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The Path of Dreams
POEMS
BY LEIGH GORDON GILTNER
Fleming H. Revell Company
Chicago : New York : Toronto
COPYRIGHT 1900
BY LEIGH GORDON GILTNER
TO THE MEMORY OF MY MOTHER
Contents
In Woodland Ways 9 Ashes of Roses 11 A Challenge 13 And Yet ... 15 The Master-Player 16 Afterbloom 17 To Bliss Carman 18 When Love Passed By 19 Hedonism ... Euthumism 21-22 Under the Leaves 23 Carmen 23 To R. D. MacLean 26 Love and Death 26 A Winter Landscape 27 Roses and Rue 28 Severance 47 Spartacus 48 The Dead Leader 50 Hagar 51 Flower-Fancies 52-53 Circe 54 To A. M. M. 55 Loveless 56 Clytie—The Sunflower 57 In Bondage 61 To a Singer 63 Blossom of Brine 64 A Memory 65 To Margaret 66 Regret 67 "God Bless You, Dear" 69 Roses 71
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The Poet 72 Shylock 72 To Charles J. O'Malley 73 Antithesis 74 In Fortune's Twilight 74 Fate 75 The Path of Dreams 76 An Autumn Song 78 Vain 79 Sartor Resartus 80 Illumed 82 In The Play 83 To E. P. B. 84 Through The Dark 85 Preluding 86 The Heights of Silence 87 Andromeda 88 Requital 90 When Fades the Light 91 Butterflies 92 In the Dark Forest 93 Insatiate 95
To One Who Sleeps
(Obiit, June 8th, 1894.)
Tho' storm and summer shine for long have shed
Or blight or bloom above thy quiet bed,
Tho' loneliness and longing cry thee dead—
Thou art not dead, belovèd. Still with me
Are whilom hopings that encompass thee
And dreams of dear delights that may not be.
Asleep—adream perchance, dost thou forget
The sometime sorrow and the fevered fret,
Sting of salt tears and long unbreathed regret?
Liest thou here thro' long sunshiny hours,
Holding sweet converse with the springing flowers,
Harking the singing of the warm sweet showers
That fall like happy tears ... dost hear
The birds that unafraid assail thine ear—
And yet art silent when I whisper? Dear,
Dost thou not hear?
Or blight or bloom above thy quiet bed,
Tho' loneliness and longing cry thee dead—
Thou art not dead, belovèd. Still with me
Are whilom hopings that encompass thee
And dreams of dear delights that may not be.
Asleep—adream perchance, dost thou forget
The sometime sorrow and the fevered fret,
Sting of salt tears and long unbreathed regret?
Liest thou here thro' long sunshiny hours,
Holding sweet converse with the springing flowers,
Harking the singing of the warm sweet showers
That fall like happy tears ... dost hear
The birds that unafraid assail thine ear—
And yet art silent when I whisper? Dear,
Dost thou not hear?
Lying so low beneath the bending grass
In long, still smiling tranced for aye—alas!
Thou dost not harken when my footsteps pass.
If haply I some tender thing should tell
Thee of the springtime flowers thou once loved well—
Anemone and shining asphodel;
Should steal from Nature some enchanted lay,
Some bird-song lilted where green branches sway—
Heart-music that could stir thy heart alway;
Should call thee by the old fond name again,
Should tell thee all a heart's enduring pain
And long rememb'ring, would'st thou mute remain?
Alas! nor sigh nor song can thrill the ear
Tuned to Israfel's music in the sphere
Where things to thee erst dear no more are dear.
Thou dost not hear!
In long, still smiling tranced for aye—alas!
Thou dost not harken when my footsteps pass.
If haply I some tender thing should tell
Thee of the springtime flowers thou once loved well—
Anemone and shining asphodel;
Should steal from Nature some enchanted lay,
Some bird-song lilted where green branches sway—
Heart-music that could stir thy heart alway;
Should call thee by the old fond name again,
Should tell thee all a heart's enduring pain
And long rememb'ring, would'st thou mute remain?
Alas! nor sigh nor song can thrill the ear
Tuned to Israfel's music in the sphere
Where things to thee erst dear no more are dear.
Thou dost not hear!
THE PATH OF DREAMS
In Woodland Ways
Out of the poignant glare, the shadeless heat
Of summer noon, beseech thee follow me
Into the dim, dream-haunted secrecy
The cool, green glooms, the grottoed deep retreat,
Of yon old wood; down aisles of lichened trees—
Grey Merlins clasped by lissom
Of summer noon, beseech thee follow me
Into the dim, dream-haunted secrecy
The cool, green glooms, the grottoed deep retreat,
Of yon old wood; down aisles of lichened trees—
Grey Merlins clasped by lissom
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Viviens
Of clinging vine—to cloistered sylvan glens,
Where Nature weaves her fairest mysteries.
Of clinging vine—to cloistered sylvan glens,
Where Nature weaves her fairest mysteries.
Here let us rest a little—find surcease
For feet grown weary of the thridded street
That echoes ever to the ceaseless beat
Of human tread;—a brief while know the ease
Of dreamful rest, to slumb'rous languors stilled
On Orient rugs of dappled mosses spread
In nooks where blossom, purple, white and red,
The flowers Summer's lavish hands have spilled.
For feet grown weary of the thridded street
That echoes ever to the ceaseless beat
Of human tread;—a brief while know the ease
Of dreamful rest, to slumb'rous languors stilled
On Orient rugs of dappled mosses spread
In nooks where blossom, purple, white and red,
The flowers Summer's lavish hands have spilled.
Wild woodland creatures near us unafraid,
Some strange enchantment doth the forest hold—
Was that a sungleam, or a wand of gold
By tricksy Puck or wanton Ariel swayed?
Old oaks and beeches open wide their doors
And hamadryads veiled in golden sheen
Floating diaphanous o'er robes of green
Walk with still feet the forest's russet floors.
Some strange enchantment doth the forest hold—
Was that a sungleam, or a wand of gold
By tricksy Puck or wanton Ariel swayed?
Old oaks and beeches open wide their doors
And hamadryads veiled in golden sheen
Floating diaphanous o'er robes of green
Walk with still feet the forest's russet floors.
Lo, here are fairies hid in flower-bells,
There wood-nymphs fleeing from pursuing fauns,
And naiads fleshed with hues of rosy dawns
Lie dreaming by white streams in dusky dells;
We tread dim paths untrod by foot of man
And hark the horn of Dian ringing clear;
While faint, elusive, thin—now far, now near,
Meseems I hear the oaten pipe of Pan.
There wood-nymphs fleeing from pursuing fauns,
And naiads fleshed with hues of rosy dawns
Lie dreaming by white streams in dusky dells;
We tread dim paths untrod by foot of man
And hark the horn of Dian ringing clear;
While faint, elusive, thin—now far, now near,
Meseems I hear the oaten pipe of Pan.
And while o'erhead the plaining wood-dove grieves,
The cardinal—a wingèd, scarlet flower—
Sprays all the air with song, a golden shower
Of flutes-notes sifting downward thro' the leaves.
Ah, sweet enchantment doth the forest hold,
For Nature's self doth haunt these woodland ways,
My fevered brow on her cool breast she lays
And care slips from me as a garment old.
The cardinal—a wingèd, scarlet flower—
Sprays all the air with song, a golden shower
Of flutes-notes sifting downward thro' the leaves.
Ah, sweet enchantment doth the forest hold,
For Nature's self doth haunt these woodland ways,
My fevered brow on her cool breast she lays
And care slips from me as a garment old.
Ashes of Roses
Skies glooming overhead,
Autumn winds sighing;
Bare yonder garden bed,
Flowers low lying.
All their rich radiance fled,
All their pale petals shed,
Wan wraiths of Summer sped,
In Autumn's closes;
Crimson and cream and gold
Strewn on earth's bosom cold,
Mingling with umber mold—
Ashes of roses.
Autumn winds sighing;
Bare yonder garden bed,
Flowers low lying.
All their rich radiance fled,
All their pale petals shed,
Wan wraiths of Summer sped,
In Autumn's closes;
Crimson and cream and gold
Strewn on earth's bosom cold,
Mingling with umber mold—
Ashes of roses.
See, in yon waning West
Rich roses blowing
On Heaven's palimpsest
God's message glowing;
Rose hues and amethyst
Drenched in purpureate mist,
Darkness with Day keeps tryst,
Night's curtain closes;
Quenched is the burning gold,
Shadowed the upland wold,
Day's fires grow dull and cold
Ashes of roses.
Rich roses blowing
On Heaven's palimpsest
God's message glowing;
Rose hues and amethyst
Drenched in purpureate mist,
Darkness with Day keeps tryst,
Night's curtain closes;
Quenched is the burning gold,
Shadowed the upland wold,
Day's fires grow dull and cold
Ashes of roses.
So on this heart of mine
Shadows are lying;
Lotus and rue entwine,
Dim dreams are dying;
Stilled is the thrill divine,
Spilled is the amber wine,
Dimly the cold stars shine;
Wan age discloses
All youth's bright blossoms dead,
All love's rare radiance sped,
All hope's pure petals shed—
Ashes of roses.
Shadows are lying;
Lotus and rue entwine,
Dim dreams are dying;
Stilled is the thrill divine,
Spilled is the amber wine,
Dimly the cold stars shine;
Wan age discloses
All youth's bright blossoms dead,
All love's rare radiance sped,
All hope's pure petals shed—
Ashes of roses.
A Challenge
To have lived, to have loved, to have triumphed!—what more can the world bestow?
I stand at the close of the conflict, my foot on the neck of my foe.
Prone in the dust lies the demon Despair, still shouting his shibboleth
To the treacherous Amazon dark-browed Fate, and her grisly comrade, Death.
To have lived! To have felt in my veins the surge of the rich, red tide of life,
The quickening stir of the strong man's heart that thrills to the sound of strife;
To have wrested success from defeat, to have striven, and struggled, and won—
Shall this seem a small thing, think you, when the Battle of Ages is done?
To have loved! To have known of all raptures, the rapture supernal, divine,
To have felt the throb of your heart on my heart and the bloom of your lips pressed to mine;
To have ranked with the gods on Olympus—myths tell us immortal Jove
Cleft with his swan-wings the blue of the sky for boon of a mortal's love....
I have lived, I have loved, I have triumphed! Let Death come, or early or late!
I hurl my challenging gauntlet full in the face of Fate!
Fate may make wreck of a future—how can she alter the past?
I have tasted the sweets of life's chalice—why shrink from the lees at the last?
How should I cavil at aught that shall come—I stand with your head on my breast—
I have fought as I might—I have gained you, beloved ... to God's mercy the rest!
Tho' the heavens darken above me and the sky be shrunk as a scroll,
In the wreck and ruin of riven worlds, should I falter, O Soul of my soul?
Tho' the demon Despair, where he vanquished lies, still utter his shibboleth—
I fling my glove in the face of Fate and smile in the eyes of Death!
I stand at the close of the conflict, my foot on the neck of my foe.
Prone in the dust lies the demon Despair, still shouting his shibboleth
To the treacherous Amazon dark-browed Fate, and her grisly comrade, Death.
To have lived! To have felt in my veins the surge of the rich, red tide of life,
The quickening stir of the strong man's heart that thrills to the sound of strife;
To have wrested success from defeat, to have striven, and struggled, and won—
Shall this seem a small thing, think you, when the Battle of Ages is done?
To have loved! To have known of all raptures, the rapture supernal, divine,
To have felt the throb of your heart on my heart and the bloom of your lips pressed to mine;
To have ranked with the gods on Olympus—myths tell us immortal Jove
Cleft with his swan-wings the blue of the sky for boon of a mortal's love....
I have lived, I have loved, I have triumphed! Let Death come, or early or late!
I hurl my challenging gauntlet full in the face of Fate!
Fate may make wreck of a future—how can she alter the past?
I have tasted the sweets of life's chalice—why shrink from the lees at the last?
How should I cavil at aught that shall come—I stand with your head on my breast—
I have fought as I might—I have gained you, beloved ... to God's mercy the rest!
Tho' the heavens darken above me and the sky be shrunk as a scroll,
In the wreck and ruin of riven worlds, should I falter, O Soul of my soul?
Tho' the demon Despair, where he vanquished lies, still utter his shibboleth—
I fling my glove in the face of Fate and smile in the eyes of Death!
And Yet ...
Upon the meads where we were wont to stray,
'Guiling with springtime hopes the winter hours,
The Spring has smiled; yon slope that late gloomed gray
And sternly sad, 'neath April's tender showers
Grows green and glad again. The rippled grass,
A soundless sea o'er which white cloud-sails pass,
'Guiling with springtime hopes the winter hours,
The Spring has smiled; yon slope that late gloomed gray
And sternly sad, 'neath April's tender showers
Grows green and glad again. The rippled grass,
A soundless sea o'er which white cloud-sails pass,
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class="i0">Breaks at my feet in billows foamed with flowers;
And blue-eyed myrtle blooms with lashes wet
Smile to me thro' their tears. The skies are blue,
And life is sweet to-day and hope seems true;
My heart is barren of its long regret—
And yet ...
And blue-eyed myrtle blooms with lashes wet
Smile to me thro' their tears. The skies are blue,
And life is sweet to-day and hope seems true;
My heart is barren of its long regret—
And yet ...
The willow wears a wistful green. A dream
Of Summer warmth the wine-sweet breezes hold,
Fair wildings blow—bright buttercups agleam
Like shining sequins scattered on the wold,
And daffodills—a wealth of faery gold.
The building birds their coming bliss presage
With lilt and lyric brimming o'er the page
Of Nature's volume bound in green and gold.
Here 'mid the birds and blossoms 'neath the blue—
My heart unburthened of the old regret—
Let me forget long striving to forget;
For life is sweet to-day and hope seems true—
And yet ...
Of Summer warmth the wine-sweet breezes hold,
Fair wildings blow—bright buttercups agleam
Like shining sequins scattered on the wold,
And daffodills—a wealth of faery gold.
The building birds their coming bliss presage
With lilt and lyric brimming o'er the page
Of Nature's volume bound in green and gold.
Here 'mid the birds and blossoms 'neath the blue—
My heart unburthened of the old regret—
Let me forget long striving to forget;
For life is sweet to-day and hope seems true—
And yet ...
The Master-Player
Mute was the mighty organ. None might break
The silence that had thralled it since was stilled
The master-hand beneath whose touch it thrilled
To music such as choiring seraphs make—
Until a mightier Master came to wake
Th' elusive chords and subtle harmonies
That lay imprisoned in the cold white keys
And once again the soul of Music spake.
Methought my soul's most perfect melodies
No hand again to sonance could evoke—
A silent harp whose potence none might prove—
But, lo! one came who swept its chords and woke
Celestial strains, divinest harmonies,
Responsive to the master-touch of Love.
The silence that had thralled it since was stilled
The master-hand beneath whose touch it thrilled
To music such as choiring seraphs make—
Until a mightier Master came to wake
Th' elusive chords and subtle harmonies
That lay imprisoned in the cold white keys
And once again the soul of Music spake.
Methought my soul's most perfect melodies
No hand again to sonance could evoke—
A silent harp whose potence none might prove—
But, lo! one came who swept its chords and woke
Celestial strains, divinest harmonies,
Responsive to the master-touch of Love.
Afterbloom
Gay was her garden as some gorgeous fabric
Weft on an Orient loom,
Star-set upon the sward quaint, old-time blossoms
Wrought broidery of bloom.
Weft on an Orient loom,
Star-set upon the sward quaint, old-time blossoms
Wrought broidery of bloom.
Verbenas, dahlias, asters, scarlet cannas
Like torches flaming tall;
(Methought the fair, old face, enframed in silver,
The sweetest flower of all!)
Like torches flaming tall;
(Methought the fair, old face, enframed in silver,
The sweetest flower of all!)
And one rare rose she watched each year with hoping
Till the dear eyes grew dim—
But ere a single blossom burst in beauty
God took her home to Him.
Yet when the Spring next woke the earth to laughter
And boon of blossom gave,
Starred was the rose with white, unearthly flowers—
We laid them on her grave.
Till the dear eyes grew dim—
But ere a single blossom burst in beauty
God took her home to Him.
Yet when the Spring next woke the earth to laughter
And boon of blossom gave,
Starred was the rose with white, unearthly flowers—
We laid them on her grave.
* * * * *
And so, meseems, the buds we woo most fondly
Nor light nor perfume shed;
And Love's gold-hearted rose and Hope's star-flower
Oft bloom when we are dead.
Nor light nor perfume shed;
And Love's gold-hearted rose and Hope's star-flower
Oft bloom when we are dead.
To Bliss Carman
Great hearted brother to the wilderness,
Comrade of Wind and Sea! Interpreter
Of nomad Nature! Ere the quick'ning stir
Of Spring-sap thrills the wood from sullen stress
Of Winter's spell—away from throngèd press
Of urban ways thy wild feet wander far
Tracking the steps of some white Northern star
Whose rays are beacon to thy restlessness.
Weird mystic of the Northland's mystery,
Thou 'front'st the Unseen Shadow, nor dost fear
To meet the Scarlet Hunter on the trail;
Pagan as Pan; to all things sylvan dear,
Nature's own vagrant, buoyant, driftless, free—
All winds and woods and waters cry thee hail!
Comrade of Wind and Sea! Interpreter
Of nomad Nature! Ere the quick'ning stir
Of Spring-sap thrills the wood from sullen stress
Of Winter's spell—away from throngèd press
Of urban ways thy wild feet wander far
Tracking the steps of some white Northern star
Whose rays are beacon to thy restlessness.
Weird mystic of the Northland's mystery,
Thou 'front'st the Unseen Shadow, nor dost fear
To meet the Scarlet Hunter on the trail;
Pagan as Pan; to all things sylvan dear,
Nature's own vagrant, buoyant, driftless, free—
All winds and woods and waters cry thee hail!
When Love Passed By
I dreamt of love in the golden glory
Of youth unshadowed by cloud or care;
Steeped in the love-lore of song and story,
I said, "My Love shall be wondrous fair."
Of youth unshadowed by cloud or care;
Steeped in the love-lore of song and story,
I said, "My Love shall be wondrous fair."
I said, "Her hands shall be filled with flowers,
(My heart shall tell me when Love draws nigh!)
She shall steal sweet boon from the graceless hours,
Her eyes shall be blue as the cerule sky.
(My heart shall tell me when Love draws nigh!)
She shall steal sweet boon from the graceless hours,
Her eyes shall be blue as the cerule sky.
"Her hair shall be bright as the stars' gold gleaming,
Her lips shall be red with her heart's rich wine,
Her face shall be fair as my fondest dreaming,
Each pulse of my being shall call her mine!"
Her lips shall be red with her heart's rich wine,
Her face shall be fair as my fondest dreaming,
Each pulse of my being shall call her mine!"
Then long for the voice of my heart I harkened,
Tranced in love's hoping—all hope else forgot—
I waited lonely; the daylight darkened,
The twilight deepened—but love came not.
Tranced in love's hoping—all hope else forgot—
I waited lonely; the daylight darkened,
The twilight deepened—but love came not.
Then One passed by in the dusking shadows,
The night's dusk shadows slept on her hair—
She passed like a gleam o'er the dew-drenched meadows,
And my heart throbbed fast—but she was not fair.
The night's dusk shadows slept on her hair—
She passed like a gleam o'er the dew-drenched meadows,
And my heart throbbed fast—but she was not fair.
Her face was pale and her dark eyes pleading,
Her smile was wistful and gravely sweet;
She passed me by where I stood unheeding,
And dropped a violet at my feet.
Her smile was wistful and gravely sweet;
She passed me by where I stood unheeding,
And dropped a violet at my feet.
She went her way o'er the silent meadows,
(Ah, traitorous heart that you tricked me so!)
I sat alone in the deepening shadows—
Love had passed by—and I did not know.
(Ah, traitorous heart that you tricked me so!)
I sat alone in the deepening shadows—
Love had passed by—and I did not know.
Hedonism
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class="i0">Since we must sleep the endless Sleep at last,
Since Life's grim juggernaut 'neath ruthless wheels
Crushes the heart; since Age like Winter steals
On Youth's fair-flowered fields with blighting blast—
Then to the gods our doubts and fears be cast!
Enough of Sorrow! Joyance is our due.
Gather the roses! Spurn th' envenomed rue.
Fling to the waiting winds the pallid past.
Steep thee in mellow moods and dear desires;
Pluck Love's flame-hearted flower ere it dies;
Cull nectared kisses sweet as morning's breath,
Warm Chastity at Passion's purple fires;
Nepenthe quaff—till drained the chalice lies.
After ... the shrouded sleep, the dreamless dark of Death.
Since Life's grim juggernaut 'neath ruthless wheels
Crushes the heart; since Age like Winter steals
On Youth's fair-flowered fields with blighting blast—
Then to the gods our doubts and fears be cast!
Enough of Sorrow! Joyance is our due.
Gather the roses! Spurn th' envenomed rue.
Fling to the waiting winds the pallid past.
Steep thee in mellow moods and dear desires;
Pluck Love's flame-hearted flower ere it dies;
Cull nectared kisses sweet as morning's breath,
Warm Chastity at Passion's purple fires;
Nepenthe quaff—till drained the chalice lies.
After ... the shrouded sleep, the dreamless dark of Death.
Euthumism
If in the spirit glows no spark divine;
If soulless dust return to dust again;
If, after life, but death and dark remain—
Then it were well to make the moment thine,
Bacchante-steeping soul and sense in wine,
In lotus-lulling languors, fond desires
That heat the heart with fierce, unhallowed fires—
Till Pleasure, Circe-like, transform us into swine.
But if some subtler spirit thrill our clay,
Some God-like flame illume this fleeting dust—
Promethean fire snatched from the Olympian height—
Then must we choose the nobler, higher Way,
Seeking the Beautiful, the Pure, the Just—
The ultimate crowned triumph of the Right!
If soulless dust return to dust again;
If, after life, but death and dark remain—
Then it were well to make the moment thine,
Bacchante-steeping soul and sense in wine,
In lotus-lulling languors, fond desires
That heat the heart with fierce, unhallowed fires—
Till Pleasure, Circe-like, transform us into swine.
But if some subtler spirit thrill our clay,
Some God-like flame illume this fleeting dust—
Promethean fire snatched from the Olympian height—
Then must we choose the nobler, higher Way,
Seeking the Beautiful, the Pure, the Just—
The ultimate crowned triumph of the Right!
Under the Leaves
The phalanxes of corn stand grim and serried,
Dull gold the sodden sheaves,
The violets that smiled with Spring are buried
Under the leaves.
Dull gold the sodden sheaves,
The violets that smiled with Spring are buried
Under the leaves.
Along the land the Winter's doom is creeping
All vainly Autumn grieves;
And she who made my heart's sweet Spring is sleeping
Under the leaves.
All vainly Autumn grieves;
And she who made my heart's sweet Spring is sleeping
Under the leaves.
Carmen
Night in Seville, and the twinkle
Of stars in the far azure set,
The mandolin's torturing tinkle,
The click of the castanet!
Music and wine and low laughter,
Love and a torment of tune—
Hate and a poignard thereafter,
Under the yellow moon.
Of stars in the far azure set,
The mandolin's torturing tinkle,
The click of the castanet!
Music and wine and low laughter,
Love and a torment of tune—
Hate and a poignard thereafter,
Under the yellow moon.
Here in the night I await her,
Under the slumberous moon;
Yearns my fierce spirit to mate her—
All my sick senses aswoon
Beneath the wild sway of her dancing
Passion and pride are at war;—
Thrall to her amorous glancing,
Grandee and toreador.
Under the slumberous moon;
Yearns my fierce spirit to mate her—
All my sick senses aswoon
Beneath the wild sway of her dancing
Passion and pride are at war;—
Thrall to her amorous glancing,
Grandee and toreador.
Carmen Gitana, behold her!
Bright passion-flower of the South;
Soft Southern languors enfold her,
Scarlet the bloom of her mouth;
Passionate, sensuous, cruel,
Raying warm laughter and light,
A ruby—a scintillant jewel—
Set on the brow of the Night!
Bright passion-flower of the South;
Soft Southern languors enfold her,
Scarlet the bloom of her mouth;
Passionate, sensuous, cruel,
Raying warm laughter and light,
A ruby—a scintillant jewel—
Set on the brow of the Night!
Ah, the wild rhythm of her dancing!
Lithe with the jaguar's grace,
Ah, the sweet fire of her glancing,
The love-litten lure of her face!
And ah, in my fierce arms to hold her
This strange scarlet flower of the South.
Close to my heart-beat to fold her
Drinking the wine of her mouth!
Lithe with the jaguar's grace,
Ah, the sweet fire of her glancing,
The love-litten lure of her face!
And ah, in my fierce arms to hold her
This strange scarlet flower of the South.
Close to my heart-beat to fold her
Drinking the wine of her mouth!
Sweet, thou art weary with dancing,
Sick of the music and light
Praises and overbold glancing—
Steal with me into the night;
Out of the riot of laughter,
Out of the torment of tune—
Love and close kisses thereafter
Under the sensuous moon!
Sick of the music and light
Praises and overbold glancing—
Steal with me into the night;
Out of the riot of laughter,
Out of the torment of tune—
Love and close kisses thereafter
Under the sensuous moon!
Carmen, my fierce arms enfold thee,
Bright passion-flower of the South,
Close to my hot heart I hold thee,
Crushing the flower of thy mouth.
Love—for the loving that swayed me,
Passion—for passion long past—
Hate—for the hate that betrayed me ...
My dirk in your side at the last!
Bright passion-flower of the South,
Close to my hot heart I hold thee,
Crushing the flower of thy mouth.
Love—for the loving that swayed me,
Passion—for passion long past—
Hate—for the hate that betrayed me ...
My dirk in your side at the last!
To R. D. MacLean
If words were wingèd arrows tipped with flame,
Far-flying thro' the vast of time and space,
If Erato should lend me some rare grace,
Then might I dare to breathe in song your name.
Ah, Player-king, unmoved by all renown,
Acclaim and praise that wait upon your name,
You pluck a laurel from the wreath of fame,
Then, careless of the guerdon, cast it down.
Far-flying thro' the vast of time and space,
If Erato should lend me some rare grace,
Then might I dare to breathe in song your name.
Ah, Player-king, unmoved by all renown,
Acclaim and praise that wait upon your name,
You pluck a laurel from the wreath of fame,
Then, careless of the guerdon, cast it down.
Love and Death
Ever athwart Life's sunlit, upland ways
Falleth the shadow of impending Death,
And still Life's flowers beneath his blighting breath
To ashes wither, and to dust, her bays.
What were the worth of hard-won power or praise?
Awaits us all the grave-cell dark and deep,
The greedy grave-worm's maw, the awful sleep
When Death his cold hand on our pulses lays.
What then the end of action or of strife?
The sphinxèd riddle of the Universe,
Nature's unsolved enigma, who may prove?
Life's Passion
Falleth the shadow of impending Death,
And still Life's flowers beneath his blighting breath
To ashes wither, and to dust, her bays.
What were the worth of hard-won power or praise?
Awaits us all the grave-cell dark and deep,
The greedy grave-worm's maw, the awful sleep
When Death his cold hand on our pulses lays.
What then the end of action or of strife?
The sphinxèd riddle of the Universe,
Nature's unsolved enigma, who may prove?
Life's Passion
Page 6
Play all blindly men rehearse....
But yet our recompense for birth, for life,
For death itself, meseems, is deathless Love!
But yet our recompense for birth, for life,
For death itself, meseems, is deathless Love!
A Winter Landscape
A mystic world mantled in white simarre
Arachne-spun with argent woof; her wede
Starred with strange crystals wrought from frozen spar,
Sprent with pearl frost-flowers; girt with diamond brede,
Rubied with berries red as drops of blood,
Befringed with gelid, many-irised gems;
Broidered with lace weft of an elfin brood—
Hoar filagree to deck her garment hems.
Arachne-spun with argent woof; her wede
Starred with strange crystals wrought from frozen spar,
Sprent with pearl frost-flowers; girt with diamond brede,
Rubied with berries red as drops of blood,
Befringed with gelid, many-irised gems;
Broidered with lace weft of an elfin brood—
Hoar filagree to deck her garment hems.
Sheer slanting down the sky an opal light
Pierces the snow-blur's veil of wannish gray,
In iridescent sheen, tingeing the dazzling white
With amethystine, gold or beryl ray.
Along the West the transient sunset gleam—
An ardor brief! Crimson on crimson grows
Till all the waning sky, incarnadine,
Glows like blown petals of a shattered rose.
Pierces the snow-blur's veil of wannish gray,
In iridescent sheen, tingeing the dazzling white
With amethystine, gold or beryl ray.
Along the West the transient sunset gleam—
An ardor brief! Crimson on crimson grows
Till all the waning sky, incarnadine,
Glows like blown petals of a shattered rose.
Roses and Rue
I.
A swift thought flashed to my mind that day
When I first saw you, regally tall
'Mid a throng of pigmies—a very Saul—
How some woman's heart must admit your sway,
Some woman's soul to your soul be thrall;
(And though not for me were the rapture to prove you,
I thrilled as I thought how a woman might love you!)
When I first saw you, regally tall
'Mid a throng of pigmies—a very Saul—
How some woman's heart must admit your sway,
Some woman's soul to your soul be thrall;
(And though not for me were the rapture to prove you,
I thrilled as I thought how a woman might love you!)
Then—strange that our eyes for a moment should meet
And hold each other a breathless space,
That a light as of dawn should leap into your face,
That the lips that were stern should an instant grow sweet—
Ere you turned, at a word, with a courtier's grace.
(And I knew that tho' many a woman had loved you,
Till that moment, the glance of no woman had moved you!)
And hold each other a breathless space,
That a light as of dawn should leap into your face,
That the lips that were stern should an instant grow sweet—
Ere you turned, at a word, with a courtier's grace.
(And I knew that tho' many a woman had loved you,
Till that moment, the glance of no woman had moved you!)
Then you stood at my side and one murmured your name,
The proud old name that you worthily wore,
And I drank the soul-chalice Fate's mandate upbore
To my lips, as the fire of your glance leapt to flame;
What need were of words? heart speaks heart evermore—
(And I knew that were mine but the rapture to prove you,
How deeply, how dearly one woman might love you!)
The proud old name that you worthily wore,
And I drank the soul-chalice Fate's mandate upbore
To my lips, as the fire of your glance leapt to flame;
What need were of words? heart speaks heart evermore—
(And I knew that were mine but the rapture to prove you,
How deeply, how dearly one woman might love you!)
II.
Do I idly dream, as the village maid,
Who thinks, as she spins, of a princekin gay
On a prancing steed, who shall come her way
To woo her and win her and bear her away
Thro' the vasty depths of the forest shade
To a palace set in a sylvan glade,—
To love her for aye and a day?
Who thinks, as she spins, of a princekin gay
On a prancing steed, who shall come her way
To woo her and win her and bear her away
Thro' the vasty depths of the forest shade
To a palace set in a sylvan glade,—
To love her for aye and a day?
Is it like that he with his princely pride—
The son of a proud old race,
Shall stoop with Cophetua's kingly grace
To lift me up to the vacant place,
To reign like a queen at his side?
Can the world afford him no worthier bride—
No bride with a queenlier grace?
The son of a proud old race,
Shall stoop with Cophetua's kingly grace
To lift me up to the vacant place,
To reign like a queen at his side?
Can the world afford him no worthier bride—
No bride with a queenlier grace?
Aye, a foolish dream for a sordid day
When men seek power—and women, gold—
Gone is the chivalrous age of old
When maids were loving and men were bold,
And good King Arthur held knightly sway!
Ah, love and knighthood were laid away
With the cuirass and helm of old.
When men seek power—and women, gold—
Gone is the chivalrous age of old
When maids were loving and men were bold,
And good King Arthur held knightly sway!
Ah, love and knighthood were laid away
With the cuirass and helm of old.
* * * * *
But a horseman rides to the wicket gate—
All my pulses proclaim it he,
My knight who has parted the waves of the sea,
Who has cleft the wide world in his searching for me....
Fond, foolish, dreaming!—for surely Fate
Decrees him the winning a worthier mate
Than a simple girl like me!
All my pulses proclaim it he,
My knight who has parted the waves of the sea,
Who has cleft the wide world in his searching for me....
Fond, foolish, dreaming!—for surely Fate
Decrees him the winning a worthier mate
Than a simple girl like me!