Eyes of Youth | Page 6

waiteth long by the shuttered heart,
And the Lamb--He waiteth too.

Up the lurid passes of dreams that kill,
Through the twisting maze of
the great Untrue,
The Lion followeth the fainting will--
And the
Lamb--He followeth too.
From the thickets dim of the hidden way
Where the debts of Hell
accrue,
The Lion leapeth upon his prey:
But the Lamb--He leapeth
too.
Ah! loose the leash of the sins that damn,
Mark Devil and God
as goals,
In the panting love of a famished Lamb,
Gone mad with
the need of souls.
The Lion, he strayeth near and far;
What heights hath he left untrod?

He crawleth nigh to the purest star,
On the trail of the saints of God.

And throughout the darkness of things unclean,
In the depths
where the sin-ghouls brood,
There prowleth ever with yearning
mien--
A lamb as white as Blood!

HUGH AUSTIN

THE ASTRONOMERS PRAYER
Night. O Thou God! who rulest Heaven and earth,
The terraced
atmospheres, the bounded seas;
Who knowest equally both death and
birth,
Frail human men, strong divine mysteries,
Whose
unencumbered thought sways all the spheres,
In all their turning,
snake-like, perfect ways;
Now that the season of my labour nears,

Grant me an insight to Thy larger days!
To Thee all things create and unborn yield,
Being of Thee, the secret
of their souls--
The traversed elements, the azure field
Whereo'er
eternal each huge star-world rolls.
There is no tiny insect but does
know
Itself within Thy Presence visual:
From us too swiftly years
and seasons go,
To Thee all change is a thing gradual.
E'en as at nightfall, when the lights come in,
The moth attracted woos
and meets her death,
So do I seek Thy light to wander in,
Though
fearfully and with half-bated breath.
So do I seek all knowledge of
Thy stars,
Which move in and without my vision's reach;
Maybe
yet burning with internal wars,
Or shaking as this world with human
speech.
Stars which perhaps ten thousand years ago
Waned and grew cold at
Thy almighty word
Waft their light hitherward. I do not know--

Thy recreating voice I have not heard.
Maybe, e'en at this hour Thine
accents shake
Some chaos into order, into life;
Perchance some
great creation now doth break
Into new form beneath Thy wisdom's
knife.
Ah, Lord! The night appals me. Give me strength
Within myself to
search this planet's dome:
O Supreme Architect, give me at length

Some clearer knowledge of Thy spaceless home!
My spirit seethes
within me; in the sky
Thy constellations shine; for me begin
My
labours until night-time passes by--
And before dawn I must or fail or

win.
THE MOON
Cirqued with dim stars and delicate moonflowers,
Silent she moves
among the silent hours--
Watching the spheres that glow with golden
heat
Under her feet.
Then, when the sunrise tints the east with light,
She fades to
westward, with the dreamy night
And all her starry train--in faint
disguise
Of twilight skies.
TO YVONNE
Such things have been, Yvonne; but you and I,
Can we touch lips
again across the years?
Re-order what is past? Forget--or try
Not to
remember what through mists of tears
Is still too memorable? Dare
we two
Start both our lives again, as we were young
And happy, in
such love as falls to few?
Nay, for our violins are all unstrung.
Yet it is well that memory should hold
Some few pale rose-leaves
plucked in bygone days,
That still are sweet, despite those pains
untold
Which throng the marges of life's winding ways.
Yea, these
will stay when nearer things are gone;
I shall keep mine. Will you
keep yours, Yvonne?
THE BURIAL OF SCALD
A long, low wail of harps across the snow,
Falling and rising with the
whistling wind;
A shifting glare of lights that come and go,
As if
men searched for what they could not find.
And then the music
thrilled out loud and well
Over the waste and barren dunes of sand--


Solemn and stately as a passing bell
Heard dimly in some weary
twilight land.
Then slipped the moon behind a dusky cloud,
And each bright star its
silver visage hid;
Mystery 'gan the darkness to enshroud;
Across the
sky a blood-red message slid.
Sudden the ship blazed up, the dark was light;
Lo! Scald is dead! his
pyre was lit to-night.

JUDITH LYTTON
A DAY REMEMBERED
Oh, Love, what fate is ours? No summer morning
Shall give us joy,
no sunrise bring relief;
No end--no end is there unto our sorrow,
No
measure to our grief.
You looked at me, and all your living beauty
Swept to my heart in
flame a moment's space,
A sudden mist of tears in darkness veiling

The glory of your face.
You spoke: I seemed to hear the wild doves cooing--
The rain upon
the hills, sweet falling rain;
And all my soul was filled with joy and
anguish,
In ecstasy of pain.
I saw as in a mist celestial visions
Beyond the bitter seas whence
hope has fled,
Heard the wind blow among the trees in summer,
But
knew not what you said.
It matters not what words the lips have spoken
When heart shall
speak to heart, for love can hear
Unspoken words, and see as in
reflection
His own thoughts mirrored there.
You came to