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- A Lover's Diary, Volume 2. - 2/7 -

Trail back thy golden hair from thy broad brow, And raise thy lily neck like some tall tower, That recks not any strife nor any hour,

So it but holds its height, heeding not how. The noblest find their way o'er paths of ire To the clear summit of God's full desire."


I think in that far time when Gabriel came And gave short speech to Mary sweet and wise, That when the faint fear faded from her eyes, And they were filled up with a sudden flame

Of joy bewildering and wonderment; With reverence the angel in her palm Laid one white lily, dewy with the balm Of the Lord's garden; saying: "This is sent

For thine espousal, thou the undefiled; And it shall bloom till all be consummate." Lo, then he passed. She, musing where she sate,

Felt all her being moved in manner wondrous mild; Then, laying 'gainst her bosom the white flower, She bowed her head, and said, "It is God's dower."


Dreams, only dreams. They sprang from loneliness Of outer life; from innermost desire To reach the soul that now in golden fire Of cherished song I pray for and caress.

I wandered through the world with longing gaze, To find her who was my hope's parallel, That to her I might all my gospel tell Of changeless love, and bid her make appraise.

I knew that some day I should look within The ever-deepening distance of her eyes; For, in my dreams, from veiled Seraphim

Came one, as if in answer to my cries: And passing near me, pointed down the road That led me at the last to thy abode.


Into thy land of sunlight I have come, And live within thy presence, as a ray Of light lives in the brightness of the day; And find in thee my heaven and my home.

Yet what am I that thou shouldst ope the gate Of thy most sweet completeness; and should spend Rich values of thy life on me thy friend, For which I have no worthy duplicate!

Nay, lady, I no riches have to give; I have no name of honour, or the pride Of place, to priv'lege me to sit beside

Thee in thy kingdom, where thy graces live. Wilt thou not one day whisper, "You have climbed Beyond your merits; pray you, fall behind"?

Wish thy friend joy of his journey, but pray in secret that he have no joy, for then may he return quickly to thee. --Egyptian Proverb.


Divided by no act of thine or mine, Forever parted by a fatal deed, A fatal feud. Alas! when fathers bleed, The children shall fulfil the wild design.

A Montague hath killed a Capulet, A Capulet hath slain a Montague,-- Twin graves, twin sorrows, and oh, mad to-do Of vengeance! oh, dread entail of regret!

There lie they in their dark, self-chosen graves, And from them cries Hate's everlasting ghost,-- "Blood hath been shed, and Love and ye are slaves,

Time wrecks, and freedom drifts upon life's coast." Yet not for us the relish of that doom Which found a throne upon a Juliet's tomb.


We must live on; a deeper tragedy: To see, to touch, to know, and to desire; To feel in every vein the glorious fire Of Eden, and to cry, "Oh, to be free!"

To cry, "Oh, wipe the gloomy stain away, Thou who first raised the sword, Who gave the hilt Into the hand of man. This blood they spilt-- Our fathers--oh, blot out the bitter day!

Erase the hour from out Thy calendar, Turn back the hands upon the clock of Time, Oh, Artificer of destroying War--

Their righteous hate who bore us in our crime!" "Upon the children!"--'Tis the cold reply Of Him who makes to those who must not die.


Yet life is sweet. Thy soul hath breathed along, Thine eyes have cast their glory on the earth, Thy foot hath touched it, and thine hour of birth Didst give a new pulse to the veins of song.

Better to stand amid the toppling towers Of every valiant hope; a Samson's dream, Than the deep indolence of Lethe's stream, The loneliness of slow submerging hours.

Better, oh, better thus to see the wreck, And to have rocked to motion of the spheres; Better, oh, better to have trod the deck

Of hope, and sailed the unmanageable years- Ay, better to have paid the price, and known, Than never felt this tyrannous Alone!


Upon the disc of Love's bright planet fell A darkness yestereve, and from your lips I heard cold words; then came a swift eclipse Of joy at meeting on hope's it-is-well.

And if I spoke with sadness and with fear; If from your gentle coldness I drew back, And felt that I had lost the flowery track That led to peace in Love's sweet atmosphere:

It was because a woful dread possessed. My aching heart--the dread some evil star Had crossed the warm affection in your breast,

Had bade me stand apart from where you are. The world seemed breaking on my life; I heard The crash of sorrows in that chiding word.


It is not so, and so for evermore,

A Lover's Diary, Volume 2. - 2/7

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