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- A Lover's Diary, Volume 2. - 5/7 -

And what shall guide us to our destiny?"


The prescience of dreams struck walls away From mortal fact, and mortal fact revealed, With myriad voices, potencies concealed In the dim birth-place of a coming day.

Even as a blind man's fingers wander o'er His harpstrings, led by sound to dreams of sound, Till in his soul an eloquence profound Rises above the petulance and roar

Of the great globe: as in a rush of song From feathered throats, one, in a mighty wood, 'Mid sweet interpositions moves along

The avenues of some predestined good; So I, dream-nurtured, standing by the sea, Made levy on the wonders that should be.


And God is good, I said, and Art is good, And labour hath its rich reward of sleep; And recompense will come for all who keep Dishonour's ill contagion from the blood.

And over us there curves the infinite Blue heaven as a shield, and at the end We shall find One who loveth to befriend E'en those who faint for shame within His sight.

And down the awful passes of the sky There comes the voice that circumvents the gale; That makes the avalanche to pass us by,

And saith, "I overcome" to man's "I fail." "And peradventure now," said I, "the zest Of all existence waits on His behest."


But man's deliverances intervene Between the soul's swift speech and God's high will; That saith to tempests of the thought, "Be still!" And in life's lazaretto maketh clean

The leprous sense. Ah, who can find his way Among the many altars? Who can call Out perfect peace from any ritual, Or shelter find in systems of a day?

As one sees on some ancient urn, upthrown From out a tomb, records that none may read With like interpretation, and the stone

Retains its graven fealty to the dead: So, on the great palimpsest men have writ Such lines o'ercrossed that none interprets it.


What marvel that the soul of youth should cry, "Man builds his temples 'tween me and the face Of Him whom I would seek; I cannot trace His purpose in their shadow, nor descry

The wisdom absolute?" What marvel that, With yearning impotent, ay, impotent Beyond all measure! his full faith was spent, And for his soul there rose no Ararat?

Yet out upon the sun-drawn sensate sea Of elemental pain, there came a word As if from Him who travelled Galilee,

As fair as any Zion ever heard. The voice of Love spoke; Love, that writes its name On Life and Death-and then my lady came.


As light leaps up from star to star, so mounts Faith from one soul unto another; so The lower to the higher; till the flow Of knowledge rises from creation's founts;

Until from human love we come to know The august presence of the Love Divine; And feel the light unutterable shine Upon half-lights that we were wont to show,

Absorbing them. 'Tis Love that beckons us From low desires, from restlessness and sin, To heights that else we had not reached; and thus

We find the Heaven we dared not hope to win. How clearer seem designs immortal when Our lives are fed on Love's fine regimen


"It is no matter;"--thus the noble Dane, About his heart more ill than one could tell; Sad augury, that like a funeral bell Against his soul struck solemn notes of pain.

So 'gainst the deadly smother he could press With calm his lofty manhood; interpose Purpose divine, and at the last disclose For life's great shift a regnant readiness.

To-day I bought some matches in the street From one whose eyes had long since lost their sight. Trembling with palsy was he to his feet.

"Father," I said, "how fare you in the night?" "In body ill, but 'tis no matter, friend, Strong is my soul to keep me to the end."

DISTRUST not a woman nor a king--it availeth nothing. --Egyptian Proverb.

WHEN thou journeyest into the shadows, take not sweetmeats with thee, but a seed of corn and a bottle of tears and wine; that thou mayst have a garden in the land whither thou goeat. --Egyptian Proverb.


Once more, once more! That golden eventide! Golden within, without all cold and grey, Slowly you came forth from the troubled day, Singing my heart--you glided to my side;

You glided in; the same grave, quiet face, The same deep look, the never-ending light In your proud eyes, eyes shining through the night, That night of absence--distance--from your place.

Calm words, slow touch of hand, but, oh, the cry, The long, long cry of passion and of joy Within my heart; the star-burst in the sky--

The world--our world--which time may not destroy! Your world and mine, unutterably sweet: Dearest, once more, the old song at thy feet.


Dearest, once more! This I could tell and tell Till life turned drowsy with the ceaseless note; Dearest, once more! The words throb in my throat,

A Lover's Diary, Volume 2. - 5/7

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