As once through forest shade I went,
I heard a flower call, and bent—
Then strove to go. Should love not spare?
"Nay, Dearest, this is love's sweet share
Of selfishness. For which is best,
To die alone or on thy breast?
If thou hast heard my call,
Take fearlessly, thou art my guest—
To give is all"
Hush! O Love, thou casuist!
IV
Ask me not why,—I only know,
It were thy loss if I could show
Thee cause as for a lesser thing.
Remember how we searched the spring,
But found no source,—so clear the sky
Within its earth bound depths did lie,
Give to thy joy its wings,
And to thy heart its song, nor try
With questionings
The throbbing throat that sings.
V
For in thy clear and steadfast eyes
Thine own self wonder deepest lies,
Nor any words that lips can teach
Are sweeter than their wonder speech.
And when thou givest them to me,
Through dawns of tenderness I see,—
As in the water-sky,
The sun of certainly appear.
So, ask me why,
For then thou knowest, Dear.
VI
To give is more than to receive, men say.
But thou hast made them one! What if, some day,
Men bade me render back the gifts I cannot pay,—
Since all were undeserved! should I obey?
Lo, all these years of giving, when we try
To own our thanks, we hear the giver cry;
"Nay, it was thou who givest, Dear, not I."
If Wisdom smile, let Wisdom go!
All things above
This is the truest; that we know because we love,
Not love because we know.
VII
Let it not grieve thee, Dear, that Love is sad,
Who, changeless, loveth so the things that change,—
The morning in thine eyes, the dusk within thy hair,
Were it not strange
If he were glad
Who cannot keep thy heart from care,
Or shelter from the whip of pain
The bosom where his head hath lain?
Poor sentinel, that may not guard
The door that love itself unbarred!
Who in the sweetness
Of his service knows its incompleteness,
And while he sings
Of life eternal, feels the coldness of Death's wings.