THE LAST DREAM
One more dream in the slow night watches,
One more sleep when the world is dumb,
And his soul leans out to the sweet wild snatches
Of song that up from dreamland come.
Pale, pale face with a golden setting,
Deep, deep glow of stedfast eyes;
Form of one there is no forgetting,
Wandering out of Paradise.
Breath of balm, and a languor falling
Out of the gleam of a sunset sky;
Peace, deep peace and a seraph’s calling,
Folded hands and a pleading cry.
One more dream for the patient singer,
Weary with songs he loved so well;
Sleeping now—will the vision bring her?
Hark, ‘tis the sound of the passing bell!
WAITING
When shall I see thee again?
Weary the years and so long;
When shall be buried the wrong,
Phantom-like rising between?
Seeking for surcease of pain,
Pilgrim to Lethe I came;
Drank not, for pride was too keen—
Stung by the sound of a name.
Soft, ardent skies of my youth
Come to me over the sea,
Come in a vision to me,
Come with your shimmer and song;
Ye have known all of the truth,
Witness to both shall ye bear;
Read me the riddle of wrong,
Solve me the cords of the snare.
Love is not won in a breath,
Idle, impassioned and sure;
Why should not love then endure,
Challenging doubt to the last?
True love is true till the death,
Though it bear aloes and myrrh;
Try me and judge me, O Past,
Have I been true unto her?
What should I say if we met,
Knowing not which should forbear?
E’en if I plead would she care?—
Sweet is the refuge of scorn.
Close by my side, O Regret
Long we have watched for the light!
Watchman, what of the morn?
Well do we know of the night.
IN MAYTIME
The apple blossoms glisten
Within the crowned trees;
The meadow grasses listen
The din of busy bees;
The wayward, woodland singer
Carols along the leas,
Not loth to be the bringer
Of summer fantasies.
But you and I who never
Meet now but for regret,
Forever and forever,
Though flower-bonds were set
In Maytime, if you wonder
That falling leaves are ours,
Yours was it cast asunder,
Mine are the faded flowers.
The fluted wren is sobbing
Beneath the mossy eaves;
The throstle’s chord is throbbing
In coronal of leaves;
The home of love is lilies,
And rose-hearts, flaming red,
Red roses and white lilies—
Lo, thus the gods were wed!
But we weep on, unheeding
The earth’s joys spread for us;
And ever, far receding,
Our fair land fades from us:
One waited, patient, broken,
High-hearted but opprest,
One lightly took the token—
The mad Fates took the rest.
High mountains and low valleys,
And shreds of silver seas,
The lone brook’s sudden sallies,
And all the joys of these,—
These were, but now the fire
Volcanic seeks the sea,
And dark wave walls retire
Tyrannic seeking me.
Spirit of dreams, a vision
Well hast thou wrought for us;
Fold high the veil Elysian,
The past held naught for us;
Years, what are they but spaces
Set in a day for me?
Lo, here are lilied places—
My love comes back to me!