Until the lengthening wings break into fire
At either curvèd point,-what bitter wrong
Can the earth do to us, that we should not long
Be here contented? Think. In mounting higher,
The angels would press on us and aspire
To drop some golden orb of perfect song
Into our deep, dear silence. Let us stay
Rather on earth, Beloved,-where the unfit
Contrarious moods of men recoil away
And isolate pure spirits, and permit

A place to stand and love in for a day,
With darkness and the death-hour rounding it.

Is it indeed so? If I lay here dead,

Wouldst thou miss any life in losing mine?
And would the sun for thee more coldly shine
Because of grave-damps falling round my head?
I marvelled, my Belovèd, when I read
Thy thought so in the letter. I am thine-
But... so much to thee? Can I pour thy wine
While my hands tremble? Then my soul, instead
Of dreams of death, resumes life's lower range.
Then, love me, Love! look on me-breathe on me!
As brighter ladies do not count it strange,

For love, to give up acres and degree,

I yield the grave for thy sake, and exchange
My near sweet view of Heaven, for earth with thee!

LET the world's sharpness, like a clasping knife,
Shut in upon itself and do no harm

In this close hand of Love, now soft and warm,
And let us hear no sound of human strife
After the click of the shutting. Life to life-
I lean upon thee, Dear, without alarm,
And feel as safe as guarded by a charm
Against the stab of worldlings, who if rife

Are weak to injure. Very whitely still
The lilies of our lives may reassure

Their blossoms from their roots, accessible
Alone to heavenly dews that drop not fewer,
Growing straight, out of man's reach, on the hill.
God only, who made us rich, can make us poor.

A HEAVY heart, Belovèd, have I borne
From year to year until I saw thy face,
And sorrow after sorrow took the place
Of all those natural joys as lightly worn

As the stringed pearls, each lifted in its turn

By a beating heart at dance-time. Hopes apace

Were changed to long despairs, till God's own grace

Could scarcely lift above the world forlorn

My heavy heart. Then thou didst bid me bring
And let it drop adown thy calmly great
Deep being! Fast it sinketh, as a thing
Which its own nature doth precipitate,
While thine doth close above it, mediating
Betwixt the stars and the unaccomplished fate.

I LIVED with visions for my company

Instead of men and women, years ago,

And found them gentle mates, nor thought to know A sweeter music than they played to me.

But soon their trailing purple was not free

Of this world's dust, their lutes did silent grow,

And I myself grew faint and blind below

Their vanishing eyes. Then THOU didst come-to be,
Beloved, what they seemed. Their shining fronts,
Their songs, their splendors (better, yet the same,
As river-water hallowed into fonts),

Met in thee, and from out thee overcame

My soul with satisfaction of all wants:

Because God's gifts put man's best dreams to shame.

My own Belovèd, who hast lifted me

From this drear flat of earth where I was thrown,
And, in betwixt the languid ringlets, blown

A life-breath, till the forehead hopefully
Shines out again, as all the angels see,
Before thy saving kiss! My own, my own,
Who camest to me when the world was gone,
And I who looked for only God, found thee!
I find thee; I am safe, and strong, and glad.
As one who stands in dewless asphodel
Looks backward on the tedious time he had
In the upper life, so I, with bosom-swell,
Make witness, here, between the good and bad,
That Love, as strong as Death, retrieves as well.

My letters! all dead paper, mute and white!
And yet they seem alive and quivering
Against my tremulous hands which loose the string
And let them drop down on my knee to-night.
This said, he wished to have me in his sight
Once, as a friend: this fixed a day in spring
To come and touch my hand . . . a simple thing,
Yet I wept for it!—this, . . . the paper's light.
Said, Dear, I love thee; and I sank and quailed
As if God's future thundered on my past.
This said, I am thine-and so its ink has paled
With lying at my heart that beat too fast.
And this. . . O Love, thy words have ill availed
If, what this said, I dared repeat at last!

I THINK of thee!-my thoughts do twine and bud
About thee, as wild vines, about a tree,
Put out broad leaves, and soon there's nought to see
Except the straggling green which hides the wood.

(EE) HC XLI

Yet, O my palm-tree, be it understood
I will not have my thoughts instead of thee
Who art dearer, better! Rather, instantly
Renew thy presence; as a strong tree should,
Rustle thy boughs and set thy trunk all bare,
And let these bands of greenery which insphere thee
Drop heavily down,-burst, shattered, everywhere!
Because, in this deep joy to see and hear thee
And breathe within thy shadow a new air,

I do not think of thee-I am too near thee.

I SEE thine image through my tears to-night,
And yet to-day I saw thee smiling. How
Refer the cause?-Beloved, is it thou
Or I, who makes me sad? The acolyte
Amid the chanted joy and thankful rite
May so fall flat, with pale insensate brow,
On the altar-stair. I hear thy voice and vow,
Perplexed, uncertain, since thou art out of sight,
As he, in his swooning ears, the choir's Amen.
Beloved, dost thou love? or did I see all
The glory as I dreamed, and fainted when
Too vehement light dilated my ideal,

For my soul's eyes? Will that light come again,
As now these tears come-falling hot and real?

THOU Comest! all is said without a word.

I sit beneath thy looks as children do

In the noon-sun, with souls that tremble through
Their happy eyelids from an unaverred

Yet prodigal inward joy. Behold, I erred

In that last doubt! and yet I cannot rue

The sin most, but the occasion-that we two

Should for a moment stand unministered

By a mutual presence. Ah, keep near and close,

Thou dovelike help! and, when my fears would rise, With thy broad heart serenely interpose:

Brood down with thy divine sufficiencies

These thoughts which tremble when bereft of those, Like callow birds left desert to the skies.

THE first time that the sun rose on thine oath

To love me, I looked forward to the moon

To slacken all those bonds which seemed too soon
And quickly tied to make a lasting troth.

Quick-loving hearts, I thought, may quickly loathe;
And, looking on myself, I seemed not one
For such man's love;-more like an out-of-tune
Worn viol, a good singer would be wroth

To spoil his song with, and which, snatched in haste,
Is laid down at the first ill-sounding note.

I did not wrong myself so, but I placed

A wrong on thee. For perfect strains may float 'Neath master-hands, from instruments defaced,— And great souls, at one stroke, may do and doat.

YES, call me by my pet-name! let me hear
The name I used to run at, when a child,
From innocent play, and leave the cowslips piled,
To glance up in some face that proved me dear
With the look of its eyes. I miss the clear
Fond voices which, being drawn and reconciled
Into the music of Heaven's undefiled,
Call me no longer. Silence on the bier,
While I call God-call God!-So let thy mouth
Be heir to those who are now exanimate.
Gather the north flowers to complete the south,
And catch the early love up in the late.
Yes, call me by that name,—and I, in truth,
With the same heart, will answer and not wait.
611
WITH the same heart, I said, I'll answer thee
As those, when thou shalt call me by my name—

XXXIV