But—the light from Angelo's eye
That so deeply eager burns
With its fierce sincerity!—
Ah, the ancient saw returns:
"Greater artist than his art;"
Meaning: greater yet than he
Is the vast outfeeling Heart
In him lying like the sea.
With a sudden eagle-stroke
How this truth can lift one wide.
Then he sees the sublime joke
Of humility and pride;
For the Soul is ever great,
The one Soul within us all:
One the tone that shakes a state
With the helpless cradle-call.
Yes, that wonder of the Soul
Is the riddle of it all,
And the answer, and the whole,
Bright with joy that rends the pall.
Brother-man, I pray you stand,
Hear a minstrel; but the song
If you do not understand,
Pass and do not do it wrong.
TO CYBEL DEAR.
LOVE-SONG.
Though others plight for pride or gain,
And mix the cup of love;
Theirs be the duller troth, the stain;
Ours the sweet stars approve.
My riches, love, they shall be thou;
My pride, thy love for me:
No diamond fairer decks a brow
Than thine sincerity.
Though ours be tenements, not towers,
Theirs, lawns and halls of ease,
Beloved, 'tis heaven, not gold, is ours,
And the realities.
No sordid wish doth make us one,
But love, love, love.
O surely, surely, that is done
Which the sweet stars approve.
THE STILL TRYST.
How love transcends our mortal sphere,
And sees again the spirit-world,
Forgot so daily. Thou art here;—
I know thee, sweet—though fair impearled
Thy face in a far atmosphere
To others,—hearing in the sea
My love a-crying up to thee.
Thou by the surf, I on the lake:—
Yet in the real world we meet;
And O, for thy endearéd sake,
Love, all I am is at thy feet.
With thy life let me breathing take,
And through all nature do thou see
My love a-crying up to thee.