night my soul groped blindly in a dream
Through mazes of a mighty corridor,
Pillared between the stars; and my heart bore
Its youthful sorrow, calling for the gleam
Shed from your golden body like a beam
Sent from the sun—a beauty nevermore
Mine to behold, to have, to cherish, for
Faith's rule was ended and Doubt stood supreme!

All night my soul groped blindly till the dawn
Woke on the world with matin song of birds
And choral thunder of the wind upon
The mountains; while the trees chanted the words
Of an old litany that cried the grief
Of lovers sundered through their lost belief!

XVII

Dear Love is fallen, fallen by my hand!
Lost is my Eden, closed its golden gate;
Winged seraphim, guarding the ways, await
With swords of sudden flame me to withstand.
I am that uncrowned king at whose command
Earth and the sky obeyed, things small and great
Bowed down to serve. Oh, terrible the fate
Of Adam, lonely in an alien land!

Henceforth in bitterness I shall eat bread.
Cursed for my sake, the fields, which day adorns
No more with fruitage of the autumn spread,
Shall bear me briars and abundant thorns;
My glory, too, shall know the moth and rust,—
Come quickly, Death, and be it: Dust to dust!

XVIII

And I have lost you, so the voices say—
Voices that taunt, deride my silent pain;
Voices that fall incessant, like the rain
Throughout this dim and memory-haunted day!
Dear Love, come back, resume your ancient sway
For my strong pleading! Or is it in vain
That I beneath the stars all night have lain
Prone upon earth, clay crying unto clay?

No answer.... O thou God-vacated sky,
Thunder upon my head the riving flame!
There is no more for me to do but die!
Or else for One, whom now I dare not name,
At crossroads of the world a watch to keep
With those who thither come, a while to weep.

XIX

Last night—or was it in the golden morn—
Once more I dreamed that I alone did fare
Forth into spirit-silences; and there
I found you not; my star was set! Forlorn,
I sought the kindred company of worn
And stricken souls—lost, sundered souls, who bear
Old and avoided crosses with each care
Woven together in their crowns of thorn.

Gods of the patient, vain endeavour, these
Claimed me and called me fellow, comrade, friend,
And bade me join in their brave litanies;
Because, though I had failed you, I dared bend
Before you without hope of one reward,
Save that in loving you my soul still soared.

XX

When singing first my smitten heart's lament,
My thought was only turned upon my pain,
And I was also querulous with Cain,
Crying: "This thing that thou on me hast sent
Is more than I can bear!" But now content,
Peace, and a quiet joy close the refrain
Of passionate protesting with a strain
Of dulcimers and silver trumpets blent:

For though my shame be branded on my brow,
And you in tears have driven me afar
Because I faltered and forgot my vow,
The night has still for me a single star
That will not let me quite forget your eyes—
You, and the dear dream-hours of Paradise!

XXI

Since we have sundered been by broken vow
Of faith and trust—the fault was mine, O Heart—
Much have I learned of Woman and the part
She plays in shaking from the laden bow
Life's blossoms; all that has been, and is now,
And ever shall be: Science, Music, Art,
Religion, these, as from a fountain start
The rivers, have been hers—Man to endow.

So must I, wounded in the valley, call
To you, alone upon the morning-height:
Praise and thanksgiving for the throw and fall!
Vanquished by you, I shall rise up and fight
Him armed with trident and the subtle mesh—
Mankind's most ancient enemy, the Flesh!

XXII

Through what dark centuries have all your kind
Upon the cross of Sex been crucified!
Betrayed with kisses, smitten, then denied;
Mocked in the place of judgment, and made blind
To please the ruling of some priestly mind.
Along the cobbled highroad straight and wide,
They have gone bleeding, stumbling forth, and died
That Man through them might his redemption find.

This your rebuke has taught me. Take my sword,
And on your form divine my purple bear;
While, kneeling at your feet, I pledge my word
For King Love's sake in Woman's cause to fare
Against Tradition's standard—church or state—
And be my Sister's knight and laureate.

XXIII

O woman, now thy golden day's at morn!
Dawn leaps and laughs upon the waiting hills,
And sings thy freedom; for thy sorrow fills
The cup at last; and all that thou hast borne
Pleads thy release! ... Lord Christ, and crowned with thorn,
Lay bare each sacred agony that spills
Blood of the crucified pure hearts and wills,
Brows, hands, and feet, the centuries have torn!

This be the song that you have taught me sing,
The strain you on my ready harp confer.
Love seeks, as sought each Christ-adoring king,
But to bow down ... Gold, frankincense, and myrrh,
Are offered, not the body to possess,
Neither command, but reverently to bless.

XXIV

I am all gladness like a little child!
Grief's tragic figure of the veiled face
Fades from my path, moving with measured pace
Back from the splendour that breaks on the wild,
High hills of sorrow, where the storm-clouds piled
In drift of tears. Lo! with what tender grace
Joy holds the world again in her embrace
Since you came forth, and looked on me, and smiled.

Down in the valley shines a scimiter—
A stream with autumn-gold deep damascened;
And of the bards of day one loiterer
Still lingers at his song, securely screened
By foliage. Dear, what miracle is this,
Transforming void and chaos with a kiss!

XXV

There are so many things to say and do
After that moment of our breathless bliss
When separation ends upon a kiss,
And I have passed the dreary spaces through.
Words as of one long leashed by silence who
Finds tongue at last, and, eager, would not miss
Fulfilment of ten thousand fancies; this
Must follow my first swift embrace of you.

Secure within the palaces of thought,
And guarded by my soul as with a sword,
These fancies are; no curious eyes have caught
Their gleam and glory: you alone, Adored,
May enter the uplifted gates of gold
To hear and see what never has been told.

XXVI

There is a little path among the trees
That leads me to a quiet garden-plot;
Thither I go for the content of thought,
Dreams, and the quiet joy of reveries;
And in this place my simple melodies
Are sung with you beside me—fancies caught
From the swift moment, as if one forgot
The truth that cries: "Imaginings are these!"