Love's Lady

To-day, as when we sat together close,
A great wind wakes and thunders as it blows, —
We were together then beside the sea.
And now instead the sea between us flows.

O day that found us on that wind-swept coast,
And did such brave things for the future boast, —
Though in thy voice a note of warning was, —
This day, so like thee, seems thy very ghost!

O parted, precious, memorable days,
AVhen sudden summer kindled all my ways,
When Love reached out his blessing "hand to me,
And turned on mine the glory of his face!

And thou, my Love, in whose deep soul my soul
Lay for a little season and grew whole, —
Thou who wert heat and light and sun and shade, -
Thou who didst lead me to Life's fairest goal;

Whose sweetest lips Love, kissing, made to sing, —
Ah, at what bright unfathomable spring
Was thy life nurtured, in the far-off land
Through which the unborn host go wandering?

In stately body God thy soul did clothe, —
Thy perfect soul, — that so thou might'st have both
To take away the hearts of men, withal;
And tenderness to strength He did betroth;

And in thy beautiful and luminous eyes
The wayward changefulness of April skies
He set for sovereign charm; and made thy voice
A sweet and a perpetual surprise.

Alas, what song of mine can demonstrate
The love that came between me and my fate, —
That would have saved me from despair and Doom
Had Destiny but been compassionate?

As high as Heaven it was, deep as the sea,
And mystical and pure as lilies be.
And glowing with the glory of the June,
When birds and flowers and light make revelry.

Steadfast it was, as stars whereby men steer;
Tender as twilight, when the moon is near,
And all the gentle air is warm with hope.
And we the Summer's hastening feet can hear.

How can my single, singing strength suffice
To worship thee, my Love, my Paradise?
My song falls weak before thee, and abashed.
Nor ever to thy spirit's height may rise;

Yet even by its failure men shall see
How more than all loves was my love of thee, —
Thou, who didst overflow my life with Heaven,
Making that life Love's miracle to be!

And, though my little note of music pass
As barren breath one breathes upon a glass.
And I be numbered with the numberless throng
Of whom men say not, even, " This man was,"

Oh, yet, from thee, in whom all beauty blent,
My Rose of women, from thy heart there went —
From thy deep, splendid, perfect, passionate heart —
A love to be, in death, my monument!