Songs of Two | Page 2

we had not known,

To fairer meadows
Swept exultant from the woodland shadows;

And when at last upon the baffling plain
We thought it scattered like
a ravelled skein,--
Lo, tranquil, free,
Its longed-for home, the wide
unfathomable sea!
X
Thy names are like sweet flowers that grow
Within a garden where I
go,
Sometimes at dawn, to see each one
Life its head proudly in the
sun;
Sometimes at night,
When only by the fragrant air,

I know
them there.
And none are grieved or think I slight
Their worth, if
closest to my breast,
This one I take which holds within its own

Each single fragrance of the rest,--
My friend, my friend!
And as I

loved it first alone,
So shall I love it to the end,
For none were half
so dear were it not best.
XI
My every purpose fashioned by some thought of thee,
Though as a
feather's weight that shapes the arrow's flight it be; No single joy
complete in which thou bust, no fee,
Though thy share be the star and
mine its shadow in the sea; Thy very pulse my pulse, thy every prayer
my prayer.
Thy love my blue o'erreaching sky that bounds me
everywhere,-- Yet free, Beloved, free! for this encircling air
I cannot
leave behind, doth but love's boundlessness declare.
XII
Last night the angel of remembrance brought
Me while I slept--think,
Dear! of all his store
Just that one memory I thought
Banished
forever from our door!
Thy sob of pain when once I hurt thee sure.

Then in my dream I suddenly was ware
Of God above me saying:
"Reach
Thy hand to Me in prayer,
And I will give thee pardon yet."

Thou? Nay, she hath forgiven, teach
Her to forget.
XIII
Love me not, Dearest, for the smile,
The tender greeting, or the wile

By which, unconscious of its road,
My soul seeks thine in its abode;

Nor say "I love thee of thine eyes,--"
For when Death shuts them,
where thy skies?
But love me for my love,
Then am I safe from all
surprise,
And thou above
The loss of all that dies.
XIV
Dear hands, forgiving hands,
There is no speech so sure as thing.

Lips falter with so much
To tell, eyes fill with thoughts I scarce
divine,
But thy least touch
Soul understands.
Dear giving, taking
hands,
There are no gifts so free as thine.
One last gem from the

heart of the mine,
One last cup from the veins of the vine,
From the
rose to the wind one last sweet breath,
Then poverty, and death!
But
thy dear palms
Are richest empty, asking alms.
XV
A little moment at the end
Of day, left over in the candle light
On
the shore of dreams, on the edge of sleep,
Too small to throw away,

Too poor to keep!
But it holds two words for thee, dear Friend,--

Good-night, Good night!
And so this remnant of the day,
Left over
in the candle-light
On the shore of dreams, on the edge of sleep,

Becomes too great to throw away,
Too dear to keep!
XVI
Beloved, when I read some fine conceit,
Wherein are wrought as in
glass
The features love hath made so sweet,
I marvel at so bold an
art;
Seeing thou art too dear to praise
Upon the highway where men
pass.
For when I seek
To tell the ways
God's hand of tenderness

Hath touched thine earthly part,
Again I hear
Thy first own cry of
happiness,
And, sweetest of God's sounds, the dear
Remonstrance
of thy giving heart,--
And cannot speak!
XVII
Across the plain of Time
I saw them marching all night long,--
The
endless throng
Of all who ever dared to fight with wrong.
All the
blood their hearts, the prime
And crown of their fleeting years,
All
the toil of their hands, the tears
Of their eyes, the thought of their
brain,
For a word from the lips of Truth,
For a glimpse of the scroll
of Fate,

Ere love and youth
Were spent in vain,
And even truth
too late!
Oh, when the Silence speaks, and the scroll
Unrolls to the
eye of the soul,
What will it be that shall pay the cost
Of the pain
gone waste and the labor lost!
And then, Dear, waking, I saw you---


And knew.
XVIII
We thought when Love at last should come,
The rose would lose its
thorn,
And every lip but Joy's be dumb
When Love, sweet Love,
was born;
That never tears should start to rise,
No night o'ertake our
morn,
Nor any guest of grief surprise,
When Love sweet Love, was
born.
And when he came, O Heart of mine!
And stood within our door,

No joy our dreaming could divine
Was missing from his store.
The
thorns shall wound our hearts again,
But not the fear of yore,
for all
the guests of grief and pain
Shall serve him evermore.
XIX
Dost thou remember, Dear, the day
We met in those bare woods of
May?
Each had a secret unconfessed,
Each sound a promise, in
each nest.
Young wings a-tremble for the air,--
How we joined
hands?--not knowing where
The springs that touch set free
Should
find their sea.
Speechless--so sure we were to share
The unknown
good to be.
XX
The woods are bare again. There are
No secrets now, the bud's a scar;

No promises,--this is the end!
Ah, Dearest, I have seen thee bend

Above thy flowers as one who knew
The dying