Heartbreak

The formal World relaxes her cold chain
For One who speaks in numbers; ampler scope
His utterance finds; and, conscious of the gain,
Imagination works with bolder hope
The cause of grateful reason to sustain;
And, serving Truth, the heart more strongly beats
Against all barriers which his labour meets
In lofty place, or humble Life's domain.
Enough; before us lay a painful road,
And guidance have I sought in duteous love
From Wisdom's heavenly Father. Hence hath flowed
Patience, with trust that, whatsoe'er the way
Each takes in this high matter, all may move
Cheered with the prospect of a brighter day.

This is all that is left - this letter and this rose!
And do you, poor dreaming things, for a moment suppose
That your little fire shall burn for ever and ever on,
And this great fire be, all but these ashes, gone?

Flower! of course she is - but is she the only flower?
She must vanish like all the rest at the funeral hour,
And you that love her with brag of your all-conquering thew,
What, in the eyes of the gods, tall though you be, are you?

You and she are no more - yea! a little less than we;
And what is left of our loving is little enough to see;
Sweet the relics thereof - a rose, a letter, a glove -
That in the end is all that remains of the mightiest love.

Six-foot two! what of that? for Death is taller than he;
And, every moment, Death gathers flowers...

In the wild soft summer darkness
How many and many a night we two together
Sat in the park and watched the Hudson
Wearing her lights like golden spangles
Glinting on black satin.
The rail along the curving pathway
Was low in a happy place to let us cross,
And down the hill a tree that dripped with bloom
Sheltered us,
While your kisses and the flowers,
Falling, falling,
Tangled in my hair....
The frail white stars moved slowly over the sky.
And now, far off
In the fragrant darkness
The tree is tremulous again with bloom
For June comes back.
To-night what girl
Dreamily before her mirror shakes from her hair
This year’s blossoms, clinging to its coils?

Hush, ’tis thy voice!
No, but a bird upon the bough
Romancing to its mate, but where art thou
To bid my heart rejoice?

’Tis thy hand, speak!
No, but the branches striking in the wind
Let loose a withered leaf that falls behind
Blown to my cheek.

Hush, thy footfall!
No, ’tis a streamlet hidden in the fern,
Thus from dawn to dark I wait, I learn
Sorrow is all.

Charity.

By the river
In the black wet night as the furtive rain slinks down,
Dropping and starting from sleep
Alone on a seat
A woman crouches.

I must go back to her.

I want to give her
Some money. Her hand slips out of the breast of her gown
Asleep. My fingers creep
Carefully over the sweet
Thumb-mound, into the palm's deep pouches.

So, the gift!

God, how she starts!
And looks at me, and looks in the palm of her hand!
And again at me!
I turn and run
Down the Embankment, run for my life.

But why? - why?

Because of my heart's
Beating like sobs, I come to myself, and stand
In the street spilled over splendidly
With wet, flat lights. What I've done
I know not, my soul is in strif...

1

New Year met me somewhat sad:
    Old Year leaves me tired,
Stripped of favourite things I had
    Baulked of much desired:
Yet farther on my road to-day
God willing, farther on my way.

New Year coming on apace
    What have you to give me?
Bring you scathe, or bring you grace,
Face me with an honest face;
    You shall not deceive me:
Be it good or ill, be it what you will,
It needs shall help me on my road,
My rugged way to heaven, please God.

2

Watch with me, men, women, and children dear,
You whom I love, for whom I hope and fear,
Watch with me this last vigil of the year.
Some hug their business, some their pleasure-scheme;
Some seize the vacant hour to sleep or dream;
Heart locked in heart some kneel and...

The night grows dark, and weird, and cold; and thick drops patter on the pane;
There comes a wailing from the sea; the wind is weary of the rain.
The red coals click beneath the flame, and see, with slow and silent feet
The hooded shadows cross the woods to where the twilight waters beat!
Now, fan-wise from the ruddy fire, a brilliance sweeps athwart the floor;
As, streaming down the lattices, the rain comes sobbing to the door:
As, streaming down the lattices,
The rain comes sobbing to the door.

Dull echoes round the casement fall, and through the empty chambers go,
Like forms unseen whom we can hear on tip-toe stealing to and fro.
But fill your glasses to the brims, and, through a mist of smiles and tears,
Our eyes shall tell how much we love to toast the shades of other years...

What a pretty tale you told me
Once upon a time
Said you found it somewhere (scold me!)
Was it prose or was it rhyme,
Greek or Latin? Greek, you said,
While your shoulder propped my head.

Anyhow there's no forgetting
This much if no more,
That a poet (pray, no petting!)
Yes, a bard, sir, famed of yore,
Went where suchlike used to go,
Singing for a prize, you know.

Well, he had to sing, nor merely
Sing but play the lyre;
Playing was important clearly
Quite as singing: I desire,
Sir, you keep the fact in mind
For a purpose that's behind.

There stood he, while deep attention
Held the judges round,
Judges able, I should mention,
To detect the slightest sound
Sung or played amiss: such ears
Had old judges, it app...

These, I, singing in spring, collect for lovers,
(For who but I should understand lovers, and all their sorrow and joy?
And who but I should be the poet of comrades?)
Collecting, I traverse the garden, the world but soon I pass the gates,
Now along the pond-side now wading in a little, fearing not the wet,
Now by the post-and-rail fences, where the old stones thrown there, pick'd from the fields, have accumulated,
(Wild-flowers and vines and weeds come up through the stones, and partly cover them Beyond these I pass,)
Far, far in the forest, before I think where I go,
Solitary, smelling the earthy smell, stopping now and then in the silence,
Alone I had thought yet soon a troop gathers around me,
Some walk by my side, and some behind, and some embrace my arms or neck,
They, the spirit...

Why do we make our music?
    Oh, blind dark strings reply:
Because we dwell in a strange land
    And remember a lost sky.
We ask no leaf of the laurel,
    We know what fame is worth;
But our songs break out of our winter
    As the flowers break out on the earth.

And we dream of the unknown comrade,
    In the days when we lie dead,
Who shall open our book in the sunlight,
    And read, as ourselves have read,
On a lonely hill, by a firwood,
    With whispering seas below,
And murmur a song we made him
    Ages and ages ago.

If making his may-time sweeter
    With dews of our own dead may,
One pulse of our own dead heart-strings
    Awake in his heart that day,
We would pray for no richer guerdon,
    No praise fr...

        The opal heart of afternoon
        Was clouding on to throbs of storm,
        Ashen within the ardent west
        The lips of thunder muttered harm,
        And as a bubble like to break
        Hung heaven's trembling amethyst,
        When with the sedge-grass by the lake
        I braceleted her wrist.

        And when the ribbon grass was tied,
        Sad with the happiness we planned,
        Palm linked in palm we stood awhile
        And watched the raindrops dot the sand;
        Until the anger of the breeze
        Chid all the lake's bright breathing down,
        And ravished all the radiancies
        From her deep eyes of brown.

        We gazed from shelter on the storm,
        And through our hearts swept ghostly p...

Warm is the parlour atmosphere,
Serene the lamp's soft light;
The vivid embers, red and clear,
Proclaim a frosty night.
Books, varied, on the table lie,
Three children o'er them bend,
And all, with curious, eager eye,
The turning leaf attend.

Picture and tale alternately
Their simple hearts delight,
And interest deep, and tempered glee,
Illume their aspects bright.
The parents, from their fireside place,
Behold that pleasant scene,
And joy is on the mother's face,
Pride in the father's mien.

As Gilbert sees his blooming wife,
Beholds his children fair,
No thought has he of transient strife,
Or past, though piercing fear.
The voice of happy infancy
Lisps sweetly in his ear,
His wife, with pleased and peaceful eye,
...

    Down, down beneath the daisy beds,
    O hear the cries of pain!
    And moaning on the cinder-path
    They're blind amid the rain.
    Can murmurs of the worms arise
    To higher hearts than mine?
    I wonder if that gardener hears
    Who made the mold all fine
    And packed each gentle seedling down
    So carefully in line?

    I watched the red rose reaching up
    To ask him if he heard
    Those cries that stung the evening earth
    Till all the rose-roots stirred.
    She asked him if he felt the hate
    That burned beneath them there.
    She asked him if he heard the curse
    Of worms in black despair.
    He kissed the rose.    What did it mean?
    What of the rose's prayer?

    Down, down where rain has n...

Ho! sportsman Time, whose chargers fleet
    The moments, madly driven,
Beat in the dust beneath their feet
    Sweet hopes that years have given;
Turn, turn aside those reckless steeds,
    Oh! do not urge them my way;
There's nothing that Time wants or needs
    In this contented by-way.

You have down-trodden, in your race,
    So much that proves your power,
Why not avoid my humble place?
    Why rob me of my dower?
With your vast cellars, cavern deep,
    Packed tier on tier with treasures,
You would not miss them should I KEEP
    My little store of pleasures.

As one who, frightened, flying, flings
    Her riches down at random,
Your course is paved with precious things
    Life casts before your tandem:
The warrior's fame,...

I.

While sunset burns and stars are few,
And roses scent the fading light,
And like a slim urn, dripping dew,
A spirit carries through the night,
The pearl-pale moon hangs new, -
    I think of you, of you.


II.

While waters flow, and soft winds woo
The golden-hearted bud with sighs;
And, like a flower an angel threw,
Out of the momentary skies
A star falls burning blue, -
    I dream of you, of you.


III.

While love believes, and hearts are true,
So let me think, so let me dream;
The thought and dream so wedded to
Your face, that, far apart, I seem
To see each thing you do,
    And be with you, with you.

When my old heart was young, my dear,
The Earth and Heaven were so near
That in my dreams I oft could hear
    The steps of unseen races;
In woodlands, where bright waters ran,
On hills, GOD'S rainbows used to span,
I followed voices not of man,
    And smiled in spirit faces.

Now my old heart is old, my sweet,
No longer Earth and Heaven meet;
All Life is grown to one long street
    Where fact with fancy clashes;
The voices now that speak to me
Are prose instead of poetry:
And in the faces now I see
    Is less of flame than ashes.

By his side, whose days are past,
Lay bow and quiver!
And his eyes that stare aghast
Close, with a shiver.
God nor man from Death, at last,
Love may deliver.

Though, of old, we vowed, my dear,
Death should not take him;
Mourn not thou that we must here
Coldly forsake him;
Shed above his grave no tear,
Tears will not wake him.

Cupid lieth cold and dead,
Ended his flying,
Pale his lips, once rosy-red,
Swift was his dying.
Place a stone above his head,
Turn away, sighing.

What is she writing? Watch her now,
How fast her fingers move!
How eagerly her youthful brow
Is bent in thought above!
Her long curls, drooping, shade the light,
She puts them quick aside,
Nor knows that band of crystals bright,
Her hasty touch untied.
It slips adown her silken dress,
Falls glittering at her feet;
Unmarked it falls, for she no less
Pursues her labour sweet.

The very loveliest hour that shines,
Is in that deep blue sky;
The golden sun of June declines,
It has not caught her eye.
The cheerful lawn, and unclosed gate,
The white road, far away,
In vain for her light footsteps wait,
She comes not forth to-day.
There is an open door of glass
Close by that lady's chair,
From thence, to slopes of messy grass,
D...