(O Mother, Mary Mother, Most sad of all, between Hell and Heaven!) 280 "See, see, the wax has dropped from its place, Sister Helen, And the flames are winning up apace!" "Yet here they burn but for a space, Little brother!" (O Mother, Mary Mother, Here for a space, between Hell and Heaven!) 287 "Ah! what white thing at the door has cross'd, Sister Helen, Ah! what is this that sighs in the frost?" "A soul that's lost as mine is lost, 291 Little brother!" (O Mother, Mary Mother, Lost, lost, all lost, between Hell and Heaven!) When I made answer, I began: How many sweet thoughts and how much desire Led these two onward to the dolorous pass!" Then turned to them, as who would fain inquire, And said: "Francesca, these thine agonies SO Forever, kissed my mouth, all quivering. A Galahalt was the book, and he that writ: Upon that day we read no more therein.” At the tale told, while one soul uttered it, That I was seized, like death, in swooning- And even as a dead body falls, I fell. ON REFUSAL OF AID BETWEEN Not that the earth is changing, O my God! Beneath thine hand so many nations bow, To-day; because, for any wrongful blow, 10 No man not stricken asks, "I would be told Why thou dost thus:" but his heart whispers then, "He is he, I am I." By this we know That the earth falls asunder, being old. THE SONNET A Sonnet is a moment's monument, To one dead deathless hour. Look that it be, 1 the lover of Guinevere, King Arthur's queen 2 i.e., the book brought them together as he did Launcelot and Guinevere 30 When do I see thee most, beloved one? Or when in the dusk hours, (we two alone,) - II The ground-whirl of the perished leaves of The wind of Death's imperishable wing? LOVE-SWEETNESS Sweet dimness of her loosened hair's downfall In gracious fostering union garlanded; Her mouth's culled sweetness by thy kisses On cheeks and neck and eyelids, and so led Back to her mouth which answers there for all: What sweeter than these things, except the thing 1 the ferryman who in Greek mythology conveyed the spirits of the dead across the river Styx to Hades Was that the landmark? What, the foolish well Whose wave, low down, I did not stoop to drink, But sat and flung the pebbles from its brink In sport to send its imaged skies pell-mell, (And mine own image, had I noted well!) Was that my point of turning? — I had thought The stations of my course should rise unsought, As altar-stone or ensigned citadel. And thirst to drink when next I reach the spring ΙΟ Which once I stained, which since may have grown black. Yet though no light be left nor bird now sing As here I turn, I'll thank God, hastening, That the same goal is still on the same track. Eat thou and drink; to-morrow thou shalt Surely the earth, that's wise being very old, Thy sultry hair up from my face; that I Till round the glass thy fingers glow like We'll drown all hours: thy song, while Shall leap, as fountains veil the changing sky. My own high-bosomed beauty, who increase II Vain gold, vain lore, and yet might choose for their life was death, but cease; And round their narrow lips the mould falls close. Think thou and act; to-morrow thou shalt die. Outstretch'd in the sun's warmth upon the shore, Thou say'st: "Man's measured path is all gone o'er; Up all his years, steeply, with strain and sigh, Even I, am he whom it was destined for." much more Than they who sowed, that thou shouldst reap thereby? Nay, come up hither. From this wavewashed mound Unto the furthest flood-brim look with me; Then reach on with thy thought till it be drown'd. II Miles and miles distant though the last line be, And though thy soul sail leagues and leagues beyond, Still, leagues beyond those leagues, there is more sea. LOST DAYS The lost days of my life until to-day, What were they, could I see them on the street Lie as they fell? Would they be ears of wheat Sown once for food but trodden into clay? Or golden coins squandered and still to-pay? Or drops of blood dabbling the guilty feet? Or such spilt water as in dreams must cheat The undying throats of Hell, athirst alway? I do not see them here; but after death God knows I know the faces I shall see, 10 Each one a murdered self, with low last breath. "I am thyself, what hast thou done to me?" A SUPERSCRIPTION Look in my face; my name is Might-havebeen; I am also called No-more, Too-late, Farewell; Unto thine ear I hold the dead-sea shell Cast up thy Life's foam-fretted feet between ; Unto thine eyes the glass where that is seen Which had Life's form and Love's, but by my spell Is now a shaken shadow intolerable, Of ultimate things unuttered the frail screen. Mark me, how still I am! But should there dart One moment through thy soul the soft surprise ΙΟ Of that winged Peace which lulls the breath of sighs, Then shalt thou see me smile, and turn apart Thy visage to mine ambush at thy heart, Sleepless with cold commemorative eyes. THE ONE HOPE When vain desire at last and vain regret Shall Peace be still a sunk stream long un met, Or may the soul at once in a green plain Stoop through the spray of some sweet lifefountain |