JUDITH LYTTON
A Day Remembered
Oh, Love, what fate is ours? No summer morning
Shall give us joy, no sunrise bring relief;
No end—no end is there unto our sorrow,
No measure to our grief.
You looked at me, and all your living beauty
Swept to my heart in flame a moment's space,
A sudden mist of tears in darkness veiling
The glory of your face.
You spoke: I seemed to hear the wild doves cooing—
The rain upon the hills, sweet falling rain;
And all my soul was filled with joy and anguish,
In ecstasy of pain.
I saw as in a mist celestial visions
Beyond the bitter seas whence hope has fled,
Heard the wind blow among the trees in summer,
But knew not what you said.
It matters not what words the lips have spoken
When heart shall speak to heart, for love can hear
Unspoken words, and see as in reflection
His own thoughts mirrored there.
You came to me, the sun arose in splendour;
I saw the roses spread their petals sweet,
And thought that all the world must see in wonder
The wings upon our feet.
You touched me, and a wave of passionate longing
Flooded my soul until it swooned away,
And knew no more the sunlight from the shadow—
If it were night or day.
We wandered in the shadow of the woodland,
Mute while we looked into each other's eyes,
And saw as in still pools of darkened water
The wonder of the skies.
No word we spoke. We knew that love had silenced
All that we wished to speak yet left unsaid;
The bees were humming in the wild-rose blossoms
Which clustered overhead.
And all that summer day we were together,
Alone with love, yet with a sword between—
The flaming sword that stands between us ever,
And all that might have been.
Mist gathered white at evening in the valleys,
And slowly grew the dusk from gold to grey,
While rain-clouds gathered on the low horizon
Dark at the close of day.
And softly rose a wind from out the darkness,
With scent of flower and fern and herb and tree,
And in its breath there came a sound of thunder,
Storm-laden from the sea.
And thus we reached the wicket of the garden;
The wood was full of sound, the sound of wings;
The scent of lavender brought back remembrance
Of long-forgotten things.
Though heaven and earth and sky should be forgotten,
Yet of that hour my soul should bear the trace:
For night fell fast, and in the deepening shadow
You turned and kissed my face.
Childhood
A stranger come I to the festival
Thou holdest in the regions of romance,
Where dragons lurk and elfin spirits dance,
And pearls lie hid within each rose petal.
What magic changes in life's crystal ball
Shall thus transform earth's dullness at thy glance!
Ride then the wind, a feather for thy lance,
A pool thy sea, thy heaven a waterfall.
So shall thy soul to fairy worlds belong,
Where dust is gold and dew-drops turn to wine;
Remember still the visions that are thine
When sorrow shall disperse that phantom throng;
And dream once more that thou hast found divine
Love in a flower, and kingdoms in a song.
Love in Idleness
To look at thee, and see the sunlight move
The shadow of the leaves upon thy face,
Lighting the glory of thy youth and grace
With golden rays wind-stirred from trees above;
To listen to the rustling of the grove,
The warblers in the reeds which interlace
The waters of the pool, and dream a space,
Forgetful of the hours ... this then is love!
Thy passion and thy strength, thy gentleness,
All these are mine. Who then shall dispossess
My soul of paradise? In truth I learn
More than the world can teach. Oblivion waits,
And distance parts, and Death annihilates:
But now thy love is all my love's concern.
Love's Counterfeit
By what false spell of what enchanter's wand
Should thy gross fibre be with love allied?
Unhappy youth, thou callest to thy side
An unknown shade from some far spirit land;
Thou canst not guess, nor shalt thou understand,
The waters that thy soul from his divide.
In place of Love, what alien spirits glide
About thy sleep to answer thy command?
What blasphemy is this? Thou hast no spell
To call that heaven-born spirit from the deep,
Or move the stars. What cometh in his place?
This monstrous fraud which thou hast raised from hell,
Whose arms about thee in the darkness creep?
Light not thy torch, lest thou shouldst see
his face.
OLIVIA MEYNELL
A Grief without Christ
I sought Him in the trees, and Him I found
In every colour, and in every sound.
I sought Him in the sky, and He was there,
A living God, breathing the living air.
I sought Him in my soul—oh, passionate loss!
All that I found was a forsaken Cross.
The Crowning
Whenas we wandered in the summer hours,
My kind love crowned me with a crown of flowers.
Softly they touched my forehead and my hair;
Gay, sunny, yellow, and sweet-breathed they were—
Soft flowers and tender hands, gay sun, soft skies;
And sweeter, tenderer yet, his loving eyes.
Ah! but it should have been with thorns he crowned me,
Who follow Christ, while cold skies blackened round me.
Dear love, I will accept from you cold frown,
Sharp words, hard touch, as symbols of His crown.
MAURICE HEALY
In Memoriam
"Lord, teach us how to pray," they said;
And Jesus raised His weary head,
Bowed by the sorrows of the way,
And taught His children how to pray.
"Lord, teach me how to pray," I cried;
And Jesus sent you to my side
To make your own the soul I wear
And mould it purer into prayer.
And since your love first lit the way
I find that I have learned to pray;
For, that my soul may benefit,
I pray that you may pray for it.
A Ballad of Friendship
for two most dear Children
Soured and dimmed and chilled with senility
Hobbled the year to its uttermost day;
I gave the best of a slender ability,
Seeking to make a short afternoon gay.
You were both claimed ere the sky was grey
Over the tips of the western towers;
Yet, as you went, you had time to say,
"This is no stranger: we name him ours!"
Slaves and serfs have woes in abundancy—
Clashing of manacle, whistling of thong,
Tales of terror and tears to redundancy;
What is the score of my slavery's wrong?
Surely where pleasures so freely throng
Some sad fiend of unhappiness lowers;
Or is the refrain of Good Fortune's song,
"This is no stranger: we name him ours"?
When you enfranchised me into your mystery,
Lovingly stealing the sorrows I had,
Wisdom came with you; the old sad history
Glowed; and I knew in my heart why the sad
And outcast Lord grew suddenly glad
As the children thronged to crown Him with flowers,
When their cry was voiced by some tiny lad,
"This is no Stranger: we name Him ours!"
L'ENVOI.
So do I thank you; and if some day
You in your gained Paradisal bowers
Hear me knocking, be bold to pray,
"This is no stranger: we claim him ours!"
In the Midst of Them
"Gentle Jesus, meek and mild,
Look on me, a little child.
Pity my simplicity
And suffer me to come to Thee."
Now prevails a creed which tells
Us to seek no miracles.
Reason by discovered lore
Reigns where Faith was found before.
God, Who set our world aspin,
Now is weary of its din;
He, Who for our fathers' sake
Conjured lightning and earthquake,
Vanquished sorrow, sickness, death,
Deems we are not worth the Breath
That blessed the trusting prophet's rod
When Moses called upon his God.
How dare we expect Him give
Miracles to help us live?
Yet I build on Him Who saith,
"Move the mountains with your faith"—
Doubt the lips that falter, wan,
"The age of miracles is gone!"
I have learned to read the grim
Testimony unto Him
Printed with starvation's hand
On every hove! through the land;
I have swung the crazy door
To find huddled on a floor
Rat-gnawed and riddled, with never a clout
To keep the eager winter out,
Some six or seven of our kind
Shivering beneath the wind,
Foodless, fireless, hungry-eyed,
Crouched round one who just had died,
Hopeless that the dawn would bring
Friendly aid and comforting.
And after prayer for the parted soul,
They have thanked the slender dole,
And spoken of hope of days to come,
And have forgotten their martyrdom.
The anguished grief of motherhood
Has firmly whispered "God is good
And can in His Eternity
Repay this present loss"; till I
Have almost turned my head to see
If Christ has not come in with me!
Gentle Jesus, mild and meek,
These the simple words I speak
Are the faith Thou gavest me;
Suffer me to come to Thee!
Sic Transit
They camped in the meadow at sunrise,
And their crests gleamed bright in the sun,
And the breeze that blew sighed soft, for it knew
Their fate e'er the day was done.
They lay in the meadow at sunset,
As the sky in anger blushed red;
For the host of the dawn lay still on the lawn—
The host was a host of dead.
Let the gardener but pass his scythe o'er the grass—
And the life of a daisy is sped!
MONICA SALEEBY
Retrospect
You loved the child of fifteen years.
I knew not this vast thing.
Your great heart shrank beneath your fears;
You left me wondering.
Now fourteen years have passed us by;
Our souls meet once again;
And, meeting, I have asked you why
Our ways apart have lain?
And now your answer comes at last:—
"I loved you in that day."
Oh, strange reply! Oh, tender past!
Oh, long love locked away!
And now, yes, I have climbed Love's hill;
My heart is bound, yet free.
And is there not some young child still
For you to love in me?
You have the right to love her yet,
For he who loves me grown
Knew not the child you'll ne'er forget;
I give her for your own.
Oh, keep her young within your breast,
Allow her to survive;
For love of you I'll do my best
To keep your child alive.
FRANCIS MEYNELL
Any Stone
A myriad years God toiled to mould
A nerveless stone to His intent—
From peace to war, from heat to cold,
It triumphed against the Omnipotent:
God strove until His strength grew old,
Then cried "Thy help, My firmament!"
The stars in succour gave their light,
The aiding moon her ocean-sway;
At dawn and dusk the hosts of night
Watched round the battle-fires of day ...
To set the dust He loved aright
God called His winds to that array,
And all the burden of the world,
And all the tears from all men's eyes,
Drought, dew, and every flower unfurled,
The priest, the fire, the sacrifice,
The pillared cloud, His thunder hurled—
Victor, He held as nought the price!
Thus loved, thus wrought, God deemed the stone
Fit bed for beasts to lie upon.
O God of Gods, make short my days
Of blind approach to her and Thee;
Life-long upon Thy rugged ways
Her heart has danced: she calls to me.
Hast Thou forgotten me alone,
O Watcher where the wild beast lies?—
Mould to Thy will this other stone
—A stone, yet precious in her eyes.
Lux in Tenebris
Spirit of smiles and tears, you came to me in the night,
The golden moon aglow in your hair, and the spear-driven light
Of an army of stars in your eyes, weary with truant sleep.
O little skilled in self, who thought you came to weep!
Out of the darkness, light; flame in the virgin dew!
Love came unto her own, and knew him not, who knew.
O understood! O known! O apprehended bliss!
O self unskilled in self! O taught of my one kiss!
Mater Inviolata
A maiden's love most nuptial is,
Innocent of his nuptial kiss;
And only after marriage call
Her lips, her passion, virginal!
For when she dreams, who is beloved,
The ancient miracle stands proved—
Virginity's much Motherhood!
For O, the unborn babes she keeps,
The unthought glory, lips unwooed!—
And O, the quickening of her sleeps
Whose dreams, dreamed over, do repeat
The echoes of Love's falling feet!
For his, her young inviolate mouth
Longs with the longing of long drouth:
And, lacking substance for such feast,
She clasps a dream-baby to breast,
And kisses, where her head has place,
The dream-lips of her love's dream-face!
On the decked bridal bed of Night
She knows the Moon shows maiden light—
The Sun's kiss urged in marriage-rite!
So, when her very night shall come,
Virginal, in her virgin home
When stars show unfamiliar faces,
Laughing for love in their high places—
When her essential lips are dumb
In a thronged panic of embraces—
Her maiden heart, her spousal breast,
Shall throb, surrendered and possessed,
Throb, passion-sweet and ungainsaid—
"Now at the last am I a Maid!"
Song-burden
I do confess I have no art
To tell the tale of my own heart.
Of lips and tears, of hearts and eyes,
I rhyme my rhymes and fear my fears;
And if of these I make you wise,
These pictured hearts, these lips, these tears,
There is nought to do; I have played my part.
And I, a captain of much guile,
Within your ranks dissensions preach
Till all are jealous, each of each—
Your eyes, lips, heart, a tear, a smile!
So, when you turn your eyes away
From mirrored eyes, and when you stay
Love-hearing with reluctant hand,
Straight then your heart-throbs will betray
That you have read, and understand!
And should your maiden heart uprise
Against fain ears and full-fain eyes,
Upon your lips, that cannot err,
I set my kiss-interpreter!
Or hold you steadfast as allies
Your heart, hand, lips, your smiles, your all,
Your faithful eyes are traitrous eyes—
Out-steals a tear to your downfall!
Your heart, your eyes, the lips of you
—Hesitant and full-fain your eyes!—
Make all my song; have I sung true?
Make all my song; are you song-wise?
Gifts
My given gifts have been, ah me!
Sorrow, and superfluity.
You needed primal force, and this
Was all my giving—emphasis.
For your mute voice more mute I made,
And at your singing proffered song;
You trembled, and I was afraid—
Were pierced, I fell on the same blade—
Triumphed, and then my arm was strong.
For peace I builded on your peace,
And on your weakness mine up-piled;
Of too fond hope I made increase,
And at your smilings, as a child,
Ignorant of their cost, I smiled.
Always I fear at sight of fears,
And always weep at weeping eyes;
O my Belovéd, take my tears,
Take my sighs!
And these, and these, alas! shall be
Sorrow, and superfluity.
Wraith
Mine was not equal of her trust—
As whose, my friend, as whose should be?-And
now, a panic dream of dust,
She comes to haunt the heart of me;
She comes to haunt my heart for this,
And lo, a glory of my sighs!
For still her phantom lips I kiss,
Who cannot meet her phantom eyes.
A Dedication
I took the universe for theme,
And all young eyes, and all old stars;
A thousand angels of my dream
I sang, and a thousand of love's wars.
Blind then my eyes, that now can see
The narrowness of infinity!
For these my songs sing but her eyes,
And all my song one star apart,
One angel's dream-soliloquies,
One conquered, one triumphant, heart.
Yea, one is all, and all is one;
My songs, O love, are sung, and I have done.
By The Hon. Mrs. Lindsay
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