Kitabı oku: «The Rainbow and the Rose», sayfa 4

VI

THE ISLAND

 
  DOES the wind sing in your ears at night, in the town,
  Rattling the windows and doors of the cheap-built place?
  Do you hear its song as it flies over marsh and down?
  Do you feel the kiss that the wind leaves here on my face?
  Or, wrapt in a lamplit quiet, do you restrain
  Thoughts that would take the wind's way hither to me,
  And bid them rest safe-anchored, nor tempt again
  The tumult, and torment, and passion that live in the sea?
 
 
  I, for my part, when the wind sings loud in its might,
  I bid it hush—nor awaken again the storm
  That swept my heart out to sea on a moonless night,
  And dashed it ashore on an island wondrous and warm
  Where all things fair and forbidden for ever flower,
  Where the worst of life is a dream, and the best comes true,
  When the harvest of years was reaped in a single hour
  And the gods, for once, were honest with me and you.
 
 
  I will not hear when the wind and the sea cry out,
  I will not trust again to the hurrying wind,
  I will not swim again in a sea of doubt,
  And reach that shore with the world left well behind;
  But you,—I would have you listen to every call
  Of the changing wind, as it blows over marsh and main,
  And heap life's joys in your hands, and offer them all,
  If only your feet might touch that island again!
 

POSSESSION

 
  THE child was yours and none of mine,
  And yet you gave it me to keep,
  And bade me sew it raiment fine,
  And wrap my kisses round its sleep.
 
 
  I carried it upon my breast,
  I fed it in a world apart,
  I wrapped my kisses round its rest,
  I rocked its cradle with my heart.
 
 
  When in mad nights of rain and storm
  You turned us homeless from your door,
  I wrapped it close, I kept it warm,
  And brought it safe to you once more.
 
 
  But the last time you drove us forth,
  The snow was wrapped about its head,
  That night the wind blew from the North,
  And on my heart the child was dead.
 
 
  The child is mine and none of yours,
  My life was his while he had breath,
  What of your claim to him endures,
  Who only gave him birth and death?
 

ACCESSION

 
  ONCE I loved, and my heart bowed down,
  Subject and slave, for Love was a King;
  He sat above with sceptre and crown,
  Turning his eyes from my sorrowing.
  The laugh of a god on his lips lay light—
  His lips victorious that mocked my pain,
  And I mourned in the cold and the outer night,
  And my tears and my prayers were vain.
 
 
  Now the old spell is over and done,
  Myself I wear the ermine and gold,
  My brows are crowned, I ascend the throne,
  I have taken the sceptre and orb to hold.
  I smile victorious, set far above
  The music of voices that moan and pray,
  My feet are wet with the tears of love,
  And I turn my eyes away.
 

THE DESTROYER

 
  ACROSS the quiet pastures of my soul
  The invading army marched in splendid might
  My few poor forces fled beyond control,
  Scattered, defeated, hidden in the night.
 
 
  My fields were green, their hedges white with May,
  With gold of buttercups made bright and fair,
  The careless conquerors did not even stay
  To gather one of all the blossoms there.
 
 
  Only when they had passed, the fields were brown,
  The grass and blossoms trampled in the mud:
  The flowering hedges withered and torn down,
  And no one richer by a single bud.
 

THE EGOISTS

 
  TWO strangers, from opposing poles,
  Meet in the torrid zone of Love:
  And their desire seems set above
  The limitation of their souls.
 
 
  This is the trap; this is the snare,
  This is the false, enchanting light,
  And when it smoulders into night,
  How can each know the other is there?
 
 
  They own no bond of common speech;
  Each, from far shores by wild winds brought,
  Gropes for some cord of common thought
  To draw the other within reach.
 
 
  Each when the dark tide drowns their star,
  Cries out, "Thou art not one with me:
  One flesh we seemed when eyes could see,
  But now, how far thou art! How far!"
 
 
  Each calling, "Come! be mine! be wise!"
  Stands obstinately in his place,
  How can these two come face to face,
  Till light spring from their meeting eyes?
 
 
  Could both but once cry, "Far thou art,
  But I am coming!" How the beat
  Of waves that part them would retreat,
  Resurge and find them, heart to heart!
 

THE WAY OF LOVE

 
  THE butterfly loves the rose,
  He flutters around her bed,
  Till the soft curled leaves unclose,
  And she raises her darling head.
 
 
  He whispers of dawn and of dew,
  Of love, and the heart of love,
  Of worship, timid and true,
  And she takes no joy thereof.
 
 
  But when, through the noon's blind heat,
  The arrogant bee flaunts by,
  She yields him her heart's hid sweet,
  And he leaves her alone, to die.
 
 
  The depth of her dying bliss
  Her grief-white butterfly knows:
  And the bee laughs low in the kiss
  Of another, a redder rose.
 

TO ONE WHO PLEADED FOR CANDOUR IN LOVE

 
  HERE is the dim enchanted wood
  Your face, a mystery divine,
  But half revealed, half understood,
  Appears the counterpart of mine.
 
 
  Beyond the wood the daylight lies;
  Cruel and hard, it lies in wait
  To steal the magic from your eyes
  And from your lips the thrill of fate.
 
 
  Ah, stay with me a little while
  Here, where the magic shadows rest,
  Where all my world is in your smile
  And all my heaven on your breast.
 
 
  Ah no!—cling close, what need to move,
  What need to advance or explore?
  We came here blindly, led by love,
  Who will not lead us any more.
 
 
  Thank God that here we two have stood,
  Thank God this shade was ours to win;
  Time with his axe has marked our wood
  And he will let the daylight in.
 

THE ENCHANTED GARDEN

 
  OH, what a garden it was, living gold, living green,
  Full of enchantments like spices embalming the air,
  There, where you fled and I followed—you ever unseen,
  Yet each glad pulse of me cried to my heart, "She is there!"
 
 
  Roses and lilies and lilies and roses again,
  Tangle of leaves and white magic of blossoming trees,
  Sunlight that lay where, last moment, your footstep had lain—
  Was not the garden enchanted that proffered me these?
 
 
  Ah, what a garden it is since I caught you at last—
  Scattered the magic and shattered the spell with a kiss:
  Wintry and dreary and cold with the wind of the past,
  Ah that a garden enchanted should wither to this!
 

THE POOR MAN'S GUEST

 
  ONE came to me in royal guise
  With banners flying fair and free
  But many griefs had made me wise
  And I refused to bow the knee.
 
 
  Then one drew near who bore the flower
  Of all the flowers of June and May;
  But many griefs had lent me power
  And I was strong to turn away.
 
 
  Then came a beggar to my gate
  With shoulders bowed to sorrow's pack,
  So weary and so desolate
  I had no heart to turn him back.
 
 
  I let him share my board, my bed,
  I warmed him in my shrinking breast,
  I gave him all I had, and said:
  "You, only you, have been my guest.
 
 
  "Love passed in many a fair disguise
  But never could an entrance win,
  But you came in such piteous wise,
  Poor friend, I could but let you in."
 
 
  Low laughed my guest: "Kind friend!" said he,
  And dropped the rags he was weary of;
  And I, betrayed, saw over me
  The terrible face of outraged Love.
 

IN THE SHALLOWS

 
  AMONG the shallows where the sand
  Is golden and the waves are small,
  I love to lie, and to my hand
  How many little treasures fall!
  What shells and seaweed grace the shore,
  What happy birds on happy wings,
  And for companions, what a store
  Of humble, happy, living things!
 
 
  Yet the sea's depths are also mine,
  And in the old days I used to dive
  Into the caves, where corals shine
  And where the shimmering mer-folk live.
  I am the master of the sea
  In deeps where fairy flowers uncurl;
  That treasure-house belongs to me,
  Those amber halls, those stairs of pearl.
 
 
  But now thereto I go no more,
  Because of all the argosies,
  Deep sunk upon the ocean floor,
  Where all the world's lost treasure lies.
  Where loveless laughter curls the lips
  Of wild sea creatures at their sport
  About the bones of noble ships,
  My ships, that never came to port.
 

"AND THE RAINS DESCENDED AND THE FLOODS CAME."

 
  NOW the far waves roll nearer and more near,
  The wind's awake, the pitiless wind's awake,
  It shrieks the menace that I dare not hear,
  Soon at my feet the angry waves will break
  In desolating wrath—and here I stand
  Helpless my house is built upon the sand.
 
 
  O you, whose house upon a rock is set,
  Laugh, safe and sure, at threatening wave and wind.
  You chose the better part and yet—and yet,
  There was no other ground that I could find,
  And I was weary and I longed to raise
  A house to guard my shivering nights and days.
 
 
  And it was pleasant in the house I made,
  While still the floods and winds were held asleep.
  I blessed it at the dawn, at night I prayed
  As though its dear foundations had been deep
  Sunk in the rock. I whispered in surmise,
  "What if winds never wake, floods never rise?"
 
 
  And now the waves are near and very near,
  And here I wait and wonder which may be
  The wave in which my house will disappear,
  My little house that loved and sheltered me,
  Where joy still sings, her garland in her hand,
  Built on the sand, oh God, built on the sand!
 

THE STAR

 
  I HAD a star to sing by, a beautiful star that led,
  But when I sang of its splendour the world in its wisdom said:
  "Sweet are your songs, yet the singer sings but in madness when
  He hymns but stars unbeholden of us his fellows of men;
  Glow-worms we see and marshlights; sing us sweet songs of those
  For the guerdons we have to give you, laurel and gold and rose;
  Or if you must sing of stars, unseen of your brother man,
  Go, starve with your eyes on your vision; your star may save if it can!"
 
 
  So I said, "If I starve and die I never again shall see
  The glory, the high white radiance that hallows the world for me;
  I will sing their songs, if it must be, and when I have golden store,
  I will turn from the marsh and the glow-worms, and sing of my star once more."
  So I walked in the warm wet by-ways, not daring to lift my eyes
  Lest love should drive me to singing my star supreme in the skies,
  And the world cried out, "We will crown him, he sings of the lights that are,
  Glories of marshlight and glow-worms, not visions vain of a star!"
 
 
  I said, "Now my brows are laurelled, my hands filled full of their gold,
  I will sing the starry songs that these earthworms bade withhold.
  It is time to sing of my star!" for I dreamed that my star still shone,
  Then I lifted my eyes in my triumph. Night! night! and my star was gone.
 

VII

THE PRODIGAL SON

 
  COME home, come home, for your eyes are sore
  With the glare of the noonday sun,
  And nothing looks as it did before,
  And the best of the day is done.
 
 
  You have played your match, and ridden your race,
  You have fought in your fight—and lost;
  And life has set its claws in your face,
  And you know what the scratches cost.
 
 
  Out there the world is cruel and loud,
  It strikes at the beaten man;
  Come out of the press of the stranger crowd
  To the place where your life began.
 
 
  The best robe lies in the cedar chest,
  And your father's ring is here;
  You have known the worst, come home to the best—
  You will pay for it, never fear!
 
 
  In every kiss of your sister's mouth,
  In each tear from your mother's eyes,
  You will pay the price of the days in the South
  Where the far-off country lies.
 

DESPAIR

 
  SMILE on me, mouth of red—so much too red,
  Shine on me, eyes which darkened lashes shade,
  Turn, turn my way, oh glorious golden head,
  My soul is lost, then let the price be paid!
  Amid rich flowers your rosy lamplight gleams,
  Amid rich hangings pass your scented hours,
  And woods and fields are green but in my dreams,
  And only in my dreams grow meadow-flowers.
 
 
  I have forgotten everything but you—
  The apple orchard where the whitethroat sings,
  The quiet fields, the moonlight, and the dew,
  The virgin's bower that in wet hedgerow clings.
  I have forgotten how the cool grass waves
  Where clean winds blow, and where good women pray
  For happy, honest men, safe in their graves;
  And—oh, my God! I would I were as they!
 

THE TEMPTATION

 
  YOU bring your love too late, dear, I have no love to buy it,
  I spent my love on worthless toys, at fairs you do not know;
  I am a bankrupt trader—dear eyes, do not deny it,
  I could have bought your love, dear, but that was long ago.
 
 
  My soul has left me widowed, my heart has made me orphan,
  Leave me—all good things, dear, have left me—leave me too!
  For here is ice no tears of yours, no smiles of yours can soften:
  Leave me, leave me, leave me, I have no love for you!
 
 
  I have no flowers to give you, they grow not in my garden;
  I have no songs to sing you, my songs have all been sung;
  I have no hope of heaven, no faith in any pardon,
  I might have loved you once, dear, when I was good and young.
 
 
  I will not steal, nor cheat you; take back the heart you lent me.
  O God, whom I have outraged, now teach me how to pray,
  That love come never again so near me to torment me,
  Lest I be found less faithful than, by Thy grace, to-day.
 

SECOND NATURE

 
  WHEN I was young how fair the skies,
  Such folly of cloud, such blue depths wise,
  Such dews of morn, such calms of eve,
  So many the lure and the reprieve—
  Life seemed a toy to break and mend
  And make a charm of in the end.
 
 
  Then slowly all the dew dried up
  And only dust lay in the cup;
  And since, to slake his thirst, man must,
  I sought a cup that had no dust,
  And found it at the Goat and Vine—
  Mingled of brandy, beer and wine.
 
 
  The goat-cup, straight, drew down the skies
  And lit them in lunatick wise:
  What had been rose went scarlet red,
  And the pearl tints grew like the dead.
  And the fresh primrose of the morn
  Was the wet red of rain-spoiled corn.
 
 
  Now, with a head that aches and nods
  I hold weak hands out to the gods;
  And oh! forgiving gods and kind,
  They give me healing to my mind,
  And show me once again the lawn
  Green and clear-gemmed with dews of dawn.
 
 
  O gods, who look down from above
  Upon our tangle of lust and love,
  And, in your purity, perceive
  The worth of what our follies leave:
  Give us but this, and sink the rest—
  To know that dew and dawn are best.
 

DE PROFUNDIS

 
  NOW I am cast into the serpent pit
  And, catching difficult breath
  From the writhing, loathsome, ceaseless stir of it,
  The venomous whispers of curling, clasping Death,
  I lift my soul out of the pit to Thee
  And reaching with my soul to where Thou art
  Look down, seeing with free heart
  The beast God gave my soul for company
  Lie with companions fit;
  And bid, with a good will,
  The serpent-fangs of ill
  Take their foul fill
  Of the foul fell it wore.
  Though a thousand serpent heads were raised to slay,
  A thousand twisting coils writhed where it lay,
  There lies the beast, there let it lie for me
  And agonize and rave;
  For Thou has raised my soul, Thy soul, to Thee!
  Thy soul, dear Lord, Thou hast been strong to save!