The Fairy Changeling and Other Poems Part 9

Whose is the loveliness I know is by, Yet cannot place?

Is it perfection of the sea or sky, Or human face?

Not yours, my pencil, to delineate The splendid smile!

Blind in the sun, we struggle on with Fate That glows the while.

Whose are the feet that pa.s.s me, echoing On unknown ways?

Whose are the lips that only part to sing Through all my days?

Not yours, fond youth, to fill mine eager eyes Or find that sh.o.r.e That will not let me rest, nor satisfies For evermore.

BEWARE

I closed my hands upon a moth And when I drew my palms apart, Instead of dusty, broken wings I found a bleeding human heart.

I crushed my foot upon a worm That had my garden for its goal, But when I drew my foot aside I found a dying human soul.

THE OLD MAID

She walks in a lonely garden On the path her feet have made, With high-heeled shoes, gold-buckled, And gown of a flowered brocade;

The hair that falls on her shoulders, Half-held with a ribbon tie, Once glowed like the wheat in autumn, Now grey as a winter sky.

Time on her brow with rough fingers Writes his record of smiles and tears; And her mind, like a golden timepiece, He stopped in the long past years.

At the foot of the lonely garden, When she comes to the trysting place She knew of old, there she lingers, With a blush on her withered face.

The children out on the common: They climb to the garden wall; And laugh: "He will come to-morrow!"

Who never will come at all.

And often over our sewing, As I and my neighbour sit To gossip over this story That has never an end to it,

"He is dead," I would say, "that lover, Who left her so long ago,"

But my neighbour would rest her needle To answer, "He's false I know."

"For could it be he were sleeping.

With a love that was such as this He'd have burst through the gates of silence, And flown to meet her kiss."

Is she best with tears or laughter, This dame in her old brocade?

My neighbour says she is holy, With a faith that will not fade.

But the children out on the common They answer her dreary call, And say: "He will come to-morrow!"

Who never will come at all.

WIRASTRUA

Wirastrua, wirastrua, woe to me that you are dead!

The corpse has spoken from out his bed, "Yesternight my burning brain Throbbed and beat on the strings of pain: Now I rest, all my dreaming's done, In the world behind the sun.

Yesterday I toiled full sore, To-day I ride in a coach and four.

Yesternight in the streets I lay, To-night with kings, and as good as they."

Wirastrua! wirastrua! would I were lying as cold as you.

QUESTIONS

What is the secret of your life, browsing ox, Ox the sweet gra.s.s eating?

Who strung the mighty sinews in your flesh?

Who set that great heart beating?

What is the secret of your death, soulless ox, Ox so patiently waiting?

Why hath pain wove her net for your brain's anguish If for you Death will gain no life's creating?

A LITTLE DOG

A little dog disturbed my trust in Heaven.

I praised most faithfully All the great things that be, Man's pain and pleasure even, I said though hard this weighing Of pains and tears and praying He will reward most just.

I said your bitter weeping man or maid, Your tears or laughter Shall gain a just Hereafter; Meet you the will of G.o.d then unafraid, Gird you to your trials for G.o.d's abode Is open for all sorrow; Live for the great to-morrow.

There pa.s.sed me on the road

A little dog with hungry eyes, and sad Thin flesh all s.h.i.+vering, All sore and quivering, Whining beneath the fell disease he had.

I hurried home and praised G.o.d as before For thus affording To man rewarding, The dog was whining outside my door.

I flung it wide, and said, Come enter in, Outcast of G.o.d.

Beneath His rod You suffer sore, poor beast, that had no sin.

Not at my door then must you cry complaining Your lot unjust, But His who thrust You from His door your body maiming.

Not mine the pleasure that you bear this pain, Hurled into being Without hope of freeing By grief and patience a soul for any gain.

Thus I reproached G.o.d while I tended The sores to healing A voice stealing And whispering out of the beast I friended,