Passa per gli occhi.


Swift through the eyes unto the heart within
        All lovely forms that thrall our spirit stray;
        So smooth and broad and open is the way
        That thousands and not hundreds enter in.
Burdened with scruples and weighed down with sin,
        These mortal beauties fill me with dismay;
        Nor find I one that doth not strive to stay
        My soul on transient joy, or lets me win
The heaven I yearn for. Lo, when erring love--
        Who fills the world, howe'er his power we shun,
        Else were the world a grave and we undone--
Assails the soul, if grace refuse to fan
        Our purged desires and make them soar above,
        What grief it were to have been born a man!

Men may pursue the Beautiful, while they
Love not the Good, the life of all the Fair;
Keen-eyed for beauty, they will find it where
The darkness of their eyes hath power to slay
The vision of the good in beauty's ray,
Though fruits the same life-giving branches bear.
So in a statue they will see the rare
Beauty of thought moulded of dull crude clay,
While loving joys nor prayer their souls expand.
So Thou didst mould thy thoughts in Life not Art;
Teaching with human voice, and eye, and hand,
That none the beauty from the truth might part:
Their oneness in thy flesh we joyous hail--
The Holy of Holies' cloud-illumined veil!

The night was bright and beautiful,
    The dew was on the flower,
The stars were keeping watch, it was
    The lover's parting hour.

The night wind rippled o'er the wave,
    The moon shone on the two,
The boat was waiting, part they must,
    "Eliza, love, adieu!"

"You know how fondly I have loved,
    How long, how true, how dear,
And though fate sends me far away
    My heart will linger here.

"Bright hope, the lover's comfort, can
    Alone my heart console,
Or soothe the pain of parting with
    The empress of my soul.

"When other suitors vainly talk
    Of fondly loving you,
Remember him who truly loved
    As no one else can do.

"I'll think upon the place contains
    My dark-eyed source of bliss,<...

An age in her embraces passed
Would seem a winter's day;
When life and light, with envious haste,
Are torn and snatched away.

But, oh! how slowly minutes roll.
When absent from her eyes
That feed my love, which is my soul,
It languishes and dies.

For then no more a soul but shade
It mournfully does move
And haunts my breast, by absence made
The living tomb of love.

You wiser men despise me not,
Whose love-sick fancy raves
On shades of souls and Heaven knows what;
Short ages live in graves.

Whene'er those wounding eyes, so full
Of sweetness, you did see,
Had you not been profoundly dull,
You had gone mad like me.

Nor censure us, you who perceive
My best beloved and me
Sign and lament, complain and grie...

Fare thee well, love!--We must sever!
Nor for years, love; but for ever!
We must meet no more--or only
Meet as strangers--sad and lonely.
            Fare thee well!

Fare thee well, love!--How I languish
For the cause of all my anguish!
None have ever met and parted
So forlorn and broken-hearted.
            Fare thee well!

Fare thee well, love--Till I perish
All my truth for thee I'll cherish;
And, when thou my requiem hearest,
Know till death I loved thee, dearest.
            Fare thee well!

Ah! what is this life? It's a dream, is the reply;
Like a dream that's soon ended, so life passes by.
Pursue the thought further, still there's likeness in each,
How constant our aim is at what we can't reach.
E'en so in a dream, we've some object in view
Unceasingly aimed at, but the thing we pursue
Still eludes our fond grasp, and yet lures us on too.

How analagous this to our waking day hours,
Unwearied our efforts, we tax all our powers;
Betimes in the morning the prize we pursue,
By the pale lamp of midnight we're seeking it too;
At all times and seasons, this same fancied good
Repels our advances, yet still is pursued,
Depriving us oft, of rest needful, and food.
But there's a pearl of great price, whose worth is untold,
It can never he purchased...

My lady love lives far away,
And oh my heart is sad by day,
And ah my tears fall fast by night,
What may I do in such a plight.

Why, miles grow few when love is fleet,
And love, you know, hath flying feet;
Break off thy sighs and witness this,
How poor a thing mere distance is.

My love knows not I love her so,
And would she scorn me, did she know?
How may the tale I would impart
Attract her ear and storm her heart?

Calm thou the tempest in my breast,
Who loves in silence loves the best,
But bide thy time, she will awake,
No night so dark but morn will break.

But though my heart so strongly yearn,
My lady loves me not in turn,
How may I win the blest reply
That my void heart shall satisfy.

Love breedeth love, be...

How is it that I am now so softly awakened,
My leaves shaken down with music?
Darling, I love you.
It is not your mouth, for I have known mouths before,
Though your mouth is more alive than roses,
Roses singing softly
To green leaves after rain.
It is not your eyes, for I have dived often in eyes,
Though your eyes, even in the yellow glare of footlights,
Are windows into eternal dusk.
Nor is it the live white flashing of your feet,
Nor your gay hands, catching at motes in the spotlight;
Nor the abrupt thick music of your laughter,
When, against the hideous backdrop,
With all its crudities brilliantly lighted,
Suddenly you catch sight of your alarming shadow,
Whirling and contracting.
How is it, then, that I am so keenly aware,
So sensitive to the sur...

Lo, as a careful housewife runs to catch
One of her feather’d creatures broke away,
Sets down her babe, and makes all swift dispatch
In pursuit of the thing she would have stay;
Whilst her neglected child holds her in chase,
Cries to catch her whose busy care is bent
To follow that which flies before her face,
Not prizing her poor infant’s discontent;
So runn’st thou after that which flies from thee,
Whilst I thy babe chase thee afar behind;
But if thou catch thy hope, turn back to me,
And play the mother’s part, kiss me, be kind;
So will I pray that thou mayst have thy ‘Will,’
If thou turn back and my loud crying still.

I dreamt I was in love again
With the One Before the Last,
And smiled to greet the pleasant pain
Of that innocent young past.

But I jumped to feel how sharp had been
The pain when it did live,
How the faded dreams of Nineteen-ten
Were Hell in Nineteen-five.

The boy's woe was as keen and clear,
The boy's love just as true,
And the One Before the Last, my dear,
Hurt quite as much as you.

* * * * *

Sickly I pondered how the lover
Wrongs the unanswering tomb,
And sentimentalizes over
What earned a better doom.

Gently he tombs the poor dim last time,
Strews pinkish dust above,
And sighs, "The dear dead boyish pastime!
But THIS, ah, God! is Love!"

Better oblivion hide dead true loves,
Better the night...

O crimson-tined flowers
    That live when others die,
What thoughtless hand unloving
    Could ever pass you by?

You are the last bright blossoms,
    The summer's after-glow,
When all her early children
    Have faded long ago.

Sweet golden-rod and xenia
    And crimson marigold,
What dreams of autumn splendor
    Your velvet leaves unfold.

Long, long ago the violets
    Have closed their sweet blue eyes,
And lain with pale, dead faces
    Beneath the summer skies.

And on their graves you blossom
    With leaves of gold and red,
And yet--how soon forever
    Your beauty will be fled.

The frost will come to kill you
    The snows will wrap you round;
And you will sleep forgotten
    Upon the fro...

Love on his errand bound to go
Can swim the flood and wade through snow,
Where way is none, 't will creep and wind
And eat through Alps its home to find.

Nights of music, nights of loving,
    Lost too soon, remembered long.
When we went by moonlight roving,
    Hearts all love and lips all song.
When this faithful lute recorded
    All my spirit felt to thee;
And that smile the song rewarded--
    Worth Whole years of fame to me!

Nights of song, and nights of splendor,
Filled with joys too sweet to last--
Joys that, like the star-light, tender,
While they shore no shadow cast.
Tho' all other happy hours
    From my fading memory fly,
Of, that starlight, of those bowers,
    Not a beam, a leaf may die!

I

Why do I love you, who have never given
My heart encouragement or any cause?
Is it because, as earth is held of heaven,
Your soul holds mine by some mysterious laws?
Perhaps, unseen of me, within your eyes
The answer lies, the answer lies.


II


From your sweet lips no word hath ever fallen
To tell my heart its love is not in vain--
The bee that wooes the flow'r hath honey and pollen
To cheer him on and bring him back again:
But what have I, your other friends above,
To feed my love, to feed my love?


III


Still, still you are my dream and my desire;
Your love is an allurement and a dare
Set for attainment, like a shining spire,
Far, far above me in the starry air:
And gazing upward, 'gainst the...

God made that night of pearl and ivory,
Perfect and holy as a holy thought
Born of perfection, dreams, and ecstasy,
In love and silence wrought.

And she, who lay where, through the casement failing,
The moonlight clasped with arms of vapory gold
Her Danae beauty, seemed to hear a calling
Deep in the garden old.

And then it seemed, through some strange sense, she heard
The roses softly speaking in the night.
Or was it but the nocturne of a bird
Haunting the white moonlight?

It seemed a fragrant whisper vaguely roaming
From rose to rose, a language sweet that blushed,
Saying, "Who comes? Who is this swiftly coming,
With face so dim and hushed?

"And now, and now we hear a wild heart beating
Whose heart is this that beats among our blo...

Now, O now, in this brown land
Where Love did so sweet music make
We two shall wander, hand in hand,
Forbearing for old friendship’ sake,
Nor grieve because our love was gay
Which now is ended in this way.

A rogue in red and yellow dress
Is knocking, knocking at the tree;
And all around our loneliness
The wind is whistling merrily.
The leaves, they do not sigh at all
When the year takes them in the fall.

Now, O now, we hear no more
The vilanelle and roundelay!
Yet will we kiss, sweetheart, before
We take sad leave at close of day.
Grieve not, sweetheart, for anything,
The year, the year is gathering.

I.
Love, loyallest and lordliest born of things,
Immortal that shouldst be, though all else end,
In plighted hearts of fearless friend with friend,
Whose hand may curb or clip thy plume-plucked wings?
Not grief’s nor time’s: though these be lords and kings
Crowned, and their yoke bid vassal passions bend,
They may not pierce the spirit of sense, or blend
Quick poison with the soul’s live watersprings.
The true clear heart whose core is manful trust
Fears not that very death may turn to dust
Love lit therein as toward a brother born,
If one touch make not all its fine gold rust,
If one breath blight not all its glad ripe corn,
And all its fire be turned to fire of scorn.

II.
Scorn only, scorn begot of bitter proof
By keen experience of a trustless he...

All silent is the room,
There is no stir of breath,
Save mine, as in the gloom
I sit alone with Death.

Short life it had, the sweet,
Small babe here lying dead,
With tapers at its feet
And tapers at its head.

Dear little hands, too frail
Their grasp on life to hold;
Dear little mouth so pale,
So solemn, and so cold;

Small feet that nevermore
About the house shall run;
Thy little life is o’er!
Thy little journey done!

Sweet infant, dead too soon,
Thou shalt no more behold
The face of sun or moon,
Or starlight clear and cold;

Nor know, where thou art gone,
The mournfulness and mirth
We know who dwell upon
This sad, glad, mad, old earth.

The foolish hopes and fond
That cheat us to th...