class="line">THE HOUSE OF MERCY

THE HOUSE OF EARTH

 

O ye disconsolate and heavy-souled,

That evening cometh when ye too shall learn

The pangs of one who may no more return,

To live again the uneven days of old.

Ye too shall weary of the myrrh and gold

(Seeing the gods and their great unconcern),

And, as I yearn to-day, your feet shall yearn

To touch that Earth which ye afar behold.

Think now upon your grievous things to bear,--

Some goal unwon, some old sin's lurid stain,

Your vistaed paths,--are they not fair as hope?

But I between dead suns must peer, and grope

Among forsaken worlds, one glimpse to gain

Of my old place--the heaviest shadow there.

THE HOUSE OF FAITH

 

I would not have thee, dear, in darkness sit,

On days like this, hand clasped in quiet hand,

Remembering mournfully that fragrant land--

Each day therein, the joy we had of it.

Rather, while still the lamps are trimmed and lit,

Bid strangers to the feasts that once we planned,

Merry the while! Until the dust's demand

My soul, not thine, shall separately submit.

So, when thou comest (for I at last will call

And thou shalt hear, and linger not at all),

Still to thy throat, thine arms, thy loosened hair

Will cling the savour of the World's fresh kiss,

So sweet to me! and doubly sweet for this--

That thou for mine shouldst leave a place so fair!

THE