The Home Book of Verse, vol 2 | Page 9

touches thrill, Like golden rod of wonder, Which Hermes wields at will Spirit and flesh to sunder; Light foot, to press the stirrup In fearlessness and glee, Or dance, till finches chirrup, And stars sink to the sea.
Forth, Love, and find this maid, Wherever she be hidden: Speak, Love, be not afraid, But plead as thou art bidden; And say, that he who taught thee His yearning want and pain, Too dearly, dearly bought thee To part with thee in vain.
William Johnson-Cory [1823-1892]
THE SURFACE AND THE DEPTHS
Love took my life and thrilled it Through all its strings, Played round my mind and filled it With sound of wings; But to my heart he never came To touch it with his golden flame.
Therefore it is that singing I do rejoice, Nor heed the slow years bringing A harsher voice; Because the songs which he has sung Still leave the untouched singer young.
But whom in fuller fashion The Master sways, For him, swift-winged with passion, Fleet the brief days. Betimes the enforced accents come, And leave him ever after dumb.
Lewis Morris [1833-1907]
A BALLAD OF DREAMLAND
I hid my heart in a nest of roses, Out of the sun's way, hidden apart; In a softer bed then the soft white snow's is, Under the roses I hid my heart. Why would it sleep not? why should it start, When never a leaf of the rose-tree stirred? What made sleep flutter his wings and part? Only the song of a secret bird.
Lie still, I said, for the wind's wing closes, And mild leaves muffle the keen sun's dart; Lie still, for the wind on the warm seas dozes, And the wind is unquieter yet than thou art. Does a thought in thee still as a thorn's wound smart? Does the fang still fret thee of hope deferred? What bids the lips of thy sleep dispart? Only the song of a secret bird.
The green land's name that a charm encloses, It never was writ in the traveller's chart, And sweet on its trees as the fruit that grows is, It never was sold in the merchant's mart. The swallows of dreams through its dim fields dart, And sleep's are the tunes in its tree-tops heard; No hound's note wakens the wildwood hart, Only the song of a secret bird.
ENVOI In the world of dreams I have chosen my part, To sleep for a season and hear no word Of true love's truth or of light love's art, Only the song of a secret bird.
Algernon Charles Swinburne [1837-1909]
ENDYMION
The rising moon has hid the stars; Her level rays, like golden bars, Lie on the landscape green, With shadows brown between.
And silver white the river gleams, As if Diana, in her dreams Had dropped her silver bow Upon the meadows low.
On such a tranquil night as this, She woke Endymion with a kiss, When, sleeping in the grove, He dreamed not of her love.
Like Dian's kiss, unasked, unsought, Love gives itself, but is not bought; Nor voice, nor sound betrays Its deep, impassioned gaze.
It comes, - the beautiful, the free, The crown of all humanity, - In silence and alone To seek the elected one.
It lifts the boughs, whose shadows deep Are life's oblivion, the soul's sleep, And kisses the closed eyes Of him who slumbering lies.
O weary hearts! O slumbering eyes! O drooping souls, whose destinies Are fraught with fear and pain, Ye shall be loved again!
No one is so accursed by fate, No one so utterly desolate, But some heart, though unknown, Responds unto his own.
Responds, - as if with unseen wings, An angel touched its quivering strings; And whispers, in its song, "Where hast thou stayed so long?"
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow [1807-1882]
FATE
Two shall be born, the whole wide world apart, And speak in different tongues and have no thought Each of the other's being, and no heed. And these, o'er unknown seas, to unknown lands Shall cross, escaping wreck, defying death; And all unconsciously shape every act And bend each wandering step to this one end - That, one day, out of darkness they shall meet And read life's meaning in each other's eyes.
And two shall walk some narrow way of life So nearly side by side that, should one turn Ever so little space to left or right, They needs must stand acknowledged, face to face. And, yet, with wistful eyes that never meet And groping hands that never clasp and lips Calling in vain to ears that never hear, They seek each other all their weary days And die unsatisfied - and this is Fate!
Susan Marr Spalding [1841-1908]
"GIVE ALL TO LOVE"
Give all to love; Obey thy heart; Friends, kindred, days, Estate, good fame, Plans, credit, and the Muse, - Nothing refuse.
'Tis a brave master; Let it have scope: Follow it utterly, Hope beyond hope: High