Eyes of Youth

The Moon

Cirqued with dim stars and delicate moonflowers,Silent she moves among the silent hours—Watching the spheres that glow with golden heat                Under her feet.Then, when the sunrise tints the east with light,She fades to westward, with the dreamy nightAnd all her starry train—in faint disguise                Of twilight skies.

To Yvonne

Such things have been, Yvonne; but you and I,Can we touch lips again across the years?Re-order what is past? Forget—or tryNot to remember what through mists of tearsIs still too memorable? Dare we twoStart both our lives again, as we were youngAnd happy, in such love as falls to few?Nay, for our violins are all unstrung.Yet it is well that memory should holdSome few pale rose-leaves plucked in bygone days,That still are sweet, despite those pains untoldWhich throng the marges of life's winding ways.Yea, these will stay when nearer things are gone;I shall keep mine. Will you keep yours, Yvonne?

The Burial of Scald

A long, low wail of harps across the snow,Falling and rising with the whistling wind;A shifting glare of lights that come and go,As if men searched for what they could not find.And then the music thrilled out loud and wellOver the waste and barren dunes of sand—Solemn and stately as a passing bellHeard dimly in some weary twilight land.Then slipped the moon behind a dusky cloud,And each bright star its silver visage hid;Mystery 'gan the darkness to enshroud;Across the sky a blood-red message slid.Sudden the ship blazed up, the dark was light;Lo! Scald is dead! his pyre was lit to-night.

JUDITH LYTTON

A Day Remembered

Oh, Love, what fate is ours? No summer morningShall give us joy, no sunrise bring relief;No end—no end is there unto our sorrow,No measure to our grief.You looked at me, and all your living beautySwept to my heart in flame a moment's space,A sudden mist of tears in darkness veilingThe glory of your face.You spoke: I seemed to hear the wild doves cooing—The rain upon the hills, sweet falling rain;And all my soul was filled with joy and anguish,In ecstasy of pain.I saw as in a mist celestial visionsBeyond the bitter seas whence hope has fled,Heard the wind blow among the trees in summer,But knew not what you said.It matters not what words the lips have spokenWhen heart shall speak to heart, for love can hearUnspoken words, and see as in reflectionHis own thoughts mirrored there.You came to me, the sun arose in splendour;I saw the roses spread their petals sweet,And thought that all the world must see in wonderThe wings upon our feet.You touched me, and a wave of passionate longingFlooded my soul until it swooned away,And knew no more the sunlight from the shadow—If it were night or day.We wandered in the shadow of the woodland,Mute while we looked into each other's eyes,And saw as in still pools of darkened waterThe wonder of the skies.No word we spoke. We knew that love had silencedAll that we wished to speak yet left unsaid;The bees were humming in the wild-rose blossomsWhich clustered overhead.And all that summer day we were together,Alone with love, yet with a sword between—The flaming sword that stands between us ever,And all that might have been.Mist gathered white at evening in the valleys,And slowly grew the dusk from gold to grey,While rain-clouds gathered on the low horizonDark at the close of day.And softly rose a wind from out the darkness,With scent of flower and fern and herb and tree,And in its breath there came a sound of thunder,Storm-laden from the sea.And thus we reached the wicket of the garden;The wood was full of sound, the sound of wings;The scent of lavender brought back remembranceOf long-forgotten things.Though heaven and earth and sky should be forgotten,Yet of that hour my soul should bear the trace:For night fell fast, and in the deepening shadowYou turned and kissed my face.

Childhood

A stranger come I to the festivalThou holdest in the regions of romance,Where dragons lurk and elfin spirits dance,And pearls lie hid within each rose petal.What magic changes in life's crystal ballShall thus transform earth's dullness at thy glance!Ride then the wind, a feather for thy lance,A pool thy sea, thy heaven a waterfall.So shall thy soul to fairy worlds belong,Where dust is gold and dew-drops turn to wine;Remember still the visions that are thineWhen sorrow shall disperse that phantom throng;And dream once more that thou hast found divineLove in a flower, and kingdoms in a song.

Love in Idleness

To look at thee, and see the sunlight moveThe shadow of the leaves upon thy face,Lighting the glory of thy youth and graceWith golden rays wind-stirred from trees above;To listen to the rustling of the grove,The warblers in the reeds which interlaceThe waters of the pool, and dream a space,Forgetful of the hours … this then is love!Thy passion and thy strength, thy gentleness,All these are mine. Who then shall dispossessMy soul of paradise? In truth I learnMore than the world can teach. Oblivion waits,And distance parts, and Death annihilates:But now thy love is all my love's concern.

Love's Counterfeit

By what false spell of what enchanter's wandShould thy gross fibre be with love allied?Unhappy youth, thou callest to thy sideAn unknown shade from some far spirit land;Thou canst not guess, nor shalt thou understand,The waters that thy soul from his divide.In place of Love, what alien spirits glideAbout thy sleep to answer thy command?What blasphemy is this? Thou hast no spellTo call that heaven-born spirit from the deep,Or move the stars. What cometh in his place?This monstrous fraud which thou hast raised from hell,Whose arms about thee in the darkness creep?Light not thy torch, lest thou shouldst seehis face.

OLIVIA MEYNELL

A Grief without Christ

I sought Him in the trees, and Him I foundIn every colour, and in every sound.I sought Him in the sky, and He was there,A living God, breathing the living air.I sought Him in my soul—oh, passionate loss!All that I found was a forsaken Cross.

The Crowning

Whenas we wandered in the summer hours,My kind love crowned me with a crown of flowers.Softly they touched my forehead and my hair;Gay, sunny, yellow, and sweet-breathed they were—Soft flowers and tender hands, gay sun, soft skies;And sweeter, tenderer yet, his loving eyes.Ah! but it should have been with thorns he crowned me,Who follow Christ, while cold skies blackened round me.Dear love, I will accept from you cold frown,Sharp words, hard touch, as symbols of His crown.

MAURICE HEALY

In Memoriam

"Lord, teach us how to pray," they said;And Jesus raised His weary head,Bowed by the sorrows of the way,And taught His children how to pray."Lord, teach me how to pray," I cried;And Jesus sent you to my sideTo make your own the soul I wearAnd mould it purer into prayer.And since your love first lit the wayI find that I have learned to pray;For, that my soul may benefit,I pray that you may pray for it.

A Ballad of Friendship

for two most dear Children

Soured and dimmed and chilled with senilityHobbled the year to its uttermost day;I gave the best of a slender ability,Seeking to make a short afternoon gay.You were both claimed ere the sky was greyOver the tips of the western towers;Yet, as you went, you had time to say,"This is no stranger: we name him ours!"Slaves and serfs have woes in abundancy—Clashing of manacle, whistling of thong,Tales of terror and tears to redundancy;What is the score of my slavery's wrong?Surely where pleasures so freely throngSome sad fiend of unhappiness lowers;Or is the refrain of Good Fortune's song,"This is no stranger: we name him ours"?When you enfranchised me into your mystery,Lovingly stealing the sorrows I had,Wisdom came with you; the old sad historyGlowed; and I knew in my heart why the sadAnd outcast Lord grew suddenly gladAs the children thronged to crown Him with flowers,When their cry was voiced by some tiny lad,"This is no Stranger: we name Him ours!"L'ENVOISo do I thank you; and if some dayYou in your gained Paradisal bowersHear me knocking, be bold to pray,"This is no stranger: we claim him ours!"

In the Midst of Them

"Gentle Jesus, meek and mild,Look on me, a little child.Pity my simplicityAnd suffer me to come to Thee."Now prevails a creed which tellsUs to seek no miracles.Reason by discovered loreReigns where Faith was found before.God, Who set our world aspin,Now is weary of its din;He, Who for our fathers' sakeConjured lightning and earthquake,Vanquished sorrow, sickness, death,Deems we are not worth the BreathThat blessed the trusting prophet's rodWhen Moses called upon his God.How dare we expect Him giveMiracles to help us live?Yet I build on Him Who saith,"Move the mountains with your faith"—Doubt the lips that falter, wan,"The age of miracles is gone!"I have learned to read the grimTestimony unto HimPrinted with starvation's handOn every hove! through the land;I have swung the crazy doorTo find huddled on a floorRat-gnawed and riddled, with never a cloutTo keep the eager winter out,Some six or seven of our kindShivering beneath the wind,Foodless, fireless, hungry-eyed,Crouched round one who just had died,Hopeless that the dawn would bringFriendly aid and comforting.And after prayer for the parted soul,They have thanked the slender dole,And spoken of hope of days to come,And have forgotten their martyrdom.The anguished grief of motherhoodHas firmly whispered "God is goodAnd can in His EternityRepay this present loss"; till IHave almost turned my head to seeIf Christ has not come in with me!Gentle Jesus, mild and meek,These the simple words I speakAre the faith Thou gavest me;Suffer me to come to Thee!

Sic Transit

They camped in the meadow at sunrise,And their crests gleamed bright in the sun,And the breeze that blew sighed soft, for it knewTheir fate e'er the day was done.They lay in the meadow at sunset,As the sky in anger blushed red;For the host of the dawn lay still on the lawn—The host was a host of dead.Let the gardener but pass his scythe o'er the grass—And the life of a daisy is sped!

MONICA SALEEBY

Retrospect

You loved the child of fifteen years.I knew not this vast thing.Your great heart shrank beneath your fears;You left me wondering.Now fourteen years have passed us by;Our souls meet once again;And, meeting, I have asked you whyOur ways apart have lain?And now your answer comes at last:—"I loved you in that day."Oh, strange reply! Oh, tender past!Oh, long love locked away!And now, yes, I have climbed Love's hill;My heart is bound, yet free.And is there not some young child stillFor you to love in me?You have the right to love her yet,For he who loves me grownKnew not the child you'll ne'er forget;I give her for your own.Oh, keep her young within your breast,Allow her to survive;For love of you I'll do my bestTo keep your child alive.

FRANCIS MEYNELL

Any Stone

A myriad years God toiled to mouldA nerveless stone to His intent—From peace to war, from heat to cold,It triumphed against the Omnipotent:God strove until His strength grew old,Then cried "Thy help, My firmament!"The stars in succour gave their light,The aiding moon her ocean-sway;At dawn and dusk the hosts of nightWatched round the battle-fires of day …To set the dust He loved arightGod called His winds to that array,And all the burden of the world,And all the tears from all men's eyes,Drought, dew, and every flower unfurled,The priest, the fire, the sacrifice,The pillared cloud, His thunder hurled—Victor, He held as nought the price!Thus loved, thus wrought, God deemed the stoneFit bed for beasts to lie upon.O God of Gods, make short my daysOf blind approach to her and Thee;Life-long upon Thy rugged waysHer heart has danced: she calls to me.Hast Thou forgotten me alone,O Watcher where the wild beast lies?—Mould to Thy will this other stone—A stone, yet precious in her eyes.

Lux in Tenebris

Spirit of smiles and tears, you came to me in the night,The golden moon aglow in your hair, and the spear-driven lightOf an army of stars in your eyes, weary with truant sleep.O little skilled in self, who thought you came to weep!Out of the darkness, light; flame in the virgin dew!Love came unto her own, and knew him not, who knew.O understood! O known! O apprehended bliss!O self unskilled in self! O taught of my one kiss!

Mater Inviolata

A maiden's love most nuptial is,Innocent of his nuptial kiss;And only after marriage callHer lips, her passion, virginal!For when she dreams, who is beloved,The ancient miracle stands proved—Virginity's much Motherhood!For O, the unborn babes she keeps,The unthought glory, lips unwooed!—And O, the quickening of her sleepsWhose dreams, dreamed over, do repeatThe echoes of Love's falling feet!For his, her young inviolate mouthLongs with the longing of long drouth:And, lacking substance for such feast,She clasps a dream-baby to breast,And kisses, where her head has place,The dream-lips of her love's dream-face!On the decked bridal bed of NightShe knows the Moon shows maiden light—The Sun's kiss urged in marriage-rite!So, when her very night shall come,Virginal, in her virgin homeWhen stars show unfamiliar faces,Laughing for love in their high places—When her essential lips are dumbIn a thronged panic of embraces—Her maiden heart, her spousal breast,Shall throb, surrendered and possessed,Throb, passion-sweet and ungainsaid—"Now at the last am I a Maid!"

Song-burden

I do confess I have no artTo tell the tale of my own heart.Of lips and tears, of hearts and eyes,I rhyme my rhymes and fear my fears;And if of these I make you wise,These pictured hearts, these lips, these tears,There is nought to do; I have played my part.And I, a captain of much guile,Within your ranks dissensions preachTill all are jealous, each of each—Your eyes, lips, heart, a tear, a smile!So, when you turn your eyes awayFrom mirrored eyes, and when you stayLove-hearing with reluctant hand,Straight then your heart-throbs will betrayThat you have read, and understand!And should your maiden heart upriseAgainst fain ears and full-fain eyes,Upon your lips, that cannot err,I set my kiss-interpreter!Or hold you steadfast as alliesYour heart, hand, lips, your smiles, your all,Your faithful eyes are traitrous eyes—Out-steals a tear to your downfall!Your heart, your eyes, the lips of you—Hesitant and full-fain your eyes!—Make all my song; have I sung true?Make all my song; are you song-wise?

Gifts

My given gifts have been, ah me!Sorrow, and superfluity.You needed primal force, and thisWas all my giving—emphasis.For your mute voice more mute I made,And at your singing proffered song;You trembled, and I was afraid—Were pierced, I fell on the same blade—Triumphed, and then my arm was strong.For peace I builded on your peace,And on your weakness mine up-piled;Of too fond hope I made increase,And at your smilings, as a child,Ignorant of their cost, I smiled.Always I fear at sight of fears,And always weep at weeping eyes;O my Belovéd, take my tears,Take my sighs!And these, and these, alas! shall beSorrow, and superfluity.

Wraith

Mine was not equal of her trust—As whose, my friend, as whose should be?-Andnow, a panic dream of dust,She comes to haunt the heart of me;She comes to haunt my heart for this,And lo, a glory of my sighs!For still her phantom lips I kiss,Who cannot meet her phantom eyes.

A Dedication

I took the universe for theme,And all young eyes, and all old stars;A thousand angels of my dreamI sang, and a thousand of love's wars.Blind then my eyes, that now can seeThe narrowness of infinity!For these my songs sing but her eyes,And all my song one star apart,One angel's dream-soliloquies,One conquered, one triumphant, heart.Yea, one is all, and all is one;My songs, O love, are sung, and I have done.

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