Poems of Progress | Page 6

To a land of bloom and beauty,
And it's good-bye to letters from our
lessers and our betters, To the cold world's smile or its frown.
We sail
away on a sunny track
To find the summer and bring it back
And love is our only duty.
II
Afloat on a sea of passion
Without a compass or chart,
But the glow of your eye shows the sun
is high,
By the sextant of my heart.
I know we are nearing the tropics
By the languor that round us lies,
And the smile on your mouth says
the course is south
And the port is Paradise.

We have left grey skies behind us,
We sail under skies of blue;
You are off with me on lovers' sea,
And I am away with you.
We have not a single sorrow,
And I have but one fear -
That my lips may miss one offered kiss
From the mouth that is smiling near.
There is no land of winter;
There is no world of care;
There is bloom and mirth all over the earth,
And love, love everywhere.
Our boat is the barque of Pleasure,
And whatever port we sight
The touch of your hand will make the
land
The Harbour of Pure Delight.
ASTROLABIUS
(THE CHILD OF ABELARD AND HELOISE)
I wrenched from a passing comet in its flight,
By that great force of two mad hearts aflame,
A soul incarnate, back
to earth you came,
To glow like star-dust for a little night.
Deep
shadows hide you wholly from our sight;
The centuries leave nothing but your name,
Tinged with the lustre of
a splendid shame,
That blazed oblivion with rebellious light.
The mighty passion that became your cause,
Still burns its lengthening path across the years;
We feel its raptures,
and we see its tears
And ponder on its retributive laws.

Time keeps that deathless story ever new;
Yet finds no answer, when
we ask of you.
II
At Argenteuil, I saw the lonely cell
Where Heloise dreamed through her broken rest,
That baby lips
pulled at her undried breast.
It needed but my woman's heart to tell

Of those long vigils and the tears that fell
When aching arms reached out in fruitless quest,
As after flight,
wings brood an empty nest.
(So well I know that sorrow, ah, so well.)
Across the centuries there comes no sound
Of that vast anguish; not one sigh or word
Or echo of the mother loss
has stirred,
The sea of silence, lasting and profound.
Yet to each heart, that once has felt this grief,
Sad Memory restores
Time's missing leaf.
III
But what of you? Who took the mother's place
When sweet expanding love its object sought?
Was there a voice to
tell her tragic lot,
And did you ever look upon her face?
Was yours
a cloistered seeking after grace?
Or in the flame of adolescent thought
Were Abelard's departed
passions caught
To burn again in you and leave their trace?
Conceived in nature's bold primordial way
(As in their revolutions, suns create),
You came to earth, a soul
immaculate,
Baptized in fire, with some great part to play.

What was that part, and wherefore hid from us,
Immortal mystery,
Astrolabius!
COMPLETION
When I shall meet God's generous dispensers
Of all the riches in the heavenly store,
Those lesser gods, who act as
Recompensers
For loneliness and loss upon this shore,
Methinks abashed, and
somewhat hesitating,
My soul its wish and longing will declare.
Lest they reply: 'Here are
no bounties waiting:
We gave on earth, your portion and your share.'
Then shall I answer: 'Yea, I do remember
The many blessings to my life allowed;
My June was always longer
than December,
My sun was always stronger than my cloud,
My joy was ever deeper
than my sorrow,
My gain was ever greater than my loss,
My yesterday seemed less
than my to-morrow,
The crown looked always larger than the cross.
'I have known love, in all its radiant splendour,
It shone upon my pathway to the end.
I trod no road that did not
bloom with tender
And fragrant blossoms, planted by some friend.
And those material
things we call successes,

In modest measure, crowned my earthly lot.
Yet was there one sweet
happiness that blesses
The life of woman, which to me came not.
'I knew the hope of motherhood; a season
I felt a fluttering heart beat 'neath my own;
A little cry--then silence.
For that reason
I dare, to you, my only wish make known.
The babe who grew to
angelhood in heaven,
I never watched unfold from child to man.
And so I ask, that unto me
be given
That motherhood, which was God's primal plan.
'All womankind He meant to share its glories;
He meant us all to nurse our babes to rest.
To croon them songs, to
tell them sleepy stories,
Else why the wonder of a woman's breast?
He must provide for all
earth's cheated mothers
In His vast heavens of shining sphere on sphere,
And with my son,
there must be many others -
My