Poems by the Way Love Is Enough | Page 4

meseems, is the name of it,?And ugly things about it flit.?A stripe of blue in the sail I see:?Cold death of men it seems to me.?And next I see a stripe of black,?For a life fulfilled of bitter lack."?Quoth one, "So fair a wind doth blow?That we shall see Norway soon enow."?"Be blithe, O shipmate," Sn?biorn said,?"Tell Hacon the Earl that I be dead."?About the midst of the Iceland main?Round veered the wind to the east again.?And west they drave, and long they ran?Till they saw a land was white and wan.?"Yea," Sn?biorn said, "my home it is,?Ye bear a man shall have no bliss.?Far off beside the Greekish sea?The maidens pluck the grapes in glee.?Green groweth the wheat in the English land,?And the honey-bee flieth on every hand.?In Norway by the cheaping town?The laden beasts go up and down.?In Iceland many a mead they mow?And Hallgerd's grave grows green enow.?But these are Gunnbiorn's skerries wan,?Meet harbour for a hapless man.?In all lands else is love alive,?But here is nought with grief to strive.?Fail not for a while, O eastern wind,?For nought but grief is left behind.?And before me here a rest I know,"?So many times over comes summer again,?"A grave beneath the Greenland snow,"?What healing in summer if winter be vain?
ECHOES OF LOVE'S HOUSE
Love gives every gift whereby we long to live:?"Love takes every gift, and nothing back doth give."
Love unlocks the lips that else were ever dumb:?"Love locks up the lips whence all things good might come."
Love makes clear the eyes that else would never see:?"Love makes blind the eyes to all but me and thee."
Love turns life to joy till nought is left to gain:?"Love turns life to woe till hope is nought and vain."
Love, who changest all, change me nevermore!?"Love, who changest all, change my sorrow sore!"
Love burns up the world to changeless heaven and blest,?"Love burns up the world to a void of all unrest."
And there we twain are left, and no more work we need:?"And I am left alone, and who my work shall heed?"
Ah! I praise thee, Love, for utter joyance won!?"And is my praise nought worth for all my life undone?"
THE BURGHERS' BATTLE
Thick rise the spear-shafts o'er the land?That erst the harvest bore;?The sword is heavy in the hand,?And we return no more.?The light wind waves the Ruddy Fox,?Our banner of the war,?And ripples in the Running Ox,?And we return no more.?Across our stubble acres now?The teams go four and four;?But out-worn elders guide the plough,?And we return no more.?And now the women heavy-eyed?Turn through the open door?From gazing down the highway wide,?Where we return no more.?The shadows of the fruited close?Dapple the feast-hall floor;?There lie our dogs and dream and doze,?And we return no more.?Down from the minster tower to-day?Fall the soft chimes of yore?Amidst the chattering jackdaws' play:?And we return no more.?But underneath the streets are still;?Noon, and the market's o'er!?Back go the goodwives o'er the hill;?For we return no more.?What merchant to our gates shall come??What wise man bring us lore??What abbot ride away to Rome,?Now we return no more??What mayor shall rule the hall we built??Whose scarlet sweep the floor??What judge shall doom the robber's guilt,?Now we return no more??New houses in the street shall rise?Where builded we before,?Of other stone wrought otherwise;?For we return no more.?And crops shall cover field and hill?Unlike what once they bore,?And all be done without our will,?Now we return no more.?Look up! the arrows streak the sky,?The horns of battle roar;?The long spears lower and draw nigh,?And we return no more.?Remember how beside the wain,?We spoke the word of war,?And sowed this harvest of the plain,?And we return no more.?Lay spears about the Ruddy Fox!?The days of old are o'er;?Heave sword about the Running Ox!?For we return no more.
HOPE DIETH: LOVE LIVETH
Strong are thine arms, O love, and strong?Thine heart to live, and love, and long;?But thou art wed to grief and wrong:?Live, then, and long, though hope be dead!?Live on, and labour through the years!?Make pictures through the mist of tears,?Of unforgotten happy fears,?That crossed the time ere hope was dead.?Draw near the place where once we stood?Amid delight's swift-rushing flood,?And we and all the world seemed good?Nor needed hope now cold and dead.?Dream in the dawn I come to thee?Weeping for things that may not be!?Dream that thou layest lips on me!?Wake, wake to clasp hope's body dead!?Count o'er and o'er, and one by one,?The minutes of the happy sun?That while agone on kissed lips shone,?Count on, rest not, for hope is dead.?Weep, though no hair's breadth thou shalt move?The living Earth, the heaven above,?By all the bitterness of love!?Weep and cease not, now hope is dead!?Sighs rest thee not, tears bring no ease,?Life hath no joy, and Death no peace:?The years change not, though they decrease,?For hope is dead,