Heartbreak

I.

Time, thy name is sorrow, says the stricken
Heart of life, laid waste with wasting flame
Ere the change of things and thoughts requicken,
Time, thy name.

Girt about with shadow, blind and lame,
Ghosts of things that smite and thoughts that sicken
Hunt and hound thee down to death and shame.

Eyes of hours whose paces halt or quicken
Read in bloodred lines of loss and blame,
Writ where cloud and darkness round it thicken,
Time, thy name.

II.

Nay, but rest is born of me for healing,
So might haply time, with voice represt,
Speak:    is grief the last gift of my dealing?
Nay, but rest.

All the world is wearied, east and west,
Tired with toil to watch the slow sun wheeling,
Twelve loud hours of life's laborious ...

Dear Mother-Earth
Of Titan birth,
Yon hills are your large breasts, and often I
Have climbed to their top-nipples, fain and dry
To drink my mother's-milk so near the sky.

O ye hill-stains,
Red, for all rains!
The blood that made you has all bled for us,
The hearts that paid you are all dead for us,
The trees that shade you groan with lead, for us!

And O, hill-sides,
Like giants' brides
Ye sleep in ravine-rumpled draperies,
And weep your springs in tearful memories
Of days that stained your robes with stains like these!

Sleep on, ye hills!
Weep on, ye rills!
The stainers have decreed the stains shall stay.
They chain the hands might wash the stains away.
They wait with cold hearts till we "rue the day".

O Mother-Earth...

He who a tender long-lov'd Wife survives,
    Sees himself sunder'd from the only mind
    Whose hopes, and fears, and interests, were combin'd,
    And blended with his own. - No more she lives!
No more, alas! her death-numb'd ear receives
    His thoughts, that trace the Past, or anxious wind
    The Future's darkling maze! - His wish refin'd,
    The wish to please, exists no more, that gives
The will its energy, the nerves their tone! -
    He feels the texture of his quiet torn,
    And stopt the settled course that Action drew;
Life stands suspended - motionless - till thrown
    By outward causes, into channels new; -
    But, in the dread suspense, how sinks the Soul forlorn!

If you are my friend...
Help me... to leave you
Or if you are my lover...
Help me... so I can be healed of you...
If I knew....
that the ocean is very deep... I would not have swam...
If I knew... how I would end,
I would not have began

I desire you...so teach me not to desire
teach me...
how to cut the roots of your love from the depths
teach me...
how tears may die in the eyes
and love may commit suicide

If you are prophet,
Cleanse me from this spell
Deliver me from this atheism...
Your love is like atheism... so purify me from this atheism

If you are strong...
Rescueme from this ocean
ForI don't know how to swim
The blue waves... in your eyes
drag me... to the depths
blue...
blue...
nothingbut t...

Shoo wor shoeless, an shiverin, an weet, -
Her hair flyin tangled an wild:
Shoo'd just been browt in aght o'th street,
Wi drink an mud splashes defiled.
Th' poleece sargent stood waitin to hear
What charge agean her wod be made,
He'd scant pity for them they browt thear,
To be surly wor pairt ov his trade.
"What name?" an he put it i'th' book, -
An shoo hardly seemed able to stand;
As shoo tottered, he happened to luk
saw summat claspt in her hand.
"What's that? Bring it here right away!
You can't take that into your cell;"
"It's nothing." "Is that what you say?
Let me have it and then I can tell."
"Nay, nay! yo shall nivver tak this!
It's dearer nor life is to me!
Lock me up, if aw've done owt amiss,
But aw'll stick fast to this wol aw dee!"

"Delicta juventutis et ignorantius ejus, quoesumus ne memineris, Domine."



I left, to earth, a little maiden fair,
With locks of gold, and eyes that shamed the light;
I prayed that God might have her in His care
And sight.

Earth's love was false; her voice, a siren's song;
(Sweet mother-earth was but a lying name)
The path she showed was but the path of wrong
And shame.

"Cast her not out!" I cry. God's kind words come,
"Her future is with Me, as was her past;
It shall be My good will to bring her home
At last."

[From Farmer Harrington's Calendar.]


APRIL 25, 18 - .

        RAIN - rain - rain - for three good solid fluid weeks -
        Till the air swims, and all creation leaks!
        And street-cars furnish still less room to spare,
        And hackmen several times have earned their fare.
        The omnibuses lumber through the din,
        And carry clay outside as well as in;
        The elevated trains, with jerky care,
        Haul half-way comfort through the dripping air;
        The gutters gallop past the liquid scene,
        As brisk as meadow brooks, though not so clean;
        What trees the city keeps for comfort's sake,
        Are shedding tears as if their hearts would break;
        And water tries to get, by storming steady,

These locks, which fondly thus entwine,
In firmer chains our hearts confine,
Than all th' unmeaning protestations
Which swell with nonsense, love orations.
Our love is fix'd, I think we've prov'd it;
Nor time, nor place, nor art have mov'd it;
Then wherefore should we sigh and whine,
With groundless jealousy repine;
With silly whims, and fancies frantic,
Merely to make our love romantic?
Why should you weep, like Lydia Languish,
And fret with self-created anguish?
Or doom the lover you have chosen,
On winter nights to sigh half frozen;
In leafless shades, to sue for pardon,
Only because the scene's a garden?
For gardens seem, by one consent,
(Since Shakespeare set the precedent;
Since Juliet first declar'd her passion)
To form the place o...

    How does Love speak?
        In the faint flush upon the tell-tale cheek,
        And in the pallor that succeeds it; by
        The quivering lid of an averted eye -
        The smile that proves the patent to a sigh -
    Thus doth Love speak.

    How does Love speak?
        By the uneven heart-throbs, and the freak
        Of bounding pulses that stand still and ache,
        While new emotions, like strange barges, make
        Along vein-channels their disturbing course;
        Still as the dawn, and with the dawn's swift force -
    Thus doth Love speak.

    How does Love speak?
        In the avoidance of that which we seek -
        The sudden silence and reserve when near -
        The eye that glistens with an unshed tear -
   ...

Old Loves and old dreams,--
"Requiescant in pace."
How strange now it seems,--
"Old" Loves and "old" dreams!
Yet we once wrote you reams
Maude, Alice, and Gracie!
Old Loves and old dreams,--
"Requiescant in pace."


When I called at the "Hollies" to-day,
In the room with the cedar-wood presses,
Aunt Deb. was just folding away
What she calls her "memorial dresses."

She'd the frock that she wore at fifteen,--
Short-waisted, of course--my abhorrence;
She'd "the loveliest"--something in "een"
That she wears in her portrait by Lawrence;

She'd the "jelick" she used--"as a Greek," (!)
She'd the habit she got her bad fall in;
She had e'en the blue moiré antique
That she opened Squire Grasshopper's ball in:--

New and old ...

The wreath you wove, the wreath you wove,
    Is fair--but oh, how fair,
If Pity's hand had stolen from Love
One leaf, to mingle there!

If every rose with gold were tied,
    Did gems for dewdrops fall,
One faded leaf where Love had sighed
    Were sweetly worth them all.

The wreath you wove,--the wreath you wove
    Our emblem well may be;
Its bloom is yours, but hopeless Love
    Must keep its tears for me.

The snow floats down upon us, mingled with rain . . .
It eddies around pale lilac lamps, and falls
Down golden-windowed walls.
We were all born of flesh, in a flare of pain,
We do not remember the red roots whence we rose,
But we know that we rose and walked, that after a while
We shall lie down again.

The snow floats down upon us, we turn, we turn,
Through gorges filled with light we sound and flow . . .
One is struck down and hurt, we crowd about him,
We bear him away, gaze after his listless body;
But whether he lives or dies we do not know.

One of us sings in the street, and we listen to him;
The words ring over us like vague bells of sorrow.
He sings of a house he lived in long ago.
It is strange; this house of dust was the house I lived in;
T...

The folds of the sea crash like whips on my skin.
And the stars of the sea tear me apart.
The evening of the sea is one of screaming wounds for the lonely,
But lovers find the good death of their day dreams...
Be there soon, you with pain in your eye, the sea hurts.
Be there soon, you who suffer in love, the sea is killing me.
Your hands are cool saints.    Cover me with them,
The sea is burning on me.
But why don't you help me!    But help!...    Cover me.    Save me.
Cure me, friend and woman.
Mother... you -

Tranquility! the sovereign aim wert thou
In heathen schools of philosophic lore;
Heart-stricken by stern destiny of yore
The Tragic Muse thee served with thoughtful vow;
And what of hope Elysium could allow
Was fondly seized by Sculpture, to restore
Peace to the Mourner. But when He who wore
The crown of thorns around his bleeding brow
Warmed our sad being with celestial light,
'Then' Arts which still had drawn a softening grace
From shadowy fountains of the Infinite,
Communed with that Idea face to face:
And move around it now as planets run,
Each in its orbit round the central Sun.

I touch your
face - where strands of whispery hair
dangle your thoughtful gaze through mine.

Clutching,
all the words not said
lie pale and broken
beneath forgery lies.


Eyes, our facial minnows, the mirror
images, flash too brightly
out of the shallows,
out of their stony commitments
towards believing
we cannot agree.

("O Charles, je te sens près de moi.")

[July, 1871.]


I feel thy presence, Charles. Sweet martyr! down
    In earth, where men decay,
I search, and see from cracks which rend thy tomb,
    Burst out pale morning's ray.

Close linked are bier and cradle: here the dead,
    To charm us, live again:
Kneeling, I mourn, when on my threshold sounds
    Two little children's strain.

George, Jeanne, sing on! George, Jeanne, unconscious play!
    Your father's form recall,
Now darkened by his sombre shade, now gilt
    By beams that wandering fall.

Oh, knowledge! what thy use? did we not know
    Death holds no more the dead;
But Heaven, where, hand in hand, angel and star
    Smile at the grave we dread?

A Heave...

Tune - "Oran-gaoil."



I.

    Behold the hour, the boat arrive;
        Thou goest, thou darling of my heart!
    Sever'd from thee can I survive?
        But fate has will'd, and we must part.
    I'll often greet this surging swell,
        Yon distant isle will often hail:
    "E'en here I took the last farewell;
        There, latest mark'd her vanish'd sail."

II.

    Along the solitary shore
        While flitting sea-fowl round me cry,
    Across the rolling, dashing roar,
        I'll westward turn my wistful eye:
    Happy, thou Indian grove, I'll say,
        Where now my Nancy's path may be!
    While thro' thy sweets she loves to stray,
        O tell me, does she muse on me?