I listened starward where the ghostly weaving Of wandering lights is all of Heaven we know And worlds are lamps and darkness comes bereaving The world of ebb and flow, And 'tis as if a bosom were heaving slow With firmamental care,--ah, heaving, heaving With an unfathomable earlier woe.

"Listener at many doors,--for what disaster?--"

Her spirit murmur crept into my ears.

"Brooder on pictures breathed on by the Master, Listen at the heart that hears,-- Ah, listen softly, breathing low!" The years Were not--for there She was--and, gazing past her, I saw the Vision raised by blood and tears.

VII

For the eyes loved, For the face lifted In that still light, Dark trees are groved, The snow drifted, And the mound white.

And the grave dug And the words spoken And the flowers shed-- And the eyes tearless But the heart broken For the brave dead.

Though a soul thrill To the stars' fire And a mind sing To a keen will Of a high desire And a great thing,--

Ah, who listens?

Who--who hearkens Or answer makes,-- Though the moon glistens And the night darkens And the heart breaks?

Lay her sword by her, Her steel of spirit, Her phantom blade, Lest the loud liar In his h.e.l.l inherit What her soul made!

Sweet sword, she came To pierce and quicken My heart to grace,-- Oh, white flame, Oh, heart life-stricken, Oh, deathless face!

VIII

Now the snow drives. The day Goes on in whirling gray.

Still the world roars, As if no striving flame Had gone, as it suddenly came, Pa.s.sing blind doors;

As if no eyes, no smile, No heart that could beguile Evil from earth, Had hovered just a s.p.a.ce To light one holy place In the dark and the dearth.

Was it always as fierce and strange-- This blank and sudden change Men have known ever?

This veil as hard and keen As the blade of a guillotine Flashing to sever?

Oh, ears that hark in the night, Eyeb.a.l.l.s that strain for sight, Pulses that know The same dull burning ache, Though a man sleep, though he wake,-- Was it always so?

IX

True love runs wild and wildly understands.

I took the bread of Heaven once from your two hands.

And your eyes are upon me even as I sing, Saying, "Be of comfort. Death is a little thing."

Oh, magic child and woman, who crept into my heart, Who hold me with strong arms from all the world apart-- No, I will not say it--for your eyes grieve; I will say you draw us all to Heaven--_your_ Heaven, by your leave!

Lady Simplicitas, who hummed like any bee Little quaint and olden rhymes to keep simplicity, Lady of the downcast eyes and sudden starry mirth, And eloquence by torchlight for the wronged of all the earth,

True love runs wild and wildly understands!

I took the wine of Heaven once from your two hands; And when your eyes were darkened for the world's red smart You made a violet twilight as you pressed against my heart.

For that coiled hair's brown crown, for that sweet and seemly way, The straight thoughts, the eager words, the dazzle of your day, Shall I turn base then and learn to whine and curse?

Not though daggers of memory flicker through this verse!

For true love runs wild and wildly understands.

I took the sacrament of love from your two hands.

So shall I cross the sunset hill and climb the pasture bars And meet you in our porch at last, in the Village of the Stars.

X

One thing only I can say to you Whatever be the things men do; Let one love make May to you, Hold one love true.

Who but hears the querulous Sigh and the heavy groan,-- Yet stand for the one love perilous, Though you stand alone.

Yes, and though beaten and beaten By the ravings of the blood; Though with dust and ashes eaten, Be one thing understood.

The battle in the cloud overthrows you, Your lips are dashed with foam,-- Yet the one love lives and knows you And leads you home.

Home--ah, G.o.d!--to the slumber At last and the waking peace, Where wars without name or number Give last release; Where her whisper again is more to you Than the angels' flaming wars, And proud Death's hands can pour to you The cold of the stars.

XI

The selfishness of grief! ... and yet each turning And questing after some new brave relief Shows other steel stretched forth and on me burning The selfishness of grief.

Till self who was my G.o.d and love, my chief, Even these turn from my side with footsteps spurning As, stooping low, I lift the heavy sheaf

Of our flowered hours gathered with our yearning, Gathered so wildly in our happy fief And glimmering beautiful beyond belief, With dazing fragrance, till my dim discerning Sees them the legend dropped for my unlearning The selfishness of grief!

THE LONG ABSENCE

I

ACCOSTED

"If you saw blue eyes that could light and darkle With merriment or pain; If you saw a face that was only heart--lonely In the cities of the plain; If you felt a kindness that was happy as the daybreak, Patient as night, And saw the eyes lift and--the dawn in May break, You have seen her aright.

"Blue-cloaked archangel, rein your steed a little, Though cities flame!

Messenger of night, though my words are brittle, Though I know not your name, Though your steed paw sparkles and your pinions quiver With colors like the sea, Tell me if you saw her, if you saw my love ever!

She is lost to me.

"That is why I walk this windy highway And stop and hark And peer through the moonlight--always my way!

And listen up the dark And knuckle my forehead to remember her truly, The very She; And that is why I cling your rein unduly To answer me!"

But the eyes were deep and dark, though somehow tender.

Haste was manifest In the gauntlet, the greaves, the irid splendor That pulsed on his breast.

He did not even gesture to the night grown holy, But shook his rein As his steed leapt forth; while I--turned slowly To the cities of the plain.

II

THE HOUSE AT EVENING