Us, who have utterance for
Each warm, flame-hearted star
That stammers from afar.
Who hear the tears and sighs
Of every bud that dies
While heav’n’s dew on it lies.
Who see the power that dowers
The wildwood bosks and bowers
With musk and sap of flowers.
Who see what no man sees
In water, earth and breeze,
And in the hearts of trees.
Turn not away Thy light,
O God!—Our strength is slight!
Help us who breast the height!
Have mercy, Infinite!
Have mercy!
THE DEATH OF LOVE
So Love is dead, the Love we knew of old!
And in the sorrow of our heart’s hushed halls
A lute lies broken and a rose-flower falls;
Love’s house stands empty and his hearth lies cold.
Lone in dim places, where sweet vows were told,
In walks grown desolate, by ruined walls
Beauty decays; and on their pedestals
Dreams crumble, and th’ immortal gods are mold.
Music is slain or sleeps; one voice alone,
One voice awakes, and like a wandering ghost
Haunts all the echoing chambers of the Past—
The voice of Memory, that stills to stone
The soul that hears; the mind, that, utterly lost,
Before its beautiful presence stands aghast.