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قراءة كتاب Some Verses
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اللغة: English
الصفحة رقم: 3
id="EAST_AND_WEST">EAST AND WEST
You have not ceased for me. Though stern-browed Fate
Laid our two paths apart; when in the West
She gave you over to the seas, and great
Wide winds of enterprise, and set your breast
Against the suns and shadows of the earth;
Then with a gilded largess, led my ways
Toward the time-worn East, who paints her dearth
With purple vain imaginings; the praise
Of all her languid incense and the pride
Of ancient mysteries and hopeless creeds
Hold for my heart no spell when warm and wide
I see across the blue of Isis' veil
The thunderous breakers of your ocean pale
And glints of prairie sun through river reeds.
THE BATTLE
The pallid waves caress the paler sand,
Falter and tremble, then reluctant wane,
Fearing advance, yet venturing again.
Grey deep sea waves that never knew the land,
Tired with the tumult, stretch a crooked hand
To win a precious sweet surcease from pain,
But, glancing back upon the mighty main,
Perforce return to swell the strong command.
So fretful Life sees Death's cold sands and faints
To fling thereon the wearing of her wave,
Yet, turning ere she finds the gloomy shore,
Seeing ahead the idle senseless grave,
Behind—the Kings, the Patriots and the Saints,
She sighing turns to face the fight once more.
WATER AND WINE
I asked for water and they brought me wine;
Wine in a jewelled chalice, where the gold
Gleamed thro' the purple beads, as if unrolled—
One saw the sun-rays of a life-time shine.
So drinking, I forgot my dream divine
Of crystal purity, for in my hold
Were wealth and Fame and Passions manifold
Which with the draught I fancied might be mine.
"Ah, Youth," I said, "Ah, Faith and Love!" I said;
"These are but broken lances in the strife!
What shall remain when all these things are sped?"
Then crashed the dream. I clutched the hand of Fate
Amid the ruins of my shattered life,
And found the Gods had cheated, all too late.
PITY ME NOT!
Cruel and fair! within thy hollowed hand
My heart is lying as a little rose,
So faint and faded, scarce could one suppose
It might look in thine eyes and understand
The song they sing unto a weary land,
Making it radiant, yet because I dare,
To love thee, being weak, lose not thine air
Of passive distance, fateful and most grand.
Pity me not, nor turn away awhile
Till absence's cloud has caught my passion up.
Ah, be not kind! for love's sake, be not kind!
Grant me the tragic deepness of the cup,
And when thine eyes have flashed and made me blind,
Kill me beneath the shadow of thy smile.
A DREAM IN FEVER
A vast screen of unequal downward lines,
An orange purple halo 'round the rain,
Twists from a space whose very size is pain.
Here in this vortex day with night combines
Ruby and Emerald glint their blazing spines;
Closing and smothering, wheels a brazen main,
A shuddering sea of silence; in its train
A Thought—a cry, whose snake—fear trembling twines
Around—above—alive yet uttered not;
But my heart hears—and shrieking dies of dread,
Then soaring breaks its bands and o'er the rim
White winged it rends the dark with jagged blot,
Glimpsing the iris gateway barred ahead,
And, gazing thro', the eyes of cherubim.
A WOMAN'S PRIDE
I will not look for him—I will not hear
My heart's loud beating, as I strain to see
Across the rain forlorn and hopelessly,
Nor starting, think 'tis he that draws so near.
I will forget how tenderly and dear
He might in coming hold his arms to me,
For I will prove what woman's pride can be
When faint love lingers in the darkness drear.
I will not—Ah, but should he come to-night
I think my life might break thro' very bliss,
This little will should so be torn apart
That all my soul might fail in golden light
And let me die—So do I long for this.
Ah, love, thine eyes!—Nay, love—Thy heart, thy heart!
AGE
I have a dream, that somewhere in the days,
Since when a myriad suns have burned and died,
There was a time my soul was not for pride
Of spendthrift youth, the pensioner who pays
Dole for the pain of searching thro' the haze
Where joy lies hidden. As the puff balls ride,
The wandering wind across the Summer's side
So winged my spirit in a golden blaze
Of pure and careless Present—Future naught
But a sad dotard's wail—and I was young,
Who now am old. Now years like flashes seem,
Lambent or grey on the great wall of Thought—
This is a song a poet may have sung—
No proof remains, I have but dreamed a dream.