A Lover's Diary Part 13

THE DARKENED WAY

"It is no matter;"--thus the n.o.ble Dane, About his heart more ill than one could tell; Sad augury, that like a funeral bell Against his soul struck solemn notes of pain.

So 'gainst the deadly smother he could press With calm his lofty manhood; interpose Purpose divine, and at the last disclose For life's great s.h.i.+ft a regnant readiness.

To-day I bought some matches in the street From one whose eyes had long since lost their sight.

Trembling with palsy was he to his feet.

"Father," I said, "how fare you in the night?"

"In body ill, but 'tis no matter, friend, Strong is my soul to keep me to the end."

DISTRUST not a woman nor a king--it availeth nothing.

--Egyptian Proverb.

WHEN thou journeyest into the shadows, take not sweetmeats with thee, but a seed of corn and a bottle of tears and wine; that thou mayst have a garden in the land whither thou goeat.

--Egyptian Proverb.

REUNITED

Once more, once more! That golden eventide!

Golden within, without all cold and grey, Slowly you came forth from the troubled day, Singing my heart--you glided to my side;

You glided in; the same grave, quiet face, The same deep look, the never-ending light In your proud eyes, eyes s.h.i.+ning through the night, That night of absence--distance--from your place.

Calm words, slow touch of hand, but, oh, the cry, The long, long cry of pa.s.sion and of joy Within my heart; the star-burst in the sky--

The world--our world--which time may not destroy!

Your world and mine, unutterably sweet: Dearest, once more, the old song at thy feet.

SONG WAS GONE FROM ME

Dearest, once more! This I could tell and tell Till life turned drowsy with the ceaseless note; Dearest, once more! The words throb in my throat, My heart beats to them like a m.u.f.fled bell.

Change--Time and Change! O Change and Time, you come Not knocking at my door, knowing me gone; Here have I dwelt within my heart alone, Watching and waiting, while my muse was dumb

Song was gone from me--sweet, I could not sing, Save as men sing upon the lonely hills; Under my hand the old chord ceased to ring,

Hushed by the grinding of the high G.o.ds' mills.

Dearest, once more. Those mad mills had their way-- Now is mine hour. To every man his day.

GOOD WAS THE FIGHT

How have I toiled, how have I set my face Fair to the swords! No man could say I quailed; Ne'er did I falter; I dare not to have failed, I dare not to have dropped from out the race.

Good was the fight--good, till a piteous dream Crept from some direful covert of despair; Showed me your look, that look so true and fair, Distant and bleak; for me no more to gleam.

Then was I driven back upon my soul, Then came dark moments; lady, then I drew Forth from its place the round unfathomed bowl

Of sorrow, and from it I quaffed to you; Speaking as men speak who have lost Their hearts' last prize--and dare not count the cost.

UNCHANGED

But you are here unchanged. You say not so In words, but when you placed your hands in mine; But when I saw the same old glory s.h.i.+ne Within your eyes, I read it; and I know.

And when those hands ran up along my arm, And rested on my shoulder for a s.p.a.ce, A sacred inquisition in your face, To read my heart, how could I doubt that charm,

That truth ineffable!--I set my soul In hazard to a farthing, that you kept The faith, with pride unspeakable, the whole

Course of those years in which communion slept.

Your soul flamed in your look; you read; I knew How little worth was I, how heavenly you.

ABSOLVO TE

I read your truth. You read--What did you read?

Did you read all, and, reading all, forgive?

How I--O little dwarf of conscience sieve My soul; bare all before her bare indeed!