And deadlier his dream—a quenchless flame,
For which no dungeon fastness can be built . . .
You have but made the convict half divine,
Crowned Truth with martyrdom, yourselves with shame;
Not he, but you are branded deep with guilt;
His cell is holier than your highest shrine.
DISTANCES
Above the moist earth, tremulous and bright,
The stars creep forth—stars that I cannot see;
And to my cell steals, oh, so tenderly
The dewy fragrance of a summer night!
All wan and wistful, somewhere out of sight,
Stalking o'er landscapes wide and dark and free,
My friend, the moon, looks everywhere for me,
Splashing the paths I loved with silver light.
Oh loveliness! why do you torture so
With such keen beauty till the day appears?
Why touch to life things buried long ago,
Whose aching cries trouble the heart to tears;
Ghostly—like wind tossed sea gulls calling low
Out of the poignant vistas of the years?
PHANTOMS
Ghost of a mountain
And ghost of a moon;
Night birds sink droopingly
Over the dune
Clouds drifting hazily
Stars blurring through;
Darkness come close to me—
Darkness and you.
Mist on the water
And mist in the sky;
Netted with silver
The waves ripple by.
Ghost of a solitude
Lit with dead stars.
You have your memories
I have my bars!