Songs of Womanhood
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Faces of the Dead
I dreamed that, wandering by a river's bank,I came across a lonely ship that sankIn lifeless waters. Day was dim; – in dreamsWe see nor sun, nor moon; unearthly gleamsOf deadened light fall strangely from the sky. —There were but three that struggled not to die:A man, a woman, and a tender child;He sought to save them both with effort wildAnd dragged his love to the entangled shore;But down the slimy weeds she slid once moreInto the water, and her lover's breastReceived her, and together they found rest.The child was saved; my hand towards her handOutstretched, drew all her sweetness to the land,Where naked, like a lily wet with rain,She sank and loudly wept at her life's gain.Quite small she was, and light; I bore her fastTo what seemed home, and there she smiled at lastAnd sat upright within my arms; I foundA bright-hued veil wherein to wrap her round,Tissues that far in morning-lands were spunBy those who love the flowers and the sun.I laid her softly in a silken bed,Strewed fragrant violets about her headAnd left her.'Twas my dream then that I slept.But when at dawn unto her bed I crept,The child was lost. Her pillow was all wetWith tears that still flowed on; and faster yetThey flowed in quickening rills, until I thoughtI stood beside a torrent wide that soughtAn unknown sea. The day was sad, tho' young;Upon a misty branch some bird had sungAnd left a trembling silence; all aroundI saw the little daisies on the groundFast closed, with folded arm-petals in vainShielding their yellow hearts from the cold rain.– A voice invisible made murmur then:'Come here and look upon these poor drowned men!The ship was sunk a year ago to-day…'But I stepped back and shuddering turned away,For I had never seen the face of Death.Yet Fear itself soon drew me with quick breathBack to the place, even to the river's brinkWhere I had seen that lonely vessel sink.And there in waters deep I saw them lie,With hands at rest and eyes that sought the sky:Clear eyes wide open to an unseen day.In wondrous silence motionless they lay,With white lips smiling on their spirit's bliss.'Is Death but this?' I cried, 'no more but this?'And answer came: 'Among those faces thereAre all unknown?''Twas then I saw him, fairWith perfect peace, my enemy, even heOf all the world who most had tortured me.He lay there, blessed among the blessed, and smiledWith eyes more pure than any wakening child.The little waves in passing – like the breezeThat stirs the foliage of the unmoved trees —Played in their hair, and fluttering grasses roseAnd fell and danced about their mute repose.But I gazed on until I too had drunkOf their lips' joy, until their peace had sunkInto my troubling earth-stirred heart that achedTo join them … and then waked…The Sleeper
There lay a man on clovered groundWhose life was death, he slept so sound;A child bent low to watch his eyes —He smiling waked, and saw the skies.I know a soul now, fast asleep,Whose dreams are sad: I hear him weep;I bend and gaze for pity's sake —But all in vain; he will not wake.Stars
O Kings and Queens, that in my happy heart,As in a royal chapel, warm and white,Ensanctuaried are! I come to-nightBeneath the moonless sky – this radiant chartOf the unfathomable Heavens where dartBeam-trailing stars – with lamp of love alightUnto your images; my reverent sightEnfolds you, and I bring you each your partOf piety. The Will that guides each starGave jewels to my hands I might not hold,Whose grace remembered fills my palm. So rest,O Joy-givers! your kingdoms are afar,Yet here I own you, shrined in pearls and gold,The sovereign captives of my loyal breast.Trelawny's Grave
I know a garden near the gates of RomeWhere Life and Death hold hands in silence; hereIn solemn shade where towering cypress rearTheir green eternal, white as wind-led foamLie scattered stones that shield the final homeOf exiles. Fair their bed; by violets dearAnd swaying roses decked; above them, clearIn bluest glory arches Heaven's dome.'Twas here my heart encountered peace one dayBeside an old man's grave that said: If GodCondemn you live beyond your friend, this wayYou too may rest. – The heart is childish; dreadOf earth-loss fades before Trelawny deadClose-gathered to his Shelley in the sod.V.R.I
January 22, 1901As, in a house where solemn-footed DeathHas trodden, all the little children standBefore a silent door, with quickened breath,Holding each other tightly by the hand —So we, O Mother! at the keyless doorStand gathered, heart-astir with nameless fears:A strength has left the hour; the world beforeWas warmer; and we face the day with tears.Lines on a Picture by Mary Gow
O whirling World! I know a corner stillUnsoiled by Hate and Strife:Where hushed and gentle is the voice of Life:Where Time – a summer rillSoft-flowing through the grass – in measure slowSings sweetly as we go.Here is a room wherein the white day gleams:Silence o'er Peace has spread her pearly wings:A smiling woman reads of simple things:A child's blue eyes are blinded by their dreams…To Serenity
Before a Madonna – by BotticelliThine is the face our driven souls shall wear,O sweet serenity! – No earthly windCan rend thine azure mantle now, nor tearThose veils that shield the radiant locks they bind.Thy brow is calm with storm appeased; thy lidsAre heavy with the wisdom of all tears:Thy mouth is strong with silence that forbidsWeary lament and craven wail of fears.Within thy guarded bosom now no fireIs ardent; thou hast hidden all thy scars:We too may tread the ashes of desire,And wing our spirits thus to touch the stars.ELEVEN SONNETS
I
I will not close the door, O Love, on thee,Although I fear thee still. In days of oldThy magic echoes lured me on to beThe slave of dreams; but now that I beholdThe earth again, and that my wings are gone,I will take refuge, simply, on thy breast.No miracle I seek, no rapturous dawnOf an unearthly day; I will but restMy weary eyes, and lay between thy handsThese empty fingers that have ceased to clutchAt stars. Because my spirit understandsRenouncement, thou wilt give, maybe. Not muchI ask of thee: I only ask to keepThee near, O Love! until my heart's asleep.II
My Friend of Friends! in you my heart's at rest,That wandered homeless as the ocean-windHither and thither, seeking still to findSome refuge. As a ship that east and westRoams havenless, and quits each shore distressed,So wandered I, so left each land behind,Bearing my soul as helmsman, sage but blind;And still we journeyed on at Fate's behest.But now I hold my harbour, and the shipCasts anchor here. The unnested winds that blowMay reach me still and rock me to and fro.What matter? Here is Peace that bids me slipCloser and closer to the enfolding shore,Lower the sails, and stay for evermore.III
Are we not happy? though this bond of oursBe strange and out of harmony with lifeAs men accept it, in this world of strifeBetween the spirit and the flesh? – Dark hoursAre in the doom of every love; no flowersBloom rainless; wind and war and pain are rifeWithin us all. – Yet we are happy. WifeOr sister, these are earth-words; the soul showersIts gifts of love and seeks no earthly bond.So ask we none but, smiling, soul to soulStand gathered in Love's very essence, wholeAnd indivisible. These white strong bandsSuffice; 'tis but the shell, too frail and fond,That weeps, alas! and wrings her mortal hands.IV
Farewell! you cannot go from me, my dear,For I have closed you in my inmost heart,Beyond the reach of earthly things that partThe loving from the loved. Now far or nearCeases to be; I am where you are; hereOr there, no matter. Mild should be the smartOf leave-taking, where nothing stays apartBut what is mortal, and where souls are clear.Beloved! I can but lose you earthly-wise;The hunger of the years is stilled; no painOf solitude can chill my heart again,Possessing you. Therefore with steadfast eyesI say farewell, O brother! nor dare weepMy little loss, with all this wealth to keep.V
I seek to call you near me in the darkAnd silent prison of my solitude,Where Memory with visions heaven-huedNow mocks the night, and Hope with timid sparkKindles vain torches. Lonely in my arkOf Faith, on battling waves I float, pursuedBy all those doubting monsters that deludePain-sunken breasts, and bid the soul embarkFor perilous despair. I call you nearThat I may cheat the helmsman of his fear:And yet I know you far, I know you lostTo me, on this same ocean tempest-tossedAlone – O you who should my pilot be!You, whom my love could steer through any sea…VI
When Spring awakens and no Spring is there,None for the heart, it is a joyless thing.Yet Winter softens, and all breezes bringTo the hard earth now tidings vague and fair.The lilac buds are swelling, the mild airTempts forth the green; at dusk the thrushes singOut in the garden, and their raptures wringThe heart whose joy is of the past. I bearRemembrance in me of dear foliage gone,Of wilted heather and of perished flowers.For me not one of Spring's foreshadowed hoursIs quick with presages of joy. AloneWho cares to creep? The solitary waysAre primrose-less, and vain the violet days.VII
If I must live without you, I must learnTo love the earth and all that grows once more,With the old good love that satisfied beforeI saw you smile. Now, let me turn and turn,Your memory covers earth and sky; I yearnFor you, and not for Spring; my heart is soreWith absence, not with Winter's length. Of yore,When climbing noons began to softly burn,There seemed a tender joy in every budThat swelled and burst, in every little spearThat broke the clods; and Spring sang in my bloodAs in the sap; and all that lived was dear.These treasures now are veiled and strange and far,Whilst I go wandering where your footprints are.VIII
Beloved! are we not wanderers on a roadUnknown, that grope their way among the rocksTogether? – Yes, together; for these shocksOur hearts have borne and given, part not, goadUnto no hatred. Though I be your loadOf care and you my anguish, something locksOur hands, my brother: Destiny, that mocksMan's thinkings, and here finds a new strange modeOf welding chance-divided loves, a linkThat's more than human, that is half divine,Since, beggared of you, still I hold you mineAbove all bonds. So love me well. We'll drinkOf all pure streams together, dear, and breakThese rocks to sand for one another's sake.IX
Yes, love me, love me well. You need not fearTo hurt me further. Like a careless knightThat riding lonely, with averted sight,Has struck a passer unawares, so hereHave you struck me amid the branches sereOf this dark forest. If you now alight,Give water to my lips and through the nightKeep peril from me, with the morning's clearNew dawn I'll rise again, and both will reapThe mercy of the wound you dealt. Asleep,Awake, I'll be your shield-bearer, and guardYour steps upon this road so long and hard.Then help us both, for all the love you giveBut turns to strength whereby we both may live.X
Dearest of all, and nearest though most far!My spirit follows you across both seaAnd land; all bounds, all spaces, are to meErased; my heart upon its wingèd carOf thought outstrips you; nothing now shall marMy joy in you, O brother! – save that weAre of the earth and ask to touch and seeThe thing we love upon this yearning star.O world of strange desires! Have not we twoLived to behold each other and to smile?Have our two notes not mingled in one chord?What ails us? Were we joined this earthly while,You would not love me better than you do,Nor in my heart be otherwise adored.XI
Without, you seem forgotten. Am I sadOr happy? None can tell. The lonely daysRecur, and draw me on the beaten waysOf all who strive and toil. The things I hadRemain; all daily happenings, good or bad,Fall as they did: success and loss, delaysThat sweeten victory: the balance swaysUnceasingly, makes heavy, or makes glad.And this is life, such as the world demands.Within, 'tis otherwise; for in the farDepths where my soul recoilèd sits, there areNo echoes of such wisdom; there my handsAre folded, and in yours: I seek your eyes,Your voice, your smile… Within, 'tis otherwise.THE OPEN AIR
Sunshine in February
O winter Sun!How beautiful thy beamsUpon the chainèd earth!The snows are melting and the galeIs hushed; thou shinest, soft and pale,O Winter Sun!Upon a world that dreams,And trembles with awakened hopes of birth.O Joyful Green!'Mid snowy patches gayThou peerest, and the skyShines blue through twiggèd boughs; each treeIs aching now with thoughts of thee,O Joyful Green!Spring's heart is in the dayThough Winter's hands upon night's bosom lie.Fairseat.The Cuckoo
Sing, cuckoo, sing,Dear herald of the Spring!Minstrels in all ages born,Hearing thee on such a morn —When the cowslips all aroundWaft their fragrance from the ground,And the blossom of the pearQuivers white in bluest air —Such as I, in all the agesThus have covered rapturous pagesWith thy praise, O loveliest birdEar of man has ever heard!Though thy note be one of sadness,Messenger thou art of gladnessOnly; for thou comest firstWhen the buds their prison burst,When, upon an April day,Earth awakes to cast awayWhat remains of wintry sorrow,And to don for summer's morrowJoyful garb of newest green.Spirit-like thou sing'st, unseen:East and west thy piercing noteFrom the forest seems to floatOver plain and over hill,And thy echoing cries instilHope into each breath that blows.Who that hears thy voice but knowsThat the joys of June are nearing?See the lilies in the clearing,How they raise their green young bells!Every hasty bud that swellsAnswers thee in joyfulness;And the winter's long distress,Like a lifted cloud at dawn,Melts and quivers and is gone.Autumn leaves that strew the waysHave outlived their kindly days:Now the sun shall warm the earth:Now all things of tender birth,Newly waked from shielded sleep,Lift their coverlet and peepGaily at the world.Dear Voice,Sing! and bid each soul rejoice!Spring's for every breast that wills;And thy note, O Cuckoo, stillsAll the ache of winter here.Lo! the scattered leaves are sereOf my sorrow; and I tread themInto earth. The bough that shed them,Soon in budded joy shall beHarmonious with the day's felicity.Montmélian, April 1902.A Song in the Morning
O sister! 'tis day-time,The world's happy May-time,Come out to the woods where the new nests are!'Tis sin to be pining,The hedge-drops are shining,And the wild winds have fled to the snow-lands far.O come! and be merry,For white blows the cherry,The bluebells ring out on their stem so tall:Each cowslip's dear yellowCries joy to its fellow,And the wind-flowers dance to the cuckoo's call.O what is the sun for?Come, grief is all done for,The folded leaves creep from their beds in the bough:The seeds are awaking,The furrows are breaking,And the blessing of God's on the blackthorn now.Meopham.In a London Square
The leaves are green, and in the grassLie daisy-patches, white and sweet,That spring beneath the tender feetOf baby-girls at play:From ancient boughs, serenely tall,The chequered shadows length'ning fall,And town seems far away.Such rest is here as woodland yields:Here too are lambs in flowered fields —Why heed the wheels that pass?Thought sinks beneath our fitful speechInto the tremor of our peace,This hallowed hour of releaseFrom dust and whirl and haste:Thus each may find within his breastA respite to the world's unrest,Fresh verdure in the waste:Life's wheels encircle us – but, thereWhere Friendship is, the untainted airOf Heaven seems in reach.The Call of the Green
O who would dwell in the dingy townWhen June is fair and green?O who would stay in the chimneyed townWhere brooks are never seen?Come! roses blow: sweet flowerWill snow the virgin's-bower:The shaded lane, the woodland wild,Are better both for man and child.O who would live in the narrow streetWhen skies are broad and free?O who would bide in the stony streetWhen the sun is on the sea?Come! leave the dust and hastenTo the breath of winds that chasten:The surging waves, the starry span,Are better both for child and man.Fairseat.Summer Ending
Over the world a breathHas fallen as of Spring; the tender skyHangs tremulous, a shield through which the sunShines as the heart smiles in a mist of tears.The trees are green still, but their branches bearThe blossoms of the fall; each quivering birchShakes golden coins upon her silver stem;The little rowan rears his corals gay,The purple sloes are thick upon the thorn,And every breeze new-scatters to the groundSpoils red and yellow. Here upon the hillWhere at our feet bee-haunted heather glowsAmong the rocks, sweet peace enfolds us; see,On velvet slopes afar the patient kineIn silence browse; the plough in furrows wideHas turned the weary earth to rest; the sunSinks and, across the valley, mountains fadeFrom blue to grey and pearl-like touch the sky.The hour of silver comes now, for the moonAwakes and softly films the dusk with light;The narrow river in her ample bedAnswers the stars, and soft serenityHas spread her wings upon the earth…O HeartOf man! – why must you throb apart and knowA tempered Peace where Nature's Peace is pure?Already winter's snows upon the hillsLike phantoms to our vision rise; the treesGroan leafless in the wind, and ghosts of painFlit dark between the present and our eyes.'Tis thus we murder Joy, and let To-morrow,A still-born Terror, anguish dear To-day:'Tis thus, possessing Wealth, we shiver poorEre we are stricken: thus our claspèd handsGrow cold and ache with Solitude to be…Kąśna, September 1901.Near Autumn
Red apple in the leaves,Red robin on the bough,The oats are all in sheaves —Where's summer now?White foam along the sea,White mist upon the dawn,No flower for the bee —'Tis summer gone.Black bird is silent, lone,Black berry decks the spray;And Autumn's breath has blownUpon the day.Longueil.November
The grey clouds hide the sun nowAnd the leaves flow down with the rain:The golden days are done nowAnd Winter looms again.'Tis bed-time for the seeds nowFor the earth is weary of green:She'll hide the very weeds nowTill nothing gay be seen.Yet wait! it is not death nowThat strips the meadow and grove:The rose but holds her breath nowIn the garden that we love:'Tis sleep – the earth must rest now.O Winter's a wondrous thing!For she hides within her breast nowThe jocund heart of Spring.Fairseat.The Common Wealth
O voices of the sea and land,How sweet upon my ear you fall!The curlew's cry, the heron's call,The grey gull's chatter on the strand,The robin on the mossy wall,The coal-tit almost at my hand —How I thank Heaven for you all!O wonder of the hills and sky,How dear your beauty to my sight!The wintry noon, the sea's delight,The ruddy moorland far and high,The pendant larch's silver white,The golden wind-blown leaves that lie —How I thank God for all this light!Rosneath.