee to be Love's airy equipage.
WAS IT THY FACE?
Was it thy face I saw when, as a child,?Night after night I watched one quiet star?Shine 'tween my curtain and the window-bar?Until I slept, and made my sleep more mild?
Was it thy influence outreaching then?To me, o'er untrod years, o'er varying days,?To give me courage, as from phase to phase?Of youth's desires I passed to deeds of men?
Was it because the star was hid awhile,?That I in blindness wandered from my path;?That I wooed Folly with her mumming smile,
And sought for Lethe in a cup of wrath??Another hand touched mine with sadness there,?And saved me till I saw thy face appear.
A WOMAN'S HAND
A woman's hand. Lo, I am thankful now?That with its touch I have walked all my days;?Rising from fateful and forbidden ways,?To find a woman's hand upon my brow;
Soft as a pad of rose-leaves, and as pure?As upraised palms of angels, seen in dreams:?And soothed by it, to stand as it beseems?A man who strives to conquer and endure.
A woman's hand!--there is no better thing?Of all things human; it is half divine;?It hath been more to this lame life of mine,
When faith was weakness, and despair was king.?Man more than all men, Thou wast glad to bless?A woman's sacrifice and tenderness.
ONE FACE I SEE
One face I see by thine whene'er I hold?Converse with things that are or things that were; Whene'er I seek life's hidden folds to stir,?And watch the inner to the outer rolled.
Dost thou not know her, O beloved one??Hast thou not felt her sunshine on thy face??In me hast thou not learned some signs to trace?Of that dear soul who calleth me her son?
Such as I was that in thy countenance?Found favour, from her it was gathered most.?To my mad youth her gentle surveillance
Was like a watch-fire on a rock-bound coast.?She drew about me motherhood, and thou?Hast with Love's holy chrism touched my brow.
MOTHER
She gave me courage when I weakly said,?"O see how drifting, derelict, am I!?The tide runs counter, and the wind is high;?I see no channel through the rocks ahead.
My arm is impotent; what worth to trim?The bending sails! Look, I shall quaff a cup?To Fate, while the wild ocean swallows up?The shipwrecked youth, the man who lives in him."
She said: "But thou hast valour, dear, too much?For such as this; thou hast grave embassy,?Given with thy birth; would'st thou thine honour smutch
With coward failing? Dear son, breast the sea."?Firm-purposed from that hour, through wind and wave, I brought my message till thou shelter gave.
WHEN FIRST I SAW THEE
When first I saw thee, lady, straightway came?The thought that somehow, somewhere, destiny,?Through blinding paths of happiness or blame,?Would bend my way of life, my soul to thee.
But then I put it from me: was not I?A wanderer? To-morrow I should be?In other lands-beside another sea;?Nay, you were but a star-gleam in my sky.
And so I came not in your sight awhile,?You gave no thought, and I passed not away;?But like some traveller in a deep defile
I walked in darkness even through the day:?Until at last the hands of Circumstance?Pointed the hour that waked me from my trance.
THE FATES LAUGH
I did not will this thing. I set my face?Towards duty and my art; I was alone.?How knew I thou shouldst roll away the stone?From hopes long buried, by thy tender grace?
What does it matter that we make resolve??The Fates laugh at us as they sit and spin;?We cannot tell what Good is, or what Sin,?Or why old faiths in mist of pain dissolve.
We only can stand watchful in the way,?Waiting with patient hands on shield and sword,?Ready to meet disaster in the fray,
Till Time has struck the letters of one word--?Word of such high-born worth: triumphant Love,?Give me thy canopy where'er I rove.
AS ONE WHO WAITETH
As one who waiteth for the signet ring?Of his dear sovereign, that his embassy?May have clear passport over land and sea,?And make the subject sacred as his king;
As waits the warrior for a pontiff's palm,?Upraised in blessing o'er his high emprise;?And bows his mailed forehead prayerful-wise,?Sinking his turbulency in deep calm:
So waited I for one seal to be set?Upon my full commission, for a sign?That should make impotent man's "I forget,"
And make God's "I remember" more divine:?Which should command at need the homage of?The armed squadrons of all loyal