THE DESERTED CITY
Stray Sonnets written by F. S.
and Rescued for the Few who
Love them by H. D.
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MDCCCXCIX
THE DESERTED CITY
THE HOUSE OF NIGHT
Though all the light were lifted from the land,
And a great darkness lay upon the sea;
Though, groping each for some not-careless hand,
I felt sad men pass over wearily;
Though it were certain dawn would not come in
With the next hour; that after many days
Would no moon rise where the grey clouds grew thin,
Nor any stars resume their ancient ways:
Though all my world was thus, and I more blind
Than the dead, blundering planets raining past,
I know I should not fancy Time unkind;
For you, as once of old you came, at last
Would surely come, and with unfaltering faith
Lead me beyond the dominance of death.
THE HOUSE OF DOUBT
Why should we fear? The sun will surely rise,
If we but wait, to light us on our way.
Think you none hearkeneth to us who pray,
That no God's heart is softened by our cries?
Did we not learn that He was kind and wise
And loved our souls? And shall your bodies say
"There is no light. The tales they told us,--they
Were only dreams, dreamed in the House of Lies."
Nay, listen not to what your body saith,
But by the memory of those antique years
When it was evil and of little faith
And led the soul along a way of tears,
Let your soul chant--as one that hath no fears--
"We know that Thou art stronger, God, than death."
THE HOUSE OF MERCY
I question not, Beloved, nor deny
That you had God's own right of punishment;
Yet now my sins and days are over and spent
Find you the hours so pleasant that go by?
Would not the colour of the fields and sky,
The odour of the woods, bring more content
Now, if a little pity had been lent
Then, unto love, to judge a life awry?
Upon a day the young June grasses seem
Quite still that keep the edge of the still stream;
I think you go down close to them, and say:
"O little grasses, waiting patiently,
I come to tell you this is God's decree:
'I comfort him who suffered yesterday?'"
THE HOUSE OF EARTH
O ye disconsolate and heavy-souled,
That evening cometh when ye too shall learn
The pangs of one who may no more return,
To live again the uneven days of old.
Ye too shall weary of the myrrh and gold
(Seeing the gods and their great unconcern),
And, as I yearn to-day, your feet shall yearn
To touch that Earth which ye afar behold.
Think now upon your grievous things to bear,--
Some goal unwon, some old sin's lurid stain,
Your vistaed paths,--are they not fair as hope?
But I between dead suns must peer, and grope
Among forsaken worlds, one glimpse to gain
Of my old place--the heaviest shadow there.