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From “These Are but Words”
WHAT other form were worthy of your praise | |
| But this lute-voice, mocking the centuries | |
| In many a silvery phrase that hallowed is | |
| By love not faltering with lengthening days? | |
| A lute that I have little worth to raise | 5 |
| And little skill to sound—yet not amiss | |
| Your love may find it, since my heart in this | |
| Only one thing for your heart only says. | |
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| These are no perfect blossoms I offer you, | |
| No rose whose crimson cup all longing slakes, | 10 |
| Not moonflowers, sunflowers, flowers rich of hue, | |
| Nor silver lilies mystical with dew— | |
| No more than bluets, blown when April takes | |
| Millions of them to make one meadow blue. | |
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I I have been happy: let the falcon fly, | 15 |
| And follow swiftly where the light wings whir— | |
| Let him bring down the reckless wanderer, | |
| Snatch back that eager rapture from the sky! | |
| And I have been contented: let me cry | |
| My discontent, until, like reeds astir | 20 |
| Before the swift, the tragic whisperer, | |
| Broken are these frail dreams that satisfy! | |
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| I have known laughter: make me blind with tears. | |
| I have loved silence: make me deaf with sound. | |
| For every joy set vengeful grief above. | 25 |
| I will not shrink before the threatening years; | |
| I will not falter, I will not give ground; | |
| And I will love as you would have me love! | |
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II I have a thousand pictures of the sea— | |
| Snatches of song and things that travellers say. | 30 |
| I know its shimmering from green to gray; | |
| At dawn and sunset it is plain to me. | |
| Like something known and loved for years will be | |
| That sight of it when I shall come some day | |
| Where little waves and great waves war and play, | 35 |
| And little winds and great winds fly out free. | |
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| Of love I had no pictures: love would come | |
| Like any casual guest whom I could greet | |
| Serenely, and serenely let depart— | |
| Love, that came like fire and struck me dumb, | 40 |
| That came like wind and swept me from my feet, | |
| That came like lightning shattering my heart. | |
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III Life of itself will be cruel and hard enough: | |
| There will be loss and pain enough to bear; | |
| Battles to wage, sorrow and tears to share. | 45 |
| We must know grief—the bitter taste thereof; | |
| Must mark the Shadow towering above; | |
| Must shut our eyes to gain the strength to dare, | |
| And force tired hearts to face the noise and glare | |
| Though it is dusk and silence that we love. | 50 |
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| Life has no need of stones that we might heap | |
| To build up walls between; no need of tears | |
| That we seek out and proudly make our own. | |
| O my beloved, since we have alone | |
| These brief hours granted from the hurrying years, | 55 |
| Be patient—life itself will make us weep! | |
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IV There have been many Junes with larkspur blowing, | |
| Many Octobers with crimson-berried haws, | |
| When from my heart regret like smoke withdraws, | |
| Wreath after wreath, to watch the sunsets glowing, | 60 |
| And see tall poplars make so brave a showing | |
| Against pale skies at dusk. There were no flaws | |
| To mar the summer for me; never pause | |
| In my delight for winds and waters flowing. | |
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| Yet was all beauty beauty uncompleted, | 65 |
| Vaguely perceived, not truly heard and seen; | |
| Or seen as are the hills with mist between, | |
| Or heard as song thin echoes have repeated; | |
| Until you gave earth meaning, giving me | |
| The love that lifts the heart to hear and see. | 70 |
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V You have not known the autumns I have known. | |
| November for you has bloomed as bright as spring, | |
| With tropic suns to glow and birds to sing, | |
| And flowers more vivid than mine in August blown. | |
| You have made, beside, those autumns half your own | 75 |
| That come with ice and sleet and wind, to sting | |
| The blood itself to ruddy blossoming— | |
| Such autumns as the bleak North knows alone. | |
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| My autumns are merely quiet, and they show | |
| Straight trees that are bared alike of leaves and snow— | 80 |
| Yet it is only thus you can know the trees. | |
| Love proud enough to forego bloom and song, | |
| To strip the boughs of foliage; bare and strong | |
| To bide your judgment, would be most like these. | |
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VI It would be easy to say: “The moon and lake | 85 |
| Made wizardry—how could we see aright? | |
| That was a world unreal in silver light, | |
| And we were lovers for the moment’s sake. | |
| It was youth spoke in us, quick to mistake | |
| Earth-lamp for dawn, the mirage for true sight; | 90 |
| Hailing a hill-crest as the long-sought height, | |
| Swearing such oaths as honors us to break.” | |
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| That would be easiest: then no regret | |
| Could chill a heart grown happy to forget, | |
| Nor touch a soul that sophistry sufficed. | 95 |
| There was a man once, in a hall of trial, | |
| Thrice before cock-crow uttered such denial— | |
| And knows forever that he denied the Christ! | |
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VII I make no question of your right to go— | |
| Rain and swift lightning, thunder and the sea, | 100 |
| Sand and dust and ashes are less free! | |
| Follow all paths that wings and spread sails know; | |
| Unheralded you came, and even so | |
| If so you will, may you take leave of me. | |
| Yours is your life, and what you will shall be. | 105 |
| I ask no question: hasten or be slow! | |
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| But I who would not hold you—I who give | |
| Your freedom to you with no word to say; | |
| And, watching quietly, with my prayers all dumb, | |
| Speed you to any life you choose to live— | 110 |
| Shall ask God’s self, incredulous, some day, | |
| Why in the name of Christ He let you come! | |
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VIII No love can quite forego the battle-field; | |
| Since life is struggle, and love and life are one. | |
| No soul is quiet and sheltered enough to shun | 115 |
| The tireless foes at work to make love yield. | |
| Not flowers and samite, but lance and shield | |
| Were dower of love; not wreath but gonfalon; | |
| And while the bitter struggle is unwon | |
| Not even to faith is all the truth revealed. | 120 |
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| Each heart its own most dreaded foe must meet; | |
| Each heart its own conspiracies must lay, | |
| And fight what it finds hardest to defeat. | |
| Mine is it to meet Doubt in serried mass | |
| Stronger and subtler with each toilsome day; | 125 |
| Yet steel my soul to swear, “They shall not pass.” | |
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IX It will be easy to love you when I am dead— | |
| Shadowed from light and shut away from sound, | |
| Held deeper than the wild roots underground, | |
| Where nothing can be changed and no more said. | 130 |
| All will be uttered then: beyond the dread | |
| Of failure in you or me, I shall have found | |
| Most perfect quietness to fold me round, | |
| Where I can dream while all Time’s years are sped. | |
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| But now Life roars about me like a sea, | 135 |
| Sears me like flame, is thunder in my ears. | |
| There is no time for song, no space for tears, | |
| And every vision has forsaken me. | |
| In a world earthquake-shaken, lightning-charred, | |
| Love is the hardest where all things are hard. | 140 |
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