Once, when beside me in that sacred place I saw my lady lift her lovely head, And saw the Chalice gleam above her face And her dear lips with life immortal red, Then, born again beyond the mist of years, I knelt in Heaven, and drank the wine of tears.

{150}.

'Sir Hugh the Palmer'

I.

He kneeled among a waste of sands Before the Mother-Maid, But on the far green forest-lands His steadfast eyes were stayed, And like a knight of stone his hands He straightened while he prayed.

"Lady, beyond all women fair, Beyond all saints benign, Whose living heart through life I bear In mystery divine, Hear thou and grant me this my prayer, Or grant no prayer of mine.

"The fever of my spirit's pain Heal thou with heavenly scorn; The dust that but of dust is fain Leave thou in dust forlorn; Yea! bury love to rise again Meet for eternal morn.

{151}.

"So by thy grace my inward eyes Thy beauty still shall see, And while our life in shadow lies High dawn shall image thee, Till with thy soul in Paradise Thy servant's soul shall be."

Before the immortal Mother-Maid Low on the sands he kneeled; But even while the words he prayed His lips to patience sealed, Joy in his eyes a radiance made Like stars in dusk revealed.

II.

It was an idle company-- Ladies and lordings fine-- Idly under the wild-wood tree Their laughter ran like wine.

Yet as they laughed a voice they heard-- A voice where none was seen,-- Singing blithe as a hidden bird Among the forest green.

"Mark ye, mark ye, a lonely knight Riding the green forest: Pard! for one so poorly dight He lifts a haughty crest!

{152}.

Azure and white is all his wear, He hath no gold, I trow!

Wanderer, thou in the wild-wood there, Tell us why sing ye so!"

"n.o.ble ladies and lordings gay, G.o.d have you all in guard: Since ye are pleased with me to play, My riddle it is not hard.

I sing because, of all that ride, I am the least of worth: I sing because, to match my pride, Never was pride on earth.

"But, an ye ask what that may mean, Thus do I answer then: I bear with me the heart of a Queen-- I that am least of men:-- I bear her heart till the end of all, Yea! by her own command I bear the heart of a Queen royal Unto the Holy Land."

Humbly there his crest he bent,-- Azure it waved and white,-- Haughtily there he turned and went Singing, out of their sight.

Long, long but his voice they heard,-- A voice where none was seen,-- Singing blithe as a hidden bird, Among the forest green.

{153}.

'The Presentation'

When in the womb of Time our souls' own son Dear Love lay sleeping till his natal hour, Long months I knew not that sweet life begun, Too dimly treasuring thy touch of power; And wandering all those days By far-off ways, Forgot immortal seed must have immortal flower.

Only, beloved, since my beloved thou art I do remember, now that memory's vain, How twice or thrice beneath my beating heart Life quickened suddenly with proudest pain.

Then dreamed I Love's increase, Yet held my peace Till I might render thee thy own great gift again.

For as with bodies, so with souls it is, The greater gives, the lesser doth conceive: That thou hast fathered Love, I tell thee this, And by my pangs beseech thee to believe.

Look on his hope divine-- Thy hope and mine-- Pity his outstretched hands, tenderly him receive!

{154}.

'The Inheritance'

While I within her secret garden walked, The flowers, that in her presence must be dumb, With me, their fellow-servant, softly talked, Attending till the Flower of flowers should come.

Then, since at Court I had arrived but late, I was by love made bold To ask that of my lady's high estate I might be told, And glories of her blood, perpetuate In histories old.

Then they, who know the chronicle of Earth, Spoke of her loveliness, that like a flame Far-handed down from n.o.ble birth to birth, Gladdened the world for ages ere she came.

"Yea, yea," they said, "from Summer's royal sun Comes that immortal line, And was create not for this age alone Nor wholly thine, Being indeed a flower whose root is one With Life Divine.

{155}.

"To the sweet buds that of herself are part Already she this portion hath bequeathed, As, not less surely, into thy proud heart Her n.o.bleness, O poet, she hath breathed, That her inheritance by them and thee The world may keep alway, When the still sunlight of her eyes shall be Lost to the day, And even the fragrance of her memory Fading away."

{156}.

'Amore Altiero'

Since thou and I have wandered from the highway And found with hearts reborn This swift and unimaginable byway Unto the hills of morn, Shall not our love disdain the unworthy uses Of the old time outworn?

I'll not entreat thy half unwilling graces With humbly folded palms, Nor seek to shake thy proud defended places With noise of vague alarms, Nor ask against my fortune's grim pursuing The refuge of thy arms.

Thou'lt not withhold for pleasure vain and cruel That which has long been mine, Nor overheap with briefly burning fuel A fire of flame divine, Nor yield the key for life's profaner voices To brawl within the shrine.

{157}.

But thou shalt tell me of thy queenly pleasure All that I must fulfil, And I'll receive from out my royal treasure What golden gifts I will, So that two realms supreme and undisputed Shall be one kingdom still.

And our high hearts shall praise the beauty hidden In starry-minded scorn By the same Lord who hath His servants bidden To seek with eyes new-born This swift and unimaginable byway Unto the hills of morn.

{158}.

'The Pedlar's Song'

I tramped among the townward throng A sultry summer's morn: They mocked me loud, they mocked me long, They laughed my pack to scorn.

But a likely pedlar holds his peace Until the reckoning's told:-- Merrily I to market went, tho' songs were all my gold.

At weary noon I left the town, I left the highway straight, I climbed the silent, sunlit down And stood by a castle gate.

Never yet was a house too high When the pedlar's heart was bold:-- Merrily I to market went, tho' songs were all my gold.

A lady leaned from her window there And asked my wares to see; Her voice made rich the summer air, Richer my soul in me.

She gave me only four little words, Words of a language old:-- Merrily I from market came, for all my songs were sold.