By Still Waters | Page 4

bless,
And looked with grave, ethereal
eyes;
Ensouled by ancient quietness,
A gentle priestess of the Wise.
A WOMAN'S VOICE
His head within my bosom lay,
But yet his spirit slipped not through:

I only felt the burning clay
That withered for the cooling dew.
It was but pity when I spoke
And called him to my heart for rest,

And half a mother's love that woke
Feeling his head upon my breast:
And half the lion's tenderness
To shield her cubs from hurt or death,

Which, when the serried hunters press,
Makes terrible her wounded
breath.
But when the lips I breathed upon
Asked for such love as equals
claim
I looked where all the stars were gone
Burned in the day's
immortal flame.
'Come thou like yon great dawn to me
From darkness vanquished,
battles done:
Flame unto flame shall flow and be
Within thy heart
and mine as one.'
PARTING

As from our dream we died away
Far off I felt the outer things;

Your wind-blown tresses round me play,
Your bosom's gentle
murmurings.
And far away our faces met
As on the verge of the vast spheres;

And in the night our cheeks were wet,
I could not say with dew or
tears.
As one within the Mother's heart
In that hushed dream upon the
height
We lived, and then we rose to part,
Because her ways are
infinite.
A PRAYER
O, holy Spirit of the Hazel, hearken now,
Though shining suns and
silver moons burn on the bough, And though the fruit of stars by many
myriads gleam,
Yet in the undergrowth below, still in thy dream,

Lighting the labyrinthine maze and monstrous gloom
Are many
gem-winged flowers with gay and delicate bloom; And in the shade,
hearken, O Dreamer of the Tree,
One wild rose blossom of thy spirit
breathed on me
With lovely and still light, a little sister flower
To
those that whitely on the tall moon branches tower,
Lord of the Hazel
now, oh hearken while I pray,
This wild rose blossom of thy spirit
fades away.
THE HEROES
By many a dream of God and man my thoughts in shining flocks were
led: But as I went through Patrick Street the hopes and prophecies were
dead. The hopes and prophecies were dead: they could not blossom
where the feet Walked amid rottenness, or where the brawling shouters
stamped the street. Where was the beauty that the Lord gave man when
first he towered in pride? But one came by me at whose word the bitter
condemnation died. His brows were crowned with thorns of light: his
eyes were bright as one

who sees The starry palaces shine o'er the sparkle of the heavenly seas.
'Is it not beautiful?' he cried. Our Faery Land of Hearts' Desire Is
mingled through the mire and mist, yet stainless keeps its lovely fire.
The pearly phantoms with blown hair are dancing where the drunkards
reel: The cloud frail daffodils shine out where filth is splashing from
the heel. O sweet, and sweet, and sweet to hear, the melodies in rivers
run: The rapture of their crowded notes is yet the myriad voice of One.
Those who are lost and fallen here, to-night in sleep shall pass the gate,
And wear the purples of the King, and know them masters of their fate.
Each wrinkled hag shall reassume the plumes and hues of paradise:
Each brawler be enthroned in calm among the Children of the Wise.
Yet in the council with the gods no one will falter to pursue His lofty
purpose, but come forth the cyclic labours to renew; And take the
burden of the world and dim his beauty in a shroud, And wrestle with
the chaos till the anarch to the light be bowed. We cannot for
forgetfulness forego the reverence due to them Who wear at times they
do not guess the sceptre and the diadem. As bright a crown as this was
theirs when first they from the Father sped; Yet look with deeper eyes
and still the ancient beauty is not dead. He mingled with the multitude.
I saw their brows were crowned and bright, A light around the shadowy
heads, a shadow round the head of light.
RECALL
What call may draw thee back again,
Lost dove, what art, what charm
may please?
The tender touch, the kiss, are vain,
For thou wert
lured away by these.
Oh, must we use the iron hand,
And mask with hate the holy breath,

With alien voice give love's command,
As they through love the
call of death?
BLINDNESS
Our true hearts are forever lonely:
A wistfulness is in our thought:

Our lights are like the dawns which only
Seem bright to us and yet
are not.

Something you see in me I wis not:
Another heart in you I guess:
A
stranger's lips--but thine I kiss not,
Erring in all my tenderness.
I sometimes think a mighty lover
Takes every burning kiss we give:

His lights are those which round us hover:
For him alone our lives
we live.
Ah, sigh for us whose