Winds that make moan and triumph, skies that bend, Thunders, and sound of tides in gulf and firth, Spake through his spirit of speech, whose death should send Mourning on earth.

II.

The world's great heart, whence all things strange and rare Take form and sound, that each inseparate part May bear its burden in all tuned thoughts that share The world's great heart -

The fountain forces, whence like steeds that start Leap forth the powers of earth and fire and air, Seas that revolve and rivers that depart -

Spake, and were turned to song: yea, all they were, With all their works, found in his mastering art Speech as of powers whose uttered word laid bare The world's great heart.

III.

From the depths of the sea, from the wellsprings of earth, from the wastes of the midmost night, From the fountains of darkness and tempest and thunder, from heights where the soul would be, The spell of the mage of music evoked their sense, as an unknown light From the depths of the sea.

As a vision of heaven from the hollows of ocean, that none but a G.o.d might see, Rose out of the silence of things unknown of a presence, a form, a might, And we heard as a prophet that hears G.o.d's message against him, and may not flee.

Eye might not endure it, but ear and heart with a rapture of dark delight, With a terror and wonder whose core was joy, and a pa.s.sion of thought set free, Felt inly the rising of doom divine as a sundawn risen to sight From the depths of the sea.

TWO PRELUDES

I.

LOHENGRIN

Love, out of the depth of things, As a dewfall felt from above, From the heaven whence only springs Love,

Love, heard from the heights thereof, The clouds and the watersprings, Draws close as the clouds remove.

And the soul in it speaks and sings, A swan sweet-souled as a dove, An echo that only rings Love.

II.

TRISTAN UND ISOLDE

Fate, out of the deep sea's gloom, When a man's heart's pride grows great, And nought seems now to foredoom Fate,

Fate, laden with fears in wait, Draws close through the clouds that loom, Till the soul see, all too late,

More dark than a dead world's tomb, More high than the sheer dawn's gate, More deep than the wide sea's womb, Fate.

THE LUTE AND THE LYRE

Deep desire, that pierces heart and spirit to the root, Finds reluctant voice in verse that yearns like soaring fire, Takes exultant voice when music holds in high pursuit Deep desire.

Keen as burns the pa.s.sion of the rose whose buds respire, Strong as grows the yearning of the blossom toward the fruit, Sounds the secret half unspoken ere the deep tones tire.

Slow subsides the rapture that possessed love's flower-soft lute, Slow the palpitation of the triumph of the lyre: Still the soul feels burn, a flame unslaked though these be mute, Deep desire.

PLUS INTRA

I.

Soul within sense, immeasurable, obscure, Insepulchred and deathless, through the dense Deep elements may scarce be felt as pure Soul within sense.

From depth and height by measurers left immense, Through sound and shape and colour, comes the unsure Vague utterance, fitful with supreme suspense.

All that may pa.s.s, and all that must endure, Song speaks not, painting shews not: more intense And keen than these, art wakes with music's lure Soul within sense.

CHANGE

But now life's face beholden Seemed bright as heaven's bare brow With hope of gifts withholden But now.

From time's full-flowering bough Each bud spake bloom to embolden Love's heart, and seal his vow.

Joy's eyes grew deep with olden Dreams, born he wist not how; Thought's meanest garb was golden; But now!

A BABY'S DEATH

I.

A little soul scarce fledged for earth Takes wing with heaven again for goal Even while we hailed as fresh from birth A little soul.

Our thoughts ring sad as bells that toll, Not knowing beyond this blind world's girth What things are writ in heaven's full scroll.

Our fruitfulness is there but dearth, And all things held in time's control Seem there, perchance, ill dreams, not worth A little soul.

II.

The little feet that never trod Earth, never strayed in field or street, What hand leads upward back to G.o.d The little feet?