The Cup of Comus Part 5

_OLD GHOSTS_

Clove-spicy pinks and phlox that fill the sense With drowsy indolence; And in the evening skies Interior splendor, pregnant with surprise, As if in some new wise The full moon soon would rise.

Hung with the crimson aigrets of its seeds The purple monkshood bleeds; The dewy crickets chirr, And everywhere are lights of lavender; And scents of musk and myrrh To guide the foot of her.

She pa.s.ses like a misty glimmer on To where the rose blooms wan,-- A twilight moth in flight,-- As in the west its streak of chrysolite The dusk erases quite, And ushers in the night.

And now another shadow pa.s.ses slow, With firefly light a-glow: The scent of a cigar, And two who kiss beneath the evening-star, Where, in a moonbeam bar, A whippoorwill cries afar.

Again the tale is told, that has been told So often here of old: Ghosts of dead lovers they?

Or memories only of some perished day?-- Old ghosts, no time shall lay, That haunt the place alway.

_THE NAME ON THE TREE_

I saw a name carved on a tree--"Julia"; A simpler name there could not be--Julia: But seeing it I seemed to see A Devon garden,--pleasantly About a parsonage,--the bee Made drowsy-sweet; where rosemary And pink and phlox and peony Bowed down to one Whom Herrick made to bloom in Poetry.

A moment there I saw her stand,--Julia; A gillyflower in her hand,--Julia: And then, kind-faced and big and bland, As raised by some magician's wand, Herrick himself pa.s.sed by, sun-tanned, And smiling; and the quiet land Seemed to take on and understand A dream long dreamed, And for the lives of two some gladness planned.

And then I seemed to hear a sigh,--"Julia!"

And someone softly walking nigh,--Julia: The leaves shook; and a b.u.t.terfly Trailed past; and through the sleepy sky A bird flew, crying strange its cry-- Then suddenly before my eye Two lovers strolled--They knew not why I looked amazed,-- But I had seen old ghosts of long dead loves go by.

_THE HAUNTED GARDEN_

There a tattered marigold And dead asters manifold, Showed him where the garden old Of time bloomed: Briar and thistle overgrew Corners where the rose once blew, Where the phlox of every hue Lay entombed.

Here a coreopsis flower Pushed its disc above a bower, Where once poured a starry shower, Bronze and gold: And a twisted hollyhock, And the remnant of a stock, Struggled up, 'mid burr and dock, Through the mold.

Flower-pots, with mossy cloak, Strewed a place beneath an oak, Where the garden-bench lay broke By the tree: And he thought of _her_, who here Sat with him but yesteryear; Her, whose presence now seemed near Stealthily.

And the garden seemed to look For her coming. Petals shook On the spot where, with her book, Oft she sat.-- Suddenly there blew a wind: And across the garden blind, Like a black thought in a mind, Stole a cat.

Lean as hunger; like the shade Of a dream; a ghost unlaid; Through the weeds its way it made, Gaunt and old: Once 't was _hers_. He looked to see If _she_ followed to the tree.-- Then recalled how long since she Had been mold.

_THE CLOSED DOOR_

Shut it out of the heart--this grief, O Love, with the years grown old and h.o.a.ry!

And let in joy that life is brief, And give G.o.d thanks for the end of the story.

The bond of the flesh is transitory, And beauty goes with the lapse of years-- The brow's white rose and the hair's dark glory-- G.o.d be thanked for the severing shears!

Over the past, Heart, waste no tears!

Over the past, and all its madness, Its wine and wormwood, hopes and fears, That never were worth a moment's sadness.

Here she lies who was part o' its gladness, Wife and mistress, and shared its woe, The good of life as well as its badness,-- Look on her face and see if you know.

Is this the face?--yea, ask it slow!-- The hair, the form, that we used to cherish?-- Where is the glory of long-ago?

The beauty we said would never perish.-- Like a dream we dream, or a thought we nourish, Nothing of earth immortal is: This is the end however we flourish-- All that is fair must come to this.

_THE LONG ROOM_

He found the long room as it was of old, Glimmering with sunset's gold; That made the tapestries seem full of eyes Strange with a wild surmise: Glaring upon a Psyche where she shone Carven of stainless stone, Holding a crystal heart where many a sun Seemed starrily bound in one: And near her, grim in rigid metal, stood An old knight in a wood, Groping his way: the bony wreck, that was His steed, at weary pause.

And over these a canvas--one mad mesh Of Chrysoprase tints of flesh And b.r.e.a.s.t.s--Bohemian cups, whose glory gleamed For one who, brutish, seemed A hideous Troll, unto whose l.u.s.tful arms She yielded glad her charms.

Then he remembered all _her_ shame; and knew The thing that he must do: These were but records of _his_ life: the whole Portrayed to him his soul.-- So, drawing forth the slim Bithynian phial, He drained it with a smile.

And 'twixt the Knight and Psyche fell and died; The arras, evil-eyed, Glared grimly at him where all night he lay, And where a stealthy ray Pointed her to _him_--her, that nymph above, Who gave the Troll her love.

_IN PEARL AND GOLD_

When pearl and gold, o'er deeps of musk, The moon curves, silvering the dusk,-- As in a garden, dreaming, A lily slips its dewy husk A firefly in its gleaming,-- I of my garden am a guest; My garden, that, in beauty dressed Of simple shrubs and oldtime flowers, Chats with me of the perished hours, When _she_ companioned me in life, Living remote from care and strife.

It says to me: "How sad and slow The hours of daylight come and go, Until the Night walks here again With moon and starlight in her train, And she and I with perfumed words Of winds and waters, dreaming birds, And flowers and crickets and the moon, For hour on hour, in soul commune.--"

And you, and you, Sit here and listen in the dew For her, the love, you used to know, Who often walked here, long ago, Long ago; The young, sweet love you used to know Long ago Whom oft I watched with violet eye, Or eye of dew, as she pa.s.sed by: As she pa.s.sed by.

And I reply, with half a sigh:-- "You knew her too as well as I, That young sweet love of long-ago!

That young sweet love, who walked here slow.-- Oh, speak no more of the days gone by, Dear days gone by, Lest I lay me down on your heart and die!"

_MOON FAIRIES_

The moon, a circle of gold, O'er the crowded housetops rolled, And peeped in an attic, where, 'Mid sordid things and bare, A sick child lay and gazed At a road to the far-away, A road he followed, mazed, That grew from a moonbeam-ray,

A road of light that led From the foot of his garret-bed Out of that room of hate, Where Poverty slept by his mate, Sickness--out of the street, Into a wonderland, Where a voice called, far and sweet, "Come, follow our Fairy band!"

A purple shadow, sprinkled With golden star-dust, twinkled Suddenly into the room Out of the winter gloom: And it wore a face to him Of a dream he'd dreamed: a form Of Joy, whose face was dim, Yet bright with a magic charm.

And the shadow seemed to trail, Sounds that were green and frail: Dew-dripples; notes that fell Like drops in a ferny dell; A whispered lisp and stir, Like winds among the leaves, Blent with a cricket-chirr, And coo of a dove that grieves.