_THE RED SUNSETS, 1883._
The twilight heavens are flushed with gathering light, And o"er wet roofs and huddling streets below Hang with a strange Apocalyptic glow On the black fringes of the wintry night.
Such bursts of glory may have rapt the sight Of him to whom on Patmos long ago The visionary angel came to show That heavenly city built of chrysolite.
And lo, three factory hands begrimed with soot, Aflame with the red splendour, marvelling stand, And gaze with lifted faces awed and mute.
Starved of earth"s beauty by Man"s grudging hand, O toilers, robbed of labour"s golden fruit, Ye, too, may feast in Nature"s fairyland.
_ON THE LIGHTHOUSE AT ANTIBES._
A stormy light of sunset glows and glares Between two banks of cloud, and o"er the brine Thy fair lamp on the sky"s carnation line Alone on the lone promontory flares: Friend of the Fisher who at nightfall fares Where lurk false reefs masked by the hyaline Of dimpling waves, within whose smile divine Death lies in wait behind Circean snares.
The evening knows thee ere the evening star; Or sees thy flame sole Regent of the bight, When storm, hoa.r.s.e rumoured by the hills afar, Makes mariners steer landward by thy light, Which shows through shock of hostile nature"s war How man keeps watch o"er man through deadliest night.
_CAGNES._
ON THE RIVIERA.
In tortuous windings up the steep incline The sombre street toils to the village square, Whose antique walls in stone and moulding bear Dumb witness to the Moor. Afar off shine, With tier on tier, cutting heaven"s blue divine, The snowy Alps; and lower the hills are fair, With wave-green olives rippling down to where Gold cl.u.s.ters hang and leaves of sunburnt vine.
You may perchance, I never shall forget When, between twofold glory of land and sea, We leant together o"er the old parapet, And saw the sun go down. For, oh, to me, The beauty of that beautiful strange place Was its reflection beaming from your face.
_A WINTER LANDSCAPE._
All night, all day, in dizzy, downward flight, Fell the wild-whirling, vague, chaotic snow, Till every landmark of the earth below, Trees, moorlands, roads, and each familiar sight Were blotted out by the bewildering white.
And winds, now shrieking loud, now whimpering low, Seemed lamentations for the world-old woe That death must swallow life, and darkness light.
But all at once the rack was blown away, The snowstorm hushing ended in a sigh; Then like a flame the crescent moon on high Leaped forth among the planets; pure as they, Earth vied in whiteness with the Milky Way: Herself a star beneath the starry sky.
LOVE IN EXILE.
"Whatever way my days decline, I felt and feel, tho" left alone, His being working in mine own, The footsteps of his life in mine."
LORD TENNYSON.
_SONGS._
I.
Thou walkest with me as the spirit-light Of the hushed moon, high o"er a snowy hill, Walks with the houseless traveller all the night, When trees are tongueless and when mute the rill.
Moon of my soul, O phantasm of delight, Thou walkest with me still.
The vestal flame of quenchless memory burns In my soul"s sanctuary. Yea, still for thee My bitter heart hath yearned, as moonward yearns Each separate wave-pulse of the clamorous sea: My Moon of love, to whom for ever turns The life that aches through me.
II.
I was again beside my Love in dream: Earth was so beautiful, the moon was shining; The m.u.f.fled voice of many a cataract stream Came like a love-song, as, with arms entwining, Our hearts were mixed in unison supreme.
The wind lay spell-bound in each pillared pine, The ta.s.selled larches had no sound or motion, As my whole life was sinking into thine-- Sinking into a deep, unfathomed ocean Of infinite love--uncirc.u.mscribed, divine.
Night held her breath, it seemed, with all her stars: Eternal eyes that watched in mute compa.s.sion Our little lives o"erleap their mortal bars, Fused in the fulness of immortal pa.s.sion, A pa.s.sion as immortal as the stars.
There was no longer any thee or me; No sense of self, no wish or incompleteness; The moment, rounded to Eternity, Annihilated time"s destructive fleetness: For all but love itself had ceased to be.
III.
I am athirst, but not for wine; The drink I long for is divine, Poured only from your eyes in mine.
I hunger, but the bread I want, Of which my blood and brain are scant, Is your sweet speech, for which I pant.
I am a-cold, and lagging lame, Life creeps along my languid frame; Your love would fan it into flame.
Heaven"s in that little word--your love!
It makes my heart coo like a dove, My tears fall as I think thereof.
IV.
I would I were the glow-worm, thou the flower, That I might fill thy cup with glimmering light; I would I were the bird, and thou the bower, To sing thee songs throughout the summer night.
I would I were a pine tree deeply rooted, And thou the lofty, cloud-beleaguered rock, Still, while the blasts of heaven around us hooted, To cleave to thee and weather every shock.
I would I were the rill, and thou the river; So might I, leaping from some headlong steep, With all my waters lost in thine for ever, Be hurried onwards to the unfathomed deep.
I would--what would I not? O foolish dreaming!
My words are but as leaves by autumn shed, That, in the faded moonlight idly gleaming, Drop on the grave where all our love lies dead.
V.
Dost thou remember ever, for my sake, When we two rowed upon the rock-bound lake?
How the wind-fretted waters blew their spray About our brows like blossom-falls of May One memorable day?
Dost thou remember the glad mouth that cried-- "Were it not sweet to die now side by side, To lie together tangled in the deep Close as the heart-beat to the heart--so keep The everlasting sleep?"
Dost thou remember? Ah, such death as this Had set the seal upon my heart"s young bliss!
But, wrenched asunder, severed and apart, Life knew a deadlier death: the blighting smart Which only kills the heart.
VI.
O moon, large golden summer moon, Hanging between the linden trees, Which in the intermittent breeze Beat with the rhythmic pulse of June!
O night-air, scented through and through With honey-coloured flower of lime, Sweet now as in that other time When all my heart was sweet as you!
The sorcery of this breathing bloom Works like enchantment in my brain, Till, shuddering back to life again, My dead self rises from its tomb.
And, lovely with the love of yore, Its white ghost haunts the moon-white ways; But, when it meets me face to face, Flies trembling to the grave once more.