You carry still what we call (Poets are dreamy we know) A heart, well, 'tis yours after all, And time hath its wonders, I trow.

You may look back with your eyes Turned to the dead of the Past, And find with a sad surprise, That yours is the dead at the last.

Seeing afar in the sands, Gardens grown green, at what cost!

You may reach upward your hands, Praying for what you have lost.

THE TWILIGHT OF LOVE

Adieu! and the sun goes awearily down, The mist creeps up o'er the sleepy town, The white sails bend to the shuddering mere, And the reapers have reaped, and the night is here.

Adieu! and the years are a broken song, The right grows weak in the strife with wrong, The lilies of love have a crimson stain, And the old days never will come again.

Adieu! where the mountains afar are dim 'Neath the tremulous tread of the seraphim, Shall not our querulous hearts prevail, That have prayed for the peace of the Holy Grail?

Adieu! Some time shall the veil between The things that are, and that might have been Be folded back for our eyes to see, And the meaning of all be clear to me.

IRREVOCABLE

What you have done may never be undone By day or night, What I have seen may never be unseen In my sad sight.

The days swing on, the sun glows and is gone, From span to span; The tides sweep scornfully the sh.o.r.e, as when The tides began.

What we have known is but a bitter pledge Of Ignorance, The human tribute to an ageless dream, A timeless trance.

Through what great cycles hath this circ.u.mstance Swept on and on, Known not by thee or me, till it should come, A vision wan,

To our two lives, and yours would seem to me The hand that kills, Though you have wept to strike, and but have cried, "The mad Fate wills!"

You could not, if you would, give what had been Peace, not distress; Some warping cords of destiny had held You in duress.

Nay, not the Fates, look higher; is G.o.d blind?

Doth He not well?

Our eyes see but a little s.p.a.ce behind, If it befell,

That they saw but a little s.p.a.ce before, Shall we then say, Unkind is the Eternal, if He knew This from alway,

And called us into being but to give To mother Earth Two blasted lives, to make the watered land A place of dearth?

The life that feeds upon itself is mad-- Is it not thus?

Have I not held but one poor broken reed For both of us?

Keep but your place and simply meet The needs of life; Mine is the sorrow, mine the prayerless pain: The world is rife

With spectres seen and spectres all unseen By human eyes, Who stand upon the threshold, at the gates, Of Paradise.

Well do they who have felt the spectres' hands Upon their hearts, And have not fled, but with firm faith have borne Their brothers' parts,

Upheld the weary head, or fanned the brow Of some sick soul, Pointed the way for tired pilgrim eyes To their far goal.

So let it be with us: perchance will come In after days, The benison of happiness for us Always, always.

THE LAST DREAM

One more dream in the slow night watches, One more sleep when the world is dumb, And his soul leans out to the sweet wild s.n.a.t.c.hes Of song that up from dreamland come.

Pale, pale face with a golden setting, Deep, deep glow of stedfast eyes; Form of one there is no forgetting, Wandering out of Paradise.

Breath of balm, and a languor falling Out of the gleam of a sunset sky; Peace, deep peace and a seraph's calling, Folded hands and a pleading cry.

One more dream for the patient singer, Weary with songs he loved so well; Sleeping now--will the vision bring her?

Hark, 'tis the sound of the pa.s.sing bell!

WAITING

When shall I see thee again?

Weary the years and so long; When shall be buried the wrong, Phantom-like rising between?

Seeking for surcease of pain, Pilgrim to Lethe I came; Drank not, for pride was too keen-- Stung by the sound of a name.

Soft, ardent skies of my youth Come to me over the sea, Come in a vision to me, Come with your shimmer and song; Ye have known all of the truth, Witness to both shall ye bear; Read me the riddle of wrong, Solve me the cords of the snare.

Love is not won in a breath, Idle, impa.s.sioned and sure; Why should not love then endure, Challenging doubt to the last?

True love is true till the death, Though it bear aloes and myrrh; Try me and judge me, O Past, Have I been true unto her?

What should I say if we met, Knowing not which should forbear?