No More Learning

There was sorrow on the sea and sorrow on the land
When Love ship went down by the bottomless quicksand
To its grave in the bitter wave.
There was sorrow on the sea and sorrow on the land
When Worm ship went to pieces on the rock-bound strand,
And the bitter wave was its grave.
But land and sea waxed hoary
In whiteness of a glory
Never told in story
Nor seen by mortal eye,
When the third ship crossed the bar
Where whirls and breakers are,
And steered into the splendors of the sky;
That third bark and that least
Which had never seemed to feast,
Yet kept high festival above sun and moon and star.



YET A LITTLE WHILE.


I dreamed and did not seek: to-day I seek
Who can no longer dream;
But now am all behindhand, waxen weak,
And dazed amid so many things that gleam
Yet are not what they seem.

I dreamed and did not work: to-day I work
Kept wide awake by care
And loss, and perils dimly guessed to lurk;
I work and reap not, while my life goes bare
And void in wintry air.

I hope indeed; but hope itself is fear
Viewed on the sunny side;
I hope, and disregard the world that's here,
The prizes drawn, the sweet things that betide;
I hope, and I abide.



HE AND SHE.


"Should one of us remember,
And one of us forget,
I wish I knew what each will do--
But who can tell as yet? "

"Should one of us remember,
And one of us forget,
I promise you what I will do--
And I'm content to wait for you,
And not be sure as yet. "



MONNA INNOMINATA.

A SONNET OF SONNETS.


Beatrice, immortalized by "altissimo poeta . . .
cotanto
amante;" Laura, celebrated by a great though an inferior bard,--have
alike paid the exceptional penalty of exceptional honor,
and have come down to us resplendent with charms, but (at
least, to my apprehension) scant of attractiveness.

These heroines of world-wide fame were preceded by a bevy
of unnamed ladies "donne innominate" sung by a school of
less conspicuous poets; and in that land and that period which
gave simultaneous birth to Catholics, to Albigenses, and to
Troubadours, one can imagine many a lady as sharing her
lover's poetic aptitude, while the barrier between them might
be one held sacred by both, yet not such as to render mutual
love incompatible with mutual honor.

Had such a lady spoken for herself, the portrait left us might
have appeared more tender, if less dignified, than any drawn
even by a devoted friend. Or had the Great Poetess of our
own day and nation only been unhappy instead of happy, her
circumstances would have invited her to bequeath to us, in
lieu of the "Portuguese Sonnets," an inimitable "donna innominata"
drawn not from fancy but from feeling, and worthy
to occupy a niche beside Beatrice and Laura.


1.

"Lo di che han detto a' dolci amici addio. "--Dante.
"Amor, con quanto sforzo oggi mi vinci! "--Petrarca.



Come back to me, who wait and watch for you:--
Or come not yet, for it is over then,
And long it is before you come again,
So far between my pleasures are and few.
While, when you come not, what I do I do
Thinking "Now when he comes," my sweetest "when:"
For one man is my world of all the men
This wide world holds; O love, my world is you.
Howbeit, to meet you grows almost a pang
Because the pang of parting comes so soon;
My hope hangs waning, waxing, like a moon
Between the heavenly days on which we meet:
Ah me, but where are now the songs I sang
When life was sweet because you called them sweet?


2.


"Era gia l'ora che volge il desio. "--Dante.
"Ricorro al tempo ch' io vi vidi prima.