LOVE’S·LABYRINTH
WHEN summer reigned in leafy sheen,
I found me in a garden green,
Deep hidden from the sun’s gold edge,
Beneath a rose-hung thorny hedge,
Upon a space of cool fair grass,
Whereon not yet the scythe should pass;
Though in the meadows was it laid,
Where Time was stooping in the shade
As, foot by foot, with measured sweep
His engine cleft the grassy deep;
And thence fresh fragrance wafted sweet
The smell of roses blown to meet,
Mixed in the drowsèd air and stole
In slumber to my dreamful soul.
Full long I lay in leafy lair,
Until, upon the murmurous air,
One murmur grew with deep’ning note
And soon my sleeping ear it smote,
And woke a trouble in my breast—
A joyful pain more sweet than rest.
Like as the voice of plaining strings
When magic hands the music brings
Out of the viols’ soul in sound
That hath a power when speech is bound,
To lift the whirlwind and the wail
Of passion’s tempest, and the veil
Of dumb desires and hopes that cry,
Until the strong winds sinking die,
Though still the wrought waves strike the shore,
Above them shrill a voice dost soar;
Or with the soft gale, falling low,
To lull the soul, sings sweet and slow,
And folds the fluttering wings of peace:
So thrilled that music through the trees;
The leaves were stirred upon the boughs,
The petals shaken from a rose,
As though a spirit moved anear.
Then from the hedge a voice broke clear:—
“O Time! O Time! Thy dial stay,
And lend to Love thy little day,
And make him free of thy domain;
And thou shalt not have less of gain,
For he must pay thee back again
In penal hours of longing pain.
“O Time! O Time! Thy labour stay
Between the sun and moon to-day:
Tell not thy hours of moon and noon
Lest they should find us swift and soon
To steal from us our secret joy,
And give us to the world’s annoy.
“Let Love be king in hour and place,
And give thy garden for his chase,
Set all with lilies fair and white,
And roses for his heart’s delight,
Both red, and crimson dark, and pale
Like snow that hidden fire doth veil:
Yea, give them on their thorny stem,
Before thy breath shalt shatter them,
That chaplets Love may bind for those
Who wander in his tangled close.”
Time, ceasing not his toil, far heard,
Gave back to Love this answering word:—
“Love, to Time dost thou come sueing?
Love, with all thy debt accrueing?
Time can give thee no renewing.
“Ask the hearts thy sceptre schooleth,
Seek the kings thy kingship ruleth,
Who is he that Time befooleth?
“Rest thee, Love, in thine own city,
But of my dominion quit ye,
Time is hard, and hath no pity.
“Erst for king didst thou disown me,
Wouldst thou o’er thy kingdom crown me?
Thee I serve when thou hast won me.
“Slave and servant, no man’s master,
They who will me slow or faster
Urge me to their own disaster.
“Lo! this garden for thy going,
Fair and sweet life-blooms in growing,
Gather, ere its leaves be strowing.
“Hive thy honey, sweet bestowing,
Take life’s apples, red and glowing,
Ere they fall to earth unknowing.
“Days and hours, perforce, Time gives thee
By the sun’s swift wheel that drives ye,
Rest you merry! Time survives Thee.”
His shadow passed, his voice had died,
And from the rosy covert side,
Clear shining in his goodlihead,
Love to my soul came forth and said:—
“Arise, O Soul! and go with me,
And thou shalt read my book and see
Things hidden from the wise, and know
The height of joy, the depth of woe,
And hear the seas of passion roll,
And scan the dim strange human scroll,
The writing of its speechless lore,
And poesy’s unfathomed store;
The mystic birth of Song and Art
In painted chambers of the heart;
Love’s histories of bliss and strife,
And woven mysteries of life—
Yea, all that in Love’s house do dwell
Between the doors of heaven and hell.”
Now in this garden lay apart
A space contrived with cunning art,
Where whoso entered at its gate
Might choose of pleasant paths and straight,
Green walled in privet, rose, and yew,
The wildered wight still to and fro,
Who wists not if to turn or go,
Amid the close entangled ways,
Where oft, for his yet more amaze,
Soft voices, wandering, called his name,
And through the leaves sweet music came,
Clear faces showed like sudden light,
To vanish from his longing sight
Ere he might hope of help to win
The secret bliss hid far within.
Few ’scape from out that pleasaunce whole,
Few gain the inmost golden goal;
Full many wander there forlorn,
Or come out thence sore wounded, torn,
To weep their wasted lives forespent.
Thither by Love my soul was bent:
Soon in the green maze sweet and still,
I heard the brown and blackbird trill,
Where, linkèd lanes and alleys through,
Love led me by his secret clue;
And oft the scented briar would cling,
Or in the hedge some fluttering thing
Shake soft adown a summer snow
Among the leaves all fair bedight
And prankt with buds of red and white.
But still by these Love’s footsteps led,
Dim paths before him turned and fled;
Full oft some sweet or anguished face
Would part the leaves to seek his grace;
For many folk did wander there,
Both gleaming knights and dames most fair,
And o’er the level hedge and trim
Fair showed in quaint attire and slim
Of samite, broidery, and brocade,
As folk of passèd time portrayed
By cunning painters, skilled full well,
That mid so goodly sights did dwell.
And there about the stems were hung
Sweet names and legends poets sung,
Ywrought on scrolls and tablets fine,
And bound with knots that true loves twine;
And oft the lute’s full tender strain
Amid the rose leaves made soft plain,
As songs were heard in women’s fame
That crownèd singers sweet proclaim—
Prophets and kings of lyre and pen,
Who sound the hearts of silent men
That hold their word as treasure trove
In the immortal book of love.
These all were passed, and in a while,
Love showed my soul a dim green aisle,
And far at end a stone-built stair,
That led us from the woody lair,
Forth issuing through a night of trees
To know anew the day’s increase,
And there a fragrant arbour found,
With clinging jasmine close embound.
Soon, in this leafy ambush set,
Love bade my soul look forth and let
Sight wonder at its might or will.
Then saw I those that wandered still
Lost in the green and covert ways,
And all the secret of the maze.
How there, as folks distraught, misled,
Sought lovers for their lover, who fled
Far from them, or, unwitting, past
The prisoning hedge that shut them fast:
How, oft their eyes met far amain
In severed paths that kept them twain;
How, after toil and weary pace,
Some met at last with shamefast face,
And silent lips, or coldly masked
With wintry speech their hearts that asked
For utterance, and leapt, and cried—
Love’s dear deliverance denied.
Thereby great heaviness and pain
Had then my soul, and turned again
To ask of him who stood beside
What hope for these might yet betide.
Clothed in his godhead strong he stood,
He bent his bow above the wood,
And swift the wingèd arrow left
The quivering string—what heart it cleft
My soul ne’er knew, for then the light
Of falling day dazed all my sight
With splendour, as the level sun
Blazed in his gold pavilion spun
Out of his rays whose burning thread
A glorious tapestry outspread
With all life’s hues commingling blent.
And ere the golden web was rent
By darkness, Love led me away,
And passed, about the end of day,
Beneath the hanging umbrage dread
Till grew in sight a summer stead,
Fair corniced, roofed, and pillared clean,
Closed in the midmost heart of green,
And girt about with garlands round,
Clear-built upon a pleasant ground,
That gardened was and set with flowers,
Which had the speech of love and powers
After that they are dead to keep
Sweet thoughts in heart and cherished deep.
Also of mythic trees and rare
That grew in love’s high region there,
My soul did mark fair Daphne’s leaf;
The almond bloom, for love and grief,
When Phillis died; and Syrinx’ reed,
Like sprung of legendary seed,
The sun’s broad flower, that shows his flame
And blooms in Clyte’s sculptured fame.
Amidst them fair and high uprose
The carven images of those
That wrought with men for good or ill,
And gave good gifts, and god-like skill,
And reverence had upon the earth—
Yea, still, in all man’s strife and mirth
Have part and glory, yet for him
The mingled cup of life they brim,
As gods, who here Love’s lordship own
Casting their crowns before his throne.
Their marble image broken fell
Where leapt a water from its well
Gemmed in the green and grassy space
Before the pillars of the place,
Where now my soul love’s travel brought.
Soon trod we both the marble court,
And passed into a painted hall,
Most goodly wrought on roof and wall
With dreams, and golden mysteries
Of love and love’s rich histories
Wherein dumb thoughts of heart and brain
Took form and speech and breathed again.
Natheless, ere we the end might win
Was hung a veil, fine-woven, thin,
But through the veil a fire glowed dim,
And faint-heard music soft did swim,
Till out of vague and murmurous tone
Rose up a voice to take its throne:—
“Last night my lady talked with me,
As on a green hill, I and she
Sat close, where erst alone I stood
Beneath the dusk-leaved ilex wood.
“The earth was gathered to her rest,
Sweet silence lay upon her breast,
Well nigh asleep, save that she heard
The wandering waters’ silver word.
“The sun had kissed the earth’s dark lips
That grow so ruddy ere he dips,
Wine-coloured to his golden rim,
As purple evening pours for him.
“Low stooped his head as he would drink,
Till out of sight we saw him sink,
And with his splendour in our eyes,
Full-orbed we watched the great moon rise.
“Rose-tinged in the dim sky shone she
Like Venus from the opal sea,
So grew her glory in our sight,
Till in her face we saw love’s light,
“Love’s light in hers, like flame on flame—
Yea, very Love in presence came,
Between the fires of moon and sun
He stood, like dawn ere night begun.
“Clear-aureoled his golden head,
His eyes our burning hearts well read,
And in the sanctuary of my soul
I won of love the golden goal.”