thine.
              For love is joy and grief,
       And trembling doubt, and certain-sure belief,
       And fear, and hope, and longing unexpressed,
       In pain most human, and in rapture brief
                   Almost divine.
       Love would possess, yet deepens when denied;
       And love would give, yet hungers to receive;
       Love like a prince his triumph would achieve;
     And like a miser in the dark his joys would hide.
                   Love is most bold:
       He leads his dreams like armed men in line;
       Yet when the siege is set, and he must speak,
           Calling the fortress to resign
       Its treasure, valiant love grows weak,
       And hardly dares his purpose to unfold.
       Less with his faltering lips than with his eyes
              He claims the longed-for prize:
     Love fain would tell it all, yet leaves the best untold.

     But thou shalt speak for love.  Yea, thou shalt teach
           The mystery of measured tone,
             The Pentecostal speech
      That every listener heareth as his own.
      For on thy head the cloven tongues of fire,—
      Diminished chords that quiver with desire,
      And major chords that glow with perfect peace,—
             Have fallen from above;
             And thou canst give release
      In music to the burdened heart of love.

       Sound with the 'cellos' pleading, passionate strain
       The yearning theme, and let the flute reply
       In placid melody, while violins complain,
                And sob, and sigh,
                With muted string;
       Then let the oboe half-reluctant sing
       Of bliss that trembles on the verge of pain,
         While 'cellos plead and plead again,
     With throbbing notes delayed, that would impart
     To every urgent tone the beating of the heart.
         So runs the andante, making plain
     The hopes and fears of love without a word.

       Then comes the adagio, with a yielding theme
     Through which the violas flow soft as in a dream,
          While horns and mild bassoons are heard
          In tender tune, that seems to float
            Like an enchanted boat
          Upon the downward-gliding stream,
          Toward the allegro's wide, bright sea
          Of dancing, glittering, blending tone,
         Where every instrument is sounding free,
     And harps like wedding-chimes are rung, and trumpets blown
            Around the barque of love
          That sweeps, with smiling skies above,
          A royal galley, many-oared,
       Into the happy harbour of the perfect chord.

IX. IRIS