THY SHADOW, O TARDY NIGHT.
THY shadow, O tardy night,
Creeps onward by valley and hill,
And scarce to my streaming sight
Show the white road-reaches still.
O night, stay now a little, little space,
And let me see the light of my beloved’s face!
My love is late, O night,
And what has kept him away?
For I know that he takes not delight
In the garish joys of day.
Haste, night, dear night, that bring’st my love to me!
What if his footsteps halt and tarry but for thee!
Nay, what if his footsteps slide
By the swaying bridge of pine,
And whirled seaward by the tide
Is the loved form I counted mine!
O night, dear night, that comest yet dost not come,
How shall I wait the hour that brings my darling home?
Lewis Morris.
THE FIRST LYRIC.
LOVE is enough: though the World be a waning
And the woods have no voice but the voice of complaining,
Though the sky be too dark for dim eyes to discover
The gold-cups and daisies fair blooming thereunder,
Though the hills be held shadows, and the sea a dark wonder,
And this day draw a veil over all deeds passed over,
Yet their hands shall not tremble, their feet shall not falter;
The void shall not weary, the fear shall not alter
These lips and these eyes of the loved and the lover.
William Morris.
THE CONCLUDING LYRIC.
LOVE is enough: ho, ye who seek saving,
Go no further; come hither; there have been who have found it,
And these know the House of Fulfilment of Craving;
These know the Cup with the roses around it;
These know the World’s wound and the balm that hath bound it:
Cry out, the World heedeth not, “Love, lead us home!”
He leadeth, he hearkeneth, he cometh to you-ward;
Set your faces as steel to the fears that assemble
Round his goad for the faint, and his scourge for the froward:
Lo, his lips, how with tales of last kisses they tremble!
Lo, his eyes of all sorrow that may not dissemble!
Cry out, for he heedeth, “O Love, lead us home.”
Oh, hearken the words of his voice of compassion:
“Come cling round about me, ye faithful who sicken
Of the weary unrest and the world’s passing fashion!
As the rain in mid-morning your troubles shall thicken,
But surely within you some Godhead doth quicken,
As ye cry to me heeding, and leading you home.