THE BOND
Once, I remember, when we were at home
I had come into church, and waited late,
Ere lastly kneeling to communicate
Alone: and thinking that you would not come.
Then, with closed eyes (having received the Host)
I prayed for your dear self, and turned to rise;
When lo! beside me like a blessed ghost—
Nay, a grave sunbeam—you! Scarcely my eyes
Could credit it, so softly had you come
Beside me as I thought I walked alone.
Thus long ago; but now, when fate bereaves
Life of old joys, how often as I’m kneeling
To take the Blessed Sacrifice that weaves
Life’s tangled threads, so broken to man’s seeing,
Into one whole; I have the sudden feeling
That you are by, and look to see a face
Made in fair flesh beside me, and all my being
Thrills with the old sweet wonder and faint fear
As in that sabbath hour—how long ago!—
When you had crept so lightly to your place.
Then, then, I know
(My heart can always tell) that you are near.
TO YOU—UNSUNG
(Sonnet)
How should I sing you?—you who dwell unseen
Within the darkest chamber of my heart.
What picturesque and inward-turning art
Could shadow forth the image of my queen,
Sweet, world aloof, ineffably serene
Like holy dawn, yet so entirely part
Of what am I, as well a man might start
To paint his breathing, or his red blood’s sheen.
Nay, seek yourself, who are their truest breath,
In these my songs made for delight of men.
Oh, where they fail, ’tis I that am in blame,
But, where the words loom larger than my pen,
Be sure they ring glad echoes of your name,
And Love that triumphs over Life and Death.