No More Learning

I KNOW you step within mine house
Like some-one who to grief is prone,
Who wearies when in rude carouse,
The viols twixt the columns drone.
Here no man treadeth oft nor loud,
Through casement comes the Autumn balm,
Here to the hopeless, hope is vowed,
To pleadings, tendered words of calm.
On entering, soft, a touch of hand,
And at the dole of parting-time,
A kiss, with an adornment bland,
As farewell gift: a gentle rhyme.
'Tis not wise until the latest hour
To enjoy delight's ephemeral dower:
Birds to southern seas have taken flight,
Fading flow'rs wait till the snows alight.
How thy hands caress the weary rose!
Other ones this year no more bestows,
No petitions can recall them here,
Other ones with springtide may appear.
Loosen thou mine arm, yet steadfast stay,
Leave the park ere sunlight's parting ray,
And the mists descend o'er mount and lea,
Let's depart ere winter bids us flee.
82

? THE hill where o'er we wander lies in shadow,
Whereas the other side is bathed in light,
The moon upon its tender verdant meadow
Appears but as a tiny cloud in flight.
The outlines of the distant streets grow shorter,
A murmuring bids the wanderer to respite;
Is it the music of some hidden water?
Is it a bird that trills his mate "goodnight? "
Two early night-winged butterflies together
Be-chase themselves from halm to halm in jest,
The balk prepares from out the shrubs and weather,
The balm of evening for the soul distressed.

? NEEDS must thou be upon the wastelands, yearning
For earlier, richer colours yet?
Towards the fallow deserts ever turning,
And crops of barren summers still regret?
Console thyself if ptlt in shadow's veiling
Soft shimmering, thou thy previous plenty seest,
And a Redeemer through the breezes sailing;
The distant wind that falters from the East.
And look! within our annals past, those hours
That burned as wounds, now fade in silent breath,
For all the things we ever christened flowers
Regather round the well of Death.
84

? FROM
THE TAPESTRY OF LIFE AND
THE SONGS OF DREAM AND
DEATH. WITH A PRELUDE

?
? From the Prelude ix
SEEK not to know which song or saying yields
The palm of praise or garland at the feast,
What yester tempest blew through arid fields,
Now lies 'mid laurels in the hallowed Bast.
Erewhile 'twas corn resplendent and unstained,
Or crystal, that through morning radiance shone,
Now flowing agate, deep and sombre-veined,
Then like a crimson sparkling precious stone.
What as a gurgling softly simmered through
The soil, within the dead deserted brake,
--And no more than a drop of fragrant dew
That fell from flowerlet unto deepest lake:
Becomes the clinging mist that cleaves the heights,
And which in darkest midnights as a beam
The heart of the chasm suddenly be-smites
To spring and ramble like a ruddy stream.
37

? XXI
As long as tinted haze the mountain covered,
Upon my course the track I soon discovered.
And through the copse a few known voices stray,
Now all is silent on the evening way.
Now no one fares awhile my road, forsaken,
I find no wight within me hope to waken,
Who yet the smallest solace might implore,
So deep in darkness plods no pilgrim more.
And with the dying strain--the songful cricket--
Remembrance too fades in the silent thicket,
A fallow vapour broods the woods around
And veils the pathway without gleam or sound.
A damp and death-like odour from the hollow
--Where all must slumber--rises, yet I follow
Thy wafture still, which fire enkindles new
And Thy great love which ever watches true.