A Lovers Diary | Page 4

words?Making powerless the lightnings of mischance.
I, who was but a maker of poor songs,?That one might sing behind his prison bars,?I, who it seemed fate singled out for wrongs--
She smiled on me as smile the nearest stars.?From her deep soul I draw my peace, and thus,?One wreath of rhyme I weave for both of us.
THE SHRINE
Were I but as the master souls who move?In their high place, immortal on the earth,?My song might be a thing to crown her worth,--?'Tis but a pathway for the feet of Love.
But since she walks where I am fain to sing,?Since she has said, "I listen, O my friend!"?There is a glory lent the song I send,?And I am proud, yes, prouder than a king.
I grow to nobler use beneath her eyes--?Eyes that smile on me so serenely, will?They smile a welcome though my best hope dies,
And greet me at the summit of the hill??Will she, for whom my heart has built a shrine,?Take from me all that makes this world divine?
THE TORCH
Art's use what is it but to touch the springs?Of nature? But to hold a torch up for?Humanity in Life's large corridor,?To guide the feet of peasants and of kings!
What is it but to carry union through?Thoughts alien to thoughts kindred, and to merge?The lines of colour that should not diverge,?And give the sun a window to shine through!
What is it but to make the world have heed?For what its dull eyes else would hardly scan,?To draw in a stark light a shameless deed,
And show the fashion of a kingly man!?To cherish honour, and to smite all shame,?To lend hearts voices, and give thoughts a name!
IN ARMOUR,
But wherein shall Art work? Shall beauty lead?It captive, and set kisses on its mouth??Shall it be strained unto the breast of youth,?And in a garden live where grows no weed?
Shall it, in dalliance with the flaunting world,?Play but soft airs, sing but sweet-tempered songs? Veer lightly from the stress of all great wrongs, And lisp of peace 'mid battle-flags unfurled?
Shall it but pluck the sleeve of wantonness,?And gently chide the folly of our time??But wave its golden wand at sin's duress,
And say, "Ah me! ah me!" to fallow crime??Nay, Art serves Truth, and Truth with Titan blows, Strikes fearless at all evil that it knows.
IN THEE MY ART
In thee is all my art; from thee I draw?The substance of my dreams, the waking plan?Of practised thought; I can no measure scan,?But thou work'st in me like eternal law.
If I were rich in goodly title deeds?Of broad estate, won from posterity;?If from decaying Time I snatched a see?Richer than prelates pray for with their beads;
If some should bring before me frankincense,?And make a pleasant fire to greet mine eyes;?If there were given me for recompense
Gifts fairer than a seraph could devise:?I would, my sovereign, kneel to thee and say,?"It all is thine; thou showedst me the way."
DENIAL
But is it so that I must never kiss?Thee on the brow, or smooth thy silken hair??Never close down thine eyelids with Love's prayer, Or fold my arms about my new-found bliss?
Must I unto the courses of my age?Worship afar, lest haply I profane?The temple that is now my holy fane,?For which my song is given as a gage?
Shall I who cry to all, "Come not within?The bounds where I my lady have enshrined;?I am her cavalier"; shall I not win
One dear caress, the rich exchequer find?Of thy soft cheek? If thou command, my lips?Shall find surcease but at thy fingertips.
TESTAMENT
Why do I love thee? Shall my answer run:?Because that thou hast beauty, noble place,?Because of some sweet glamour in thy face,?And eyes that shame the clear light of the sun?
Shall I exclaim upon thy snow-white hands,?Challenge the world to show a gentler mien,?Call down the seraphs to attest, the sheen?Upon thy brow is borrowed from their lands?
Shall I trace out a map of all thy worth,?Parcel thy virtues, say, "For this and this?I learned to love her; here new charms had birth;
I in this territory caught a bliss"??Shall I make inventory of thy grace,?And crowd the total into common space?
CAPTIVITY
Nay, lady, though I love thee, I make pause?Before thy question, and know naught to say;?Art cannot teach me to define the way,?Love led me, nor e'en register Love's cause.
It can but blazon in this verse of mine?What love does for me; what from Love it gains;?What is its quickening; but it refrains?From divination where thy merits shine.
Canst thou, indeed, not tell what wrought in thee To bring me as a captive to thy feet??Canst thou not say, "'Twas this that made decree
Of conquest; here thy soul with mine did meet?"?Or is it that both stand amazed before?The shrine where thou hast blessed and I adore?
O MYSTIC WINGS
O mystic wings, upbear me lightly now,?Beyond life's faithful labour to a seat?Where