A Lovers Diary | Page 2

done whether you willed it or no, and there it is a truthful thing of which you shall be glad in spite of what you say."
These last words of the great critic were in response to the sudden repentance and despair I felt after Messrs. Stone and Kimball had published the book in exquisite form with a beautiful frontispiece by Will H. Low. In any case, it is now too late to try and disabuse the minds of those who care for the little piece of artistry, and since 1894, when it was published, I have matured sufficiently in life's academy not to be too unduly sensitive either as to the merit or demerit of my work. There is, after all, an unlovable kind of vanity in acute self-criticism --as though it mattered deeply to the world whether one ever wrote anything; or, having written, as though it mattered to the world enough to stir it in its course by one vibration. The world has drunk deep of wonderful literature, and all that I can do is make a small brew with a little flavour of my own; but it still could get on very well indeed with the old staple and matured vintages were I never to write at all.
The King--Whence art thou, sir?
Gilfaron--My Lord, I know not well.
Indeed, I am a townsman of the world.?For once my mother told me that she saw?The Angel of the Cross Roads lead me out,?And point to every corner of the sky,?And say, "Thy feet shall follow in the trail?Of every tribe; and thou shalt pitch thy tent?Wherever thou shalt see a human face?Which hath thereon the alphabet of life;?Yea, thou shalt spell it out e'en as a child:?And therein wisdom find."
The King--Art thou wise?
Gilfaron--Only according to the Signs.
The King--What signs?
Gilfaron--The first--the language of the Garden, sire,
When man spoke with the naked searching thought,?Unlacquered of the world.
The King--Speak so forthwith; come, show us to be wise.
Gilfaron--The Angel of the Cross Roads to me said:
"And wisdom comes by looking eye to eye,?Each seeing his own soul as in a glass;?For ye shall find the Lodges of the Wise,?The farthest Camp of the Delightful Fires,?By marching two by two, not one by one."
--The King's Daughter.
THE VISION
As one would stand who saw a sudden light?Flood down the world, and so encompass him?And in that world illumined Seraphim?Brooded above and gladdened to his sight;
So stand I in the flame of one great thought,?That broadens to my soul from where she waits,?Who, yesterday, drew wide the inner gates?Of all my being to the hopes I sought.
Her words come to me like a summer-song,?Blown from the throat of some sweet nightingale;?I stand within her light the whole day long,
And think upon her till the white stars fail:?I lift my head towards all that makes life wise,?And see no farther than my lady's eyes.
ABOVE THE DIN
Silence sits often on me as I touch?Her presence; I am like a bird that hears?A note diviner than it knows, and fears?To share the larger harmony too much.
My soul leaps up, as to a sudden sound?A long-lost traveller, when, by her grace,?I learn of her life's sweetness face to face,?And sweep the chords of sympathies profound.
Her regal nature calmly holds its height?Above life's din, while moving in its maze.?Unworthy thoughts would die within her sight,
And mean deeds creep to darkness from her gaze.?Yet only in my dreams can I set down?The word that gives her nobleness a crown.
LOVE'S COURAGE
Courage have I to face all bitter things,?That start out darkly from the rugged path,?Leading to life's achievement; not God's wrath?Would sit so heavy when my lady sings.
I did not know what life meant till I felt?Her hand clasp mine in compact to the end;?Till her dear voice said, "See, I am your friend!" And at her feet, amazed, my spirit knelt.
And yet I spoke but hoarsely then my thought,?I groped amid a thousand forces there;?Her understanding all my meaning caught,
It was illumined in her atmosphere.?She read it line by line, and then there fell?The curtain on the shrine-and it is well.
LOVE'S LANGUAGE
Just now a wave of perfume floated up?To greet my senses as I broke the seal?Of her short letter; and I still can feel?It stir me as a saint the holy cup.
The missive lies there,--but a few plain words:?A thought about a song, a note of praise,?And social duties such as fill the days?Of women; then a thing that undergirds
The phrases like a psalm: a line that reads-?"I wish that you were coming!" Why, it lies?Upon my heart like blossoms on the skies,
Like breath of balm upon the clover meads.?The perfumed words soothe me into a dream;?My thoughts float to her on the scented stream.
ASPIRATION
None ever climbed to mountain heights of song,?But felt the touch of some good woman's palm;?None ever reached God's