Courage

I fear not, my Father, the tempest's loud roar,
Nor dread the huge breakers on the rock-girded shore;
Thy presence is with me, my refuge is near,
With help all-sufficient; oh, why should I fear?
Tho' billows of sorrow should roll o'er my head,
My sun sink in darkness, and joys be all dead,
Thy presence will cheer me, and spectres will flee,
For who can molest me while trusting in thee?

When I go hence, ye Closet-Gods, I fear
Never again to have ingression here
Where I have had whatever thing could be
Pleasant and precious to my muse and me.
Besides rare sweets, I had a book which none
Could read the intext but myself alone.
About the cover of this book there went
A curious-comely clean compartlement,
And, in the midst, to grace it more, was set
A blushing, pretty, peeping rubelet.
But now 'tis closed; and being shut and seal'd,
Be it, O be it, never more reveal'd!
Keep here still, Closet-Gods, 'fore whom I've set
Oblations oft of sweetest marmelet.

    Elenor Murray and Petain, the major,
    The Promenade des Anglais walked at Nice.
    A cloud was over him, and in her heart
    A growing grief.

    He knew her at the hospital,
    First saw her face among a little group
    Of faces at a grave when rain was falling,
    The burial of a nurse, when Elenor's face
    Was bathed in tears and strained with agony.
    And after that he saw her in the wards;
    Heard soldiers, whom she nursed, say as she passed,
    Dear little soul, sweet soul, or take her hand
    In gratitude and kiss it.

        But as a stream
    Flows with clear water even with the filth
    Of scum, debris that drifts beside the current
    Of crystal water, nor corrupts it, keeps
    Its poisoned, heavier medium ap...

Oh! the day was dark and dreary,
For clouds swept o'er the sun,
The burden of life seemed heavy,
And its warfare never done;
But I heard a voice at twilight,
It whispered in my ear,
"Oh, doubting heart, look upward,
Dear soul, be of good cheer.
Oh, weary heart, look upward,
Dear soul, be of good cheer."

And lo! on looking upward
The stars lit up the sky
Like the lights of an endless city,
A city set on high.
And my heart forgot its sorrow
These heavenly homes to see -
Sure in those many mansions
Is room for even me,
Sure in those many mansions,
Is room for thee and me.

for J.G.F.

I'll strike you without rage or hate
The way a butcher strikes his block,
The way that Moses smote the rock!
So that your eyes may irrigate

My dry Sahara, I'll allow
The tears to flow of your distress.
Desire, that hope embellishes,
Will swim along the overflow

As ships set out for voyaging,
And like a drum that beats the charge
In my infatuated heart
The echoes of your sobs will ring!

But am I not a false accord
Within the holy symphony,
Thanks to voracious Irony
Who gnaws on me and shakes me hard?

She's in my voice, in all I do!
Her poison flows in all my veins!
I am the looking-glass of pain
Where she regards herself, the shrew!

I am the wound, and rapier!
I am the cheek, I am the ...

To appease the Gods; or public thanks to yield;
Or to solicit knowledge of events,
Which in her breast Futurity concealed;
And that the past might have its true intents
Feelingly told by living monuments
Mankind of yore were prompted to devise
Rites such as yet Persepolis presents
Graven on her cankered walls, solemnities
That moved in long array before admiring eyes.

The Hebrews thus, carrying in joyful state
Thick boughs of palm, and willows from the brook,
Marched round the altar to commemorate
How, when their course they through the desert took,
Guided by signs which ne'er the sky forsook,
They lodged in leafy tents and cabins low;
Green boughs were borne, while, for the blast that shook
Down to the earth the walls of Jericho,
Shouts rise, and s...

    ARCHILOCHUS.

    Neobule, yesternight
    Saw I thee in beauty dight,
    On thy head a myrtle spray
    Cast its shadow as the day
    By the stars was put to flight.
    Twining on thy temples white
    Roses gave the myrtle light,
    Sign thou wilt not say me nay,
                                Neobule.
    Loosened from its coilèd height
    Streamed thy hair in thy despite
    On thy shoulders soft to stray
    And to bid the bard essay
    Never but of thee to write,
                                Neobule.


    NEOBULE.

    Sorry poet, who dost dare
    Cast bold glances on my hair,
    Let thy most presumptuous eyes
    Seek another enterprise,
    Ceasing now to linger there.
    Hearken, I ca...

CHTHONOË    MYRTILLA
RHODOPE    PASIPHASSA
GORGO    SITYS

**    *    *    *

SCENE

The women's house in the House of Paris in Troy.

TIME.--The Tenth year of the War.

**    *    *    *

Helen's women are lying alone in the twilight hour. Chthonoë presently rises and throws a little incense upon the altar flame. Then she begins to speak to the Image of Aphrodite in a low and tired voice.


    CHTHONOË

Goddess of burning and little rest,
By the hand swaying on thy breast,
By glancing eye and slow sweet smile
Tell me what long look or what guile
Of thine it was that like a spear
Pierced her heart, who caged me here
In this close house, to be with her
Mistress at once and prisoner!
Far from earth a...

As yet a stranger to the gentle fires
That Amathusia's smiling Queen2 inspires,
Not seldom I derided Cupid's darts,
And scorn'd his claim to rule all human hearts.
Go, child, I said, transfix the tim'rous dove,
An easy conquest suits an infant Love;
Enslave the sparrow, for such prize shall be
Sufficient triumph to a Chief like thee;
Why aim thy idle arms at human kind?
Thy shafts prevail not 'gainst the noble mind.
The Cyprian3 heard, and, kindling into ire,
(None kindles sooner) burn'd with double fire.
It was the Spring, and newly risen day
Peep'd o'er the hamlets on the First of May;
My eyes too tender for the blaze of light,
Still sought the shelter of retiring night,
When Love approach'd, in painted plumes arrayed;
Th'insidious...

Thy look of love has power to calm
The stormiest passion of my soul;
Thy gentle words are drops of balm
In life's too bitter bowl;
No grief is mine, but that alone
These choicest blessings I have known.

Harriet! if all who long to live
In the warm sunshine of thine eye,
That price beyond all pain must give, -
Beneath thy scorn to die;
Then hear thy chosen own too late
His heart most worthy of thy hate.

Be thou, then, one among mankind
Whose heart is harder not for state,
Thou only virtuous, gentle, kind,
Amid a world of hate;
And by a slight endurance seal
A fellow-being's lasting weal.

For pale with anguish is his cheek,
His breath comes fast, his eyes are dim,
Thy name is struggling ere he speak,
Weak is each trembl...

As Hermes once took to his feathers light,
When lulled Argus, baffled, swooned and slept,
So on a Delphic reed, my idle spright
So played, so charmed, so conquered, so bereft
The dragon-world of all its hundred eyes;
And seeing it asleep, so fled away
Not to pure Ida with its snow-cold skies,
Nor unto Tempe, where Jove grieved a day;
But to that second circle of sad Hell,
Where in the gust, the whirlwind, and the flaw
Of rain and hail-stones, lovers need not tell
Their sorrows. Pale were the sweet lips I saw,
Pale were the lips I kissed, and fair the form
I floated with, about that melancholy storm.

To the Signora Cairoli




Blessed was she that bare,
Hidden in flesh most fair,
For all men’s sake the likeness of all love;
Holy that virgin’s womb,
The old record saith, on whom
The glory of God alighted as a dove;
Blessed, who brought to gracious birth
The sweet-souled Saviour of a man-tormented earth.



But four times art thou blest,
At whose most holy breast
Four times a godlike soldier-saviour hung;
And thence a fourfold Christ
Given to be sacrificed
To the same cross as the same bosom clung;
Poured the same blood, to leave the same
Light on the many-folded mountain-skirts of fame.



Shall they and thou not live,
The children thou didst give
Forth of thine hands, a godlike gift, t...

Before I drink myself to death,
God, let me finish up my Book!
At night, I fear, I fight for breath,
And wake up whiter than a spook;
And crawl off to a bistro near,
And drink until my brain is clear.

Rare Absinthe! Oh, it gives me strength
To write and write; and so I spend
Day after day, until at length
With joy and pain I'll write The End:
Then let this carcase rot; I give
The world my Book - my Book will live.

For every line is tense with truth,
There's hope and joy on every page;
A cheer, a clarion call to Youth,
A hymn, a comforter to Age:
All's there that I was meant to be,
My part divine, the God in me.

It's of my life the golden sum;
Ah! who that reads this Book of mine,
In stormy centuries to come,
Wi...

Rich in the waning light she sat
While the fierce rain on the window spat.
The yellow lamp-glow lit her face,
Shadows cloaked the narrow place
She sat adream in. Then she'd look
Idly upon an idle book;
Anon would rise and musing peer
Out at the misty street and drear;
Or with her loosened dark hair play,
Hiding her fingers' snow away;
And, singing softly, would sing on
When the desire of song had gone.
"O lingering day!" her bosom sighed,
"O laggard Time!" each motion cried.
Last she took the lamp and stood
Rich in its flood,
And looked and looked again at what
Her longing fingers' zeal had wrought;
And turning then did nothing say,
Hiding her thoughts away.

A Little child, one night, awoke and cried,
"Oh, help me, father! there is something wild
Before me! help me!" Hurrying to his side
I answered, "I am here. You dreamed, my child."
"A dream?" he questioned."Oh, I could not see!
It was so dark! Take me into your bed!"
And I, who loved him, held him soothingly,
And smiling on his terror, comforted.
He nestled in my arms. I held him fast;
And spoke to him and calmed his childish fears,
Until he smiled again, asleep at last,
Upon his lashes still a trace of tears....
How like a child the world! who, in this night
Of strife, beholds strange monsters threatening;
And with black fear, having so little light,
Cries to its Father, God, for comforting.
And well for it, if, answering the call,
The Father hear and soo...

If thou hast grief
And passion vex the spirit that is in thee--

There was a stony beach
Where the heat flickered and the little waves
Whispered each to each.
Dove-coloured was that stony beach,
And white birds hungering hovered over
The shining waves;
And men had kindled there
A great fierce heap of golden flame--
Spoiled grasses with dead buttercups and pale clover.
The agonising flame
Yearned in its vitals towards the quiet air
And died in a little smoke.
And on the coloured beach the black warm ash
Remained.

Then on that warm ash
Another heap of grasses was outpoured,
And instant came
Another knot of struggling yellow smoke
That burst into new agonies of flame,
Dying into a drift of smoke;
And on the coloured beach ...

    Pity it was that you should ever stand
        In ship or boat,
        Or that you went afloat
    Inside that ship!

    The lusty steps you took!
        The ways and journeys you knew how to wend
    From London back to Beltra,
        And this end!

    You who could swim so well!
    What time you sported in the lifting tides
    The girls swam out to you, and held your sides
    When they were weary, for they knew they were
    Safe, because you were there.

    Your little-mother thought that this was true
        (And so she made no stir
            Till you were found),
    Although an hundred might be drownéd, you
        Would come back safe to her,
            And not be drowned!

Hollow rang the house when I knocked on the door,
And I lingered on the threshold with my hand
Upraised to knock and knock once more:
Listening for the sound of her feet across the floor,
Hollow re-echoed my heart.

The low-hung lamps stretched down the road
With shadows drifting underneath,
With a music of soft, melodious feet
Quickening my hope as I hastened to meet
The low-hung light of her eyes.

The golden lamps down the street went out,
The last car trailed the night behind;
And I in the darkness wandered about
With a flutter of hope and of dark-shut doubt
In the dying lamp of my love.

Two brown ponies trotting slowly
Stopped at a dim-lit trough to drink:
The dark van drummed down the distance slowly;
While the city stars so dim...