Poems by the Way Love Is Enough | Page 4

howes do
men behold to-day.
And never a word spake Snæbiorn yet,
Till in
his saddle he was set.
Nor was there any heard his voice,
So many
times over comes summer again
Till he came to his ship in
Grimsar-oyce.
What healing in summer if winter be vain?
On so fair a day they hoisted sail,

So many times over comes summer
again,
And for Norway well did the wind avail.
What healing in
summer if winter be vain?
But Snæbiorn looked aloft and said:
"I
see in the sail a stripe of red:
Murder, 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,"

Snæbiorn 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," Snæbiorn 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