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- A Lover's Diary, Volume 2. - 3/7 -

That thou and I must live our lives apart; I with a patient smother at my heart, And thy hand resting on a closed door?

What couldst thou ever ask me that I should Not bend me to achieve thy high behest? What cannot men achieve with lance in rest Who carry noble valour in their blood?

And some nobility of high emprise, Lady, couldst thou make possible in me; If living 'neath the pureness of thy eyes,

I found the key to inner majesty; And reaching outward, heart-strong, from thy hand, Set here and there a beacon in the land.


Not by my power alone, but thou and I Together thinking, working, loving on Achievement-wards, as all brave souls have gone, Perchance should find new star-drifts in the sky

That curves above humanity, and set Some new interpretation on life's page; Should serve the strivings of a widening age, And fashion wisdom from the social fret.

Deep did Time's lances go; thou pluck'st them forth, And on my sullen woundings laid the balm Of thy life's sweetness. Oh, let my love be worth

The keeping. My head beneath thy palm, Once more I lift Love's chalice to thine eyes: Not till thou blessest me will I arise.


Here, making count, at every step I see Something in her, like to a hidden thought Within my life, that long time I had sought, But never found till her soul spoke to me.

And if she said a thousand times, "I did Not call thee, thou cam'st seeking; not my voice Was it thou heard'st; thy love was not my choice!" I should straightway reply, "That of thee hid,

Even from thyself, lest it should startle thee, Hath called me, made me slave and king in one; And when the mists of Time shall rise, and we

Stand forth, it shall be said, Since Time begun Ye two were called as one from that high hill, Where the creating Master hath His will."


I have beheld a multitude stand still In such deep silence that a sudden pain Struck through the heart in sharing the tense strain, And all the world seemed bounded by one will.

But when precipitated on the sea Of human feeling was the incident That caught their wonder; then the skies were rent With quivering sound, with passion's liberty.

So have I stood before this parting day, With chilly fingers pressed upon my breast, That my heart burst not fleshen bands away,

And my sharp cry break through my lady's rest. I have shut burning eyelids on the sight Of this dread time that scorches my sad night.


Have I then found thee but to lose thee, friend? But touched thee ere thou vanished from my gaze? And when my soul is struggling from the maze Of many conflicts, must our converse end?

Across the empty space that now shall spread Between us, shall I never go to thee? Or thou, beloved, never come to me, Save but to whisper prayers above the dead?

Ah, cruel thought! Shall not Hope's convoy bear To thee the reinforcements of my love? Shall I not on thy white hand drop a tear

Of crowned joy, one day, where thou dost move In thy place regally; even as now I place my farewell token on thy brow?


And now when from the shore goes out the ship Wherein is set the treasure that I hold Closer than miser all his hidden gold, Dearer than wine Zeus carried to his lip;

My aching heart cries from its pent-up pain,-- "O Love, O Life, O more than life to me, How can I live without the surety Of thy sweet presence till we meet again!"

So like a wounded deer I came to thee, The arrow of mischance piercing my side; And through thy sorrow-healing ministry

I rose with strength, like giants in their pride. But now--but now--how shall I stand alone, Knowing the light, the hope of me is gone?


O brow, so fronted with a stately calm, O full completeness of true womanhood, O counsel, pleader for all highest good, Thou hast upon my sorrow poured thy balm!

Poor soldier he who did not raise his sword, And, touching with his lips the hilt-cross, swear In war or peace the livery to wear Of one that blessed him with her queenly word.

Most base crusader, who at night and morn Crying Dahin, thought not of her again From whose sweet power was his knighthood born,

For whom he quells the valiant Saracen. Shall I not, then, in the tumultuous place Of my life's warfare ever seek thy face?


Here count I over all the gentle deeds Which thou hast done; here summon I thy words, Sweeter to me than sweetest song of birds; That came like grace immortal to my needs.

Love's usury has reckoned such a sum Of my indebtedness, that I can make No lien large enough to overtake Its value--and before it I am dumb!

Yet, O my gracious, most kind creditor, I would not owe to thee one item less We cannot give the sun requital for

Its liberal light; our office is to bless. If blessings could be compassed by my prayer, High heaven should set star-gems in thy hair.


Last night I saw the warm white Southern moon

A Lover's Diary, Volume 2. - 3/7

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