The Dreamers | Page 8

made his altar by one candle's flame_?_Seeing two lovers burned it in his name._
THE UNKNOWING
They do not know the awful tears we shed,?The tender treasures that we keep and kiss;?They could not be so still--our quiet dead?In knowing this.
They do not know what time we turn to fill?Love's empty chalice with a cheaper bliss;?They could not be so still--so very still?In knowing this.
HEART OF A HUNDRED SORROWS
Oh, Heart of a Hundred Sorrows,?Whose pity is great therefore,?The gift that thy children bring thee?Is ever a sorrow more.
Sure of thy dear compassion,?Concerned for our own relief,?Ever and ever we seek thee,?And each with his gift of grief.
Oh, not to reprove my brothers,?Yet I, who am less than less,?Would bring thee my joy of being?The rose of my happiness.
The spirit that makes my singing?The gladness without alloy,?Oh, Heart of a Hundred Sorrows,?I bring thee a little joy.
THE RETURNING
I said I will go back again where we?Were glad together. But my dear, my dear,?Where are the roses we were wont to see?The songs we used to hear?
I said the hearth-flame that once burned for us?I will renew with all the cheer of old,?Yet here within the circle luminous?Our very hearts are cold.
That was a barren garden that we found,?This was an empty house we came to meet,?We, who for all our longing, hear no sound?Of Love's returning feet.
THE INLANDER
I never climb a high hill?Or gaze across the lea,?But, Oh, beyond the two of them,?Beyond the height and blue of them,?I'm looking for the sea.
A blue sea--a crooning sea--?A grey sea lashed with foam--?But, Oh, to take the drift of it,?To know the surge and lift of it,?And 'tis I am longing for it as the homeless long for home.
I never dream at night-time?Or close my eyes by day,?But there I have the might of it,?The wind-whipped, sun-drenched sight of it,?That calls my soul away.
Oh, deep dreams and happy dreams,?Its dreaming still I'd be,?For still the land I'm waking in,?'Tis that my heart is breaking in,?And 'tis far where I'd be sleeping with the blue waves over me.
AD FINEM
I like to think this friendship that we hold?As youth's high gift in our two hands to-day?Still shall we find as bright, untarnished gold?What time the fleeting years have left us grey.?I like to think we two shall watch the May?Dance down her happy hills and Autumn fold?The world in flame and beauty, we grown old?Staunch comrades on an undivided way.
I like to think of Winter nights made bright?By book and hearth-flame when we two shall smile?At memories of to-day--we two content?To count our vanished dawns by candle-light?Seeing we hold in our old hands the while?The gift of gold youth left us as she went.
A SONG OF HELOISE
God send thee peace, Oh, great unhappy heart--?A world away, I pray that thou mayst rest?Softly as on the Well-Belov��d's breast,?Where ever in her wistful dreams thou art.
At dawn my prayer is all for thee, at noon?My very heart and, Oh, at night my tears?For all we walk alone the empty years?Nor meet neath any sun--neath any moon.
Yet must my love go with thee--all apart?From this the life I lend to lesser things;?God send to thee this night beneath its wings,?A little peace, Oh, great unhappy heart.
THE RETURN
I come to you grown weary of much laughter,?From jangling mirth that once seemed over-sweet,?From all the mocking ghosts that follow after?A man's returning feet;?Give me no word of welcome or of greeting?Only in silence let me enter in,?Only in silence when our eyes are meeting,?Absolve me of my sin.
I come to you grown weary of much living,?Open your door and lift me of your grace,?I ask for no compassion, no forgiving,?Only your face, your face;?Only in that white peace that is your dwelling?To come again, before your feet to sink,?And of your quiet as of wine compelling?Drink as the thirsting drink.
Be kind to me as sleep is kind that closes?With tender hands men's fever-wearied eyes,?Your arms are as a garden of white roses?Where old remembrance lies,?I, who am bruised with words and pierced with chiding,?Give me your silence as a Saint might give?Her white cloak for some hunted creature's hiding,?That he might rest and live.
THE POPLARS
My poplars are like ladies trim,?Each conscious of her own estate;?In costume somewhat over prim,?In manner cordially sedate,?Like two old neighbours met to chat?Beside my garden gate.
My stately old aristocrats--?I fancy still their talk must be?Of rose-conserves and Persian cats,?And lavender and Indian tea;--?I wonder sometimes as I pass?If they approve of me.
I give them greeting night and morn,?I like to think they answer, too,?With that benign assurance born?When youth gives age the reverence due,?And bend their wise heads as I go?As courteous ladies do.
Long may you stand before my door,?Oh, kindly neighbours garbed in green,?And bend with rustling welcome o'er?The many friends who pass between;?And where