O, the shadows that fleet o’er the springing wheat! O, the magic of running water! The spirit of spring is in every thing, The banners of spring are streaming, We march to a tune from the fifes of June, And life’s a dream worth dreaming.

It’s all very well to sit and spell At the lesson there’s no gainsaying; But what the deuce are wont and use When the whole mad world’s a-maying? When the meadow glows, and the orchard snows, And the air’s with love-motes teeming, When fancies break, and the senses wake, O, life’s a dream worth dreaming!

What Nature has writ with her lusty wit Is worded so wisely and kindly That whoever has dipped in her manuscript Must up and follow her blindly. Now the summer prime is her blithest rhyme In the being and the seeming, And they that have heard the overword Know life’s a dream worth dreaming.

1878

XXXIV—To K. de M.

 

Love blows as the wind blows, Love blows into the heart. - Nile Boat-Song

 

Life in her creaking shoes Goes, and more formal grows, A round of calls and cues: Love blows as the wind blows. Blows! … in the quiet close As in the roaring mart, By ways no mortal knows Love blows into the heart.

The stars some cadence use, Forthright the river flows, In order fall the dews, Love blows as the wind blows: Blows! … and what reckoning shows The courses of his chart? A spirit that comes and goes, Love blows into the heart.

1878

XXXV—I. M.—MARGARITAE SORORI (1886)

 

A late lark twitters from the quiet skies; And from the west, Where the sun, his day’s work ended, Lingers as in content, There falls on the old, grey city An influence luminous and serene, A shining peace.

The smoke ascends In a rosy-and-golden haze. The spires Shine, and are changed. In the valley Shadows rise. The lark sings on. The sun, Closing his benediction, Sinks, and the darkening air Thrills with a sense of the triumphing night - Night with her train of stars And her great gift of sleep.

So be my passing! My task accomplished and the long day done, My wages taken, and in my heart Some late lark singing, Let me be gathered to the quiet west, The sundown splendid and serene, Death.

1876

XXXVI

 

I gave my heart to a woman - I gave it her, branch and root. She bruised, she wrung, she tortured, She cast it under foot.

Under her feet she cast it, She trampled it where it fell, She broke it all to pieces, And each was a clot of hell.

There in the rain and the sunshine They lay and smouldered long; And each, when again she viewed them, Had turned to a living song.

 

XXXVII—To W. A.

 

Or ever the knightly years were gone With the old world to the grave, I was a King in Babylon And you were a Christian Slave.

I saw, I took, I cast you by, I bent and broke your pride. You loved me well, or I heard them lie, But your longing was denied. Surely I knew that by and by You cursed your gods and died.

And a myriad suns have set and shone Since then upon the grave Decreed by the King in Babylon To her that had been his Slave.

The pride I trampled is now my scathe, For it tramples me again. The old resentment lasts like death, For you love, yet you refrain. I break my heart on your hard unfaith, And I break my heart in vain.

Yet not for an hour do I wish undone The deed beyond the grave, When I was a King in Babylon And you were a Virgin Slave.

 

XXXVIII

 

On the way to Kew, By the river old and gray, Where in the Long Ago We laughed and loitered so, I met a ghost to-day, A ghost that told of you - A ghost of low replies And sweet, inscrutable eyes Coming up from Richmond As you used to do.

By the river old and gray, The enchanted Long Ago Murmured and smiled anew. On the way to Kew, March had the laugh of May, The bare boughs looked aglow, And old, immortal words Sang in my breast like birds, Coming up from Richmond As I used with you.

With the life of Long Ago Lived my thought of you. By the river old and gray Flowing his appointed way As I watched I knew What is so good to know - Not in vain, not in vain, Shall I look for you again Coming up from Richmond On the way to Kew.

 

XXXIX

 

The Past was goodly once, and yet, when all is said, The best of it we know is that it’s done and dead.

Dwindled and faded quite, perished beyond recall, Nothing is left at last of what one time was all.

Coming back like a ghost, staring and lingering on, Never a word it speaks but proves it dead and gone.

Duty and work and joy—these things it cannot give; And the Present is life, and life is good to live.

Let it lie where it fell, far from the living sun, The Past that, goodly once, is gone and dead and done.

 

XL

 

The spring, my dear, Is no longer spring. Does the blackbird sing What he sang last year? Are the skies the old Immemorial blue? Or am I, or are you, Grown cold?

Though life be change, It is hard to bear When the old sweet air Sounds forced and strange. To be out of tune, Plain You and I … It were better to die, And soon!

 

XLVI—To R. A. M. S.

 

The Spirit of Wine Sang in my glass, and I listened With love to his odorous music, His flushed and magnificent song.

- ‘I am health, I am heart, I am life! For I give for the asking The fire of my father, the Sun, And the strength of my mother, the Earth. Inspiration in essence, I am wisdom and wit to the wise, His visible muse to the poet, The soul of desire to the lover, The genius of laughter to all.

‘Come, lean on me, ye that are weary! Rise, ye fainthearted and doubting! Haste, ye that lag by the way! I am Pride, the consoler; Valour and Hope are my henchmen; I am the Angel of Rest.

‘I am life, I am wealth, I am fame: For I captain an army Of shining and generous dreams; And mine, too, all mine, are the keys Of that secret spiritual shrine, Where, his work-a-day soul put by, Shut in with his saint of saints - With his radiant and conquering self - Man worships, and talks, and is glad.

‘Come, sit with me, ye that are lovely, Ye that are paid with disdain, Ye that are chained and would soar! I am beauty and love; I am friendship, the comforter; I am that which forgives and forgets.’ -

The Spirit of Wine Sang in my heart, and I triumphed In the savour and scent of his music, His magnetic and mastering song.

 

XLII

 

A wink from Hesper, falling Fast in the wintry sky, Comes through the even blue, Dear, like a word from you … Is it good-bye?

Across the miles between us I send you sigh for sigh. Good-night, sweet friend, good-night: Till life and all take flight, Never good-bye.

 

XLII

 

Friends … old friends … One sees how it ends. A woman looks Or a man tells lies, And the pleasant brooks And the quiet skies, Ruined with brawling And caterwauling, Enchant no more As they did before. And so it ends With friends.

Friends … old friends … And what if it ends? Shall we dare to shirk What we live to learn? It has done its work, It has served its turn; And, forgive and forget Or hanker and fret, We can be no more As we were before. When it ends, it ends With friends.

Friends … old friends … So it breaks, so it ends. There let it rest! It has fought and won, And is still the best That either has done. Each as he stands The work of its hands, Which shall be more As he was before? … What is it ends With friends?

 

XLIV

 

If it should come to be, This proof of you and me, This type and sign Of hours that smiled and shone, And yet seemed dead and gone As old-world wine:

Of Them Within the Gate Ask we no richer fate, No boon above, For girl child or for boy, My gift of life and joy, Your gift of love.

 

XLV—To W.