Poetry

vale a fountain springs
Would have its journey close.

Countless beginnings, fair first parts,
Leap to the light, and shining flow;
All broken things, or toys or hearts,
Are mended where they go.

Then down thy stream, with hope-filled sail,
Float faithful fearless on, loved friend;
’Tis God that has begun the tale
And does not mean to end.

To G. M. T.

The sun is sinking in the west,
Long grow the shadows dim;
Have patience, sister, to be blest,
Wait patiently for Him.

Thou knowest love, much love hast had,
Great things of love mayst tell,
Ought’st never to be very sad
For thou too hast lov’d well.

His house thou know’st, who on the brink
Of death loved more than thou,
Loved more than thy great heart can think,
And just as then loves now⁠—

In that great house is one who waits
For thy slow-coming foot;
Glad is he with his angel-mates
Yet often listens mute,

For he of all men loves thee best:
He haunts the heavenly clock;
Ah, he has long been up and drest
To open to thy knock!

Fear not, doubt not because of those
On whom earth’s keen winds blow;
God’s love shames all our pitying woes,
Be ready thou to go.

Forsaken dream not hearts which here
Bask in no sunny shine;
Each shall one coming day be dear
To love as good as thine.

In Memoriam Lady Caroline Charteris

The mountain-stream may humbly boast
For her the loud waves call;
The hamlet feeds the nation’s host,
The home-farm feeds the hall;

And unto earth heaven’s Lord doth lend
The right, of high import,
The gladsome privilege to send
New courtiers to Love’s court.

Not strange to thee, O lady dear,
Life in that palace fair,
For thou while waiting with us here
Didst just as they do there!

Thy heart still open to receive,
Open thy hand to give,
God had thee graced with more than leave
In heavenly state to live!

And though thou art gone up so high
Thou art not gone so far
But that thy love to us comes nigh,
As starlight from a star.

And ours must reach where’er thou art,
In far or near abode,
For God is of all love the heart,
And we are all in God.

A Mammon-Marriage

The croak of a raven hoar!
A dog’s howl, kennel-tied!
Loud shuts the carriage-door:
The two are away on their ghastly ride
To Death’s salt shore!

Where are the love and the grace?
The bridegroom is thirsty and cold!
The bride’s skull sharpens her face!
But the coachman is driving, jubilant, bold,
The devil’s pace.

The horses shivered and shook
Waiting gaunt and haggard
With sorry and evil look;
But swift as a drunken wind they staggered
’Longst Lethe brook.

Long since, they ran no more;
Heavily pulling they died
On the sand of the hopeless shore
Where never swelled or sank a tide,
And the salt burns sore.

Flat their skeletons lie,
White shadows on shining sand;
The crusted reins go high
To the crumbling coachman’s bony hand
On his knees awry.

Side by side, jarring no more,
Day and night side by side,
Each by a doorless door,
Motionless sit the bridegroom and bride
On the Dead-Sea-shore.

A Song in the Night

A brown bird sang on a blossomy tree,
Sang in the moonshine, merrily,
Three little songs, one, two, and three,
A song for his wife, for himself, and me.

He sang for his wife, sang low, sang high,
Filling the moonlight that filled the sky;
“Thee, thee, I love thee, heart alive!
Thee, thee, thee, and thy round eggs five!”

He sang to himself, “What shall I do
With this life that thrills me through and through!
Glad is so glad that it turns to ache!
Out with it, song, or my heart will break!”

He sang to me, “Man, do not fear
Though the moon goes down and the dark is near;
Listen my song and rest thine eyes;
Let the moon go down that the sun may rise!”

I folded me up in the heart of his tune,
And fell asleep with the sinking moon;
I woke with the day’s first golden gleam,
And, lo, I had dreamed a precious dream!

Love’s History

Love, the baby,
Crept abroad to pluck a flower:
One said, Yes, sir; one said, Maybe;
One said, Wait the hour.

Love, the boy,
Joined the youngsters at their play:
But they gave him little joy,
And he went away.

Love, the youth,
Roamed the country, quiver-laden;
From him fled away in sooth
Many a man and maiden!

Love, the man,
Sought a service all about;
But they called him feeble, one
They could do without.

Love, the aged,
Walking, bowed, the shadeless miles,
Read a volume many-paged,
Full of tears and smiles.

Love, the weary,
Tottered down the shelving road:
At its foot, lo, Night, the starry,
Meeting him from God!

“Love, the holy,”
Sang a music in her dome,
Sang it softly, sang it slowly,
“Love is coming home!”

The Lark and the Wind

In the air why such a ringing?
On the earth why such a droning?

In the air the lark is singing;
On the earth the wind is moaning.

“I am blest, in sunlight swinging!”
“Sad am I: the world lies groaning!”

In the sky the lark kept singing;
On the earth the wind kept moaning.

A Dead House

When the clock hath ceased to tick
Soul-like in the gloomy hall;
When the latch no more doth click
Tongue-like in the red peach-wall;
When no more come sounds of play,
Mice nor children romping roam,
Then looks down the eye of day
On a dead house, not a home!

But when, like an old sun’s ghost,
Haunts her vault the spectral moon;
When earth’s margins all are lost,
Melting shapes nigh merged in swoon,
Then a sound⁠—hark! there again!⁠—
No, ’tis not a nibbling mouse!
’Tis a ghost, unseen of men,
Walking through the bare-floored house!

And with lightning on the stair
To that silent upper room,
With the thunder-shaken air
Sudden gleaming into gloom,
With a frost-wind whistling round,
From the raging northern coasts,
Then, mid sieging light and sound,
All the house is live with ghosts!

Brother, is thy soul a cell
Empty save of glittering motes,
Where