IN ARMOUR,

But wherein shall Art work? Shall beauty lead It captive, and set kisses on its mouth?

Shall it be strained unto the breast of youth, And in a garden live where grows no weed?

Shall it, in dalliance with the flaunting world, Play but soft airs, sing but sweet-tempered songs?

Veer lightly from the stress of all great wrongs, And lisp of peace 'mid battle-flags unfurled?

Shall it but pluck the sleeve of wantonness, And gently chide the folly of our time?

But wave its golden wand at sin's duress,

And say, "Ah me! ah me!" to fallow crime?

Nay, Art serves Truth, and Truth with t.i.tan blows, Strikes fearless at all evil that it knows.

IN THEE MY ART

In thee is all my art; from thee I draw The substance of my dreams, the waking plan Of practised thought; I can no measure scan, But thou work'st in me like eternal law.

If I were rich in goodly t.i.tle deeds Of broad estate, won from posterity; If from decaying Time I s.n.a.t.c.hed a see Richer than prelates pray for with their beads;

If some should bring before me frankincense, And make a pleasant fire to greet mine eyes; If there were given me for recompense

Gifts fairer than a seraph could devise: I would, my sovereign, kneel to thee and say, "It all is thine; thou showedst me the way."

DENIAL

But is it so that I must never kiss Thee on the brow, or smooth thy silken hair?

Never close down thine eyelids with Love's prayer, Or fold my arms about my new-found bliss?

Must I unto the courses of my age Worship afar, lest haply I profane The temple that is now my holy fane, For which my song is given as a gage?

Shall I who cry to all, "Come not within The bounds where I my lady have enshrined; I am her cavalier"; shall I not win

One dear caress, the rich exchequer find Of thy soft cheek? If thou command, my lips Shall find surcease but at thy fingertips.

TESTAMENT

Why do I love thee? Shall my answer run: Because that thou hast beauty, n.o.ble place, Because of some sweet glamour in thy face, And eyes that shame the clear light of the sun?

Shall I exclaim upon thy snow-white hands, Challenge the world to show a gentler mien, Call down the seraphs to attest, the sheen Upon thy brow is borrowed from their lands?

Shall I trace out a map of all thy worth, Parcel thy virtues, say, "For this and this I learned to love her; here new charms had birth;

I in this territory caught a bliss"?

Shall I make inventory of thy grace, And crowd the total into common s.p.a.ce?

CAPTIVITY

Nay, lady, though I love thee, I make pause Before thy question, and know naught to say; Art cannot teach me to define the way, Love led me, nor e'en register Love's cause.

It can but blazon in this verse of mine What love does for me; what from Love it gains; What is its quickening; but it refrains From divination where thy merits shine.

Canst thou, indeed, not tell what wrought in thee To bring me as a captive to thy feet?

Canst thou not say, "'Twas this that made decree

Of conquest; here thy soul with mine did meet?"

Or is it that both stand amazed before The shrine where thou hast blessed and I adore?

O MYSTIC WINGS

O mystic wings, upbear me lightly now, Beyond life's faithful labour to a seat Where I can feel the end of things complete, Where no hot breath of ill can scorch the brow.

O mystic wings of Art, about thee Truth Makes atmosphere of purity and power; 'Tis man's breath kills the spring's soft-petaled flower--

Ye give a refuge for the heart of youth.