No Musician ever held your spirit Charmed and bound in his melodious chains, But be sure he heard, and strove to render, Feeble echoes of celestial strains.

No real Poet ever wove in numbers All his dream; but the diviner part, Hidden from all the world, spake to him only In the voiceless silence of his heart.

So with Love: for Love and Art united Are twin mysteries; different, yet the same: Poor indeed would be the love of any Who could find its full and perfect name.

Love may strive, but vain is the endeavour All its boundless riches to enfold; Still its tenderest, truest secret lingers Ever in its deepest depths untold.

Things of Time have voices: speak and perish.

Art and Love speak--but their words must be Like sighings of illimitable forests, And waves of an unfathomable sea.

VERSE: BECAUSE

It is not because your heart is mine--mine only-- Mine alone; It is not because you chose me, weak and lonely, For your own; Not because the earth is fairer, and the skies Spread above you Are more radiant for the shining of your eyes-- That I love you!

It is not because the world's perplexed meaning Grows more clear; And the Parapets of Heaven, with angels leaning, Seem more near; And Nature sings of praise with all her voices Since yours spoke, Since within my silent heart, that now rejoices, Love awoke!

Nay, not even because your hand holds heart and life; At your will Soothing, hushing all its discord, making strife Calm and still; Teaching Trust to fold her wings, nor ever roam From her nest; Teaching Love that her securest, safest home Must be Rest.

But because this human Love, though true and sweet-- Yours and mine-- Has been sent by Love more tender, more complete, More divine; That it leads our hearts to rest at last in Heaven, Far above you; Do I take you as a gift that G.o.d has given-- --And I love you!

VERSE: REST AT EVENING

When the weariness of Life is ended, And the task of our long day is done, And the props, on which our hearts depended, All have failed or broken, one by one; Evening and our Sorrow's shadow blended Telling us that peace is now begun.

How far back will seem the sun's first dawning, And those early mists so cold and grey!

Half forgotten even the toil of morning, And the heat and burthen of the day: Flowers that we were tending, and weeds scorning, All alike withered and cast away.

Vain will seem the impatient heart, which waited Toils that gathered but too quickly round; And the childish joy, so soon elated At the path we thought none else had found; And the foolish ardour, soon abated By the storm which cast us to the ground.

Vain those pauses on the road, each seeming As our final home and resting-place; And the leaving them, while tears were streaming Of eternal sorrow down our face; And the hands we held, fond folly dreaming That no future could their touch efface.

All will then be faded:- night will borrow Stars of light to crown our perfect rest; And the dim vague memory of faint sorrow Just remain to show us all was best, Then melt into a divine to-morrow:- Oh, how poor a day to be so blest!

VERSE: A RETROSPECT

From this fair point of present bliss, Where we together stand, Let me look back once more, and trace That long and desert land, Wherein till now was cast my lot, and I could live, and thou wert not.

Strange that my heart could beat, and know Alternate joy and pain, That suns could roll from east to west, And clouds could pa.s.s in rain, And the slow hours without thee fleet, nor stay their noiseless silver feet.

What had I then? a hope, that grew Each hour more bright and dear, The flush upon the eastern skies That showed the sun was near:- Now night has faded far away, my sun has risen, and it is day.

A dim Ideal of tender grace In my soul reigned supreme; Too n.o.ble and too sweet I thought To live, save in a dream-- Within thy heart to-day it lies, and looks on me from thy dear eyes.

Some gentle spirit--Love I thought-- Built many a shrine of pain; Though each false Idol fell to dust, The worship was not vain, But a faint radiant shadow cast back from our Love upon the Past.

And Grief, too, held her vigil there; With unrelenting sway Breaking my cloudy visions down, Throwing my flowers away:- I owe to her fond care alone that I may now be all thine own.

Fair Joy was there--her fluttering wings At times she strove to raise; Watching through long and patient nights, Listening long eager days: I know now that her heart and mine were waiting, Love, to welcome thine.

Thus I can read thy name throughout, And, now her task is done, Can see that even that faded Past Was thine, beloved one, And so rejoice my Life may be all consecrated, dear, to thee.

VERSE: TRUE OR FALSE

So you think you love me, do you?

Well, it may be so; But there are many ways of loving I have learnt to know.

Many ways, and but one true way, Which is very rare; And the counterfeits look brightest, Though they will not wear.

Yet they ring, almost, quite truly, Last (with care) for long; But in time must break, may shiver At a touch of wrong: Having seen what looked most real Crumble into dust; Now I chose that test and trial Should precede my trust.

I have seen a love demanding Time and hope and tears, Chaining all the past, exacting Bonds from future years; Mind and heart, and joy and sorrow, Claiming as its fee: That was Love of Self, and never, Never Love of me!

I have seen a love forgetting All above, beyond, Linking every dream and fancy In a sweeter bond; Counting every hour worthless, Which was cold or free:- That, perhaps, was--Love of Pleasure, But not Love of me!

I have seen a love whose patience Never turned aside, Full of tender, fond devices; Constant, even when tried; Smallest boons were held as victories, Drops that swelled the sea: That I think was--Love of Power, But not Love of me!

I have seen a love disdaining Ease and pride and fame, Burning even its own white pinions Just to feed its flame; Reigning thus, supreme, triumphant, By the soul's decree; That was--Love of Love, I fancy, But not Love of me!

I have heard--or dreamt, it may be-- What Love is when true; How to test and how to try it, Is the gift of few: These few say (or did I dream it?) That true Love abides In these very things, but always Has a soul besides.

Lives among the false loves, knowing Just their peace and strife: Bears the self-same look, but always Has an inner life.

Only a true heart can find it, True as it is true, Only eyes as clear and tender Look it through and through.

If it dies, it will not perish By Time's slow decay, True Love only grows (they tell me) Stronger, day by day: Pain--has been its friend and comrade; Fate--it can defy; Only by its own sword, sometimes Love can choose to die.

And its grave shall be more n.o.ble And more sacred still, Than a throne, where one less worthy Reigns and rules at will.

Tell me then, do you dare offer This true Love to me? . . .

Neither you nor I can answer; We will--wait and see!

VERSE: GOLDEN WORDS