Come not very Soon, Love

So many human lives intense
Dwindled long to an influence,
Pervading flower and tower and tree
With a hallowed melancholy !

All honour would the abbot claim ;
To-day you scarce may read his name,
Once gleamed over with altar-flame,
Though you may note a crosier
On worn grey marble in a blur !
This lovely place is a very shrine.
Where reverent spirits all incline
Defore the mystery Divine . . .

. . . But, lo ! upon the apsidal wall,
Unseen till now, a monster scrawl —
Some graceless living creature's name
Sprawling portentous, and the same.
When you look nearer, far and nigh
Defiling all the sanctuary !
Ah! many a life's all-hallowed spot.
Deep with dewy forget-me-not ;
Many a heart's elysian bower.
Dearly alive with passion-flower.
Knows the intrusion of a stare,
Keels foul feet of a common care :
" Mene, mene," scrawled with fire.
Insults our saintliest desire ;
Our holiest hopes are desecrate
With the world till they lie desolate !
Yea, many a shrine
Where souls incline
Lies waste like Allerheiligen !
Come not very soon, love,
To the quiet place ;
Let it be in June, love,
In the grace

Of a summer day,
Very calm and fair,
Let our Mabel play
Merry there !

Look between the trees, love,
Into airy bloom,
When t'ae summer breeze
Wafts the fume

Of many a summer flower ;
Songs from near the nest ;
My memory shall have power
To invest

Earth with subtler grace, love,
And a rarer joy ;
Who knew me face to face,
From a boy.

I would not have thee weep
Hopeless in thy woe ;
Only from my sleep
Let there flow

Through the summer light
Shadow of a loss,
Mellowing delight
In my mound of moss !

For the land revealed
All her heart to me.
Nor will keep concealed
Aught from thee. . . .

Now my fault may stain not
Cheek of thine with tears ;
Bloom of love may wane not,
Envied of the years.

Gaze into the distance ;
Mellow lies the earth ;
God with sweet insistence
Held our hand from birth ;

Led us from the far light,
Where He only knows.
From the silent starlight,
Where the souls repose.

He from everlasting
Led us docile here,
Joined our hands unhasting ;
Now recalls me, dear !

Darling, He is yonder
Wheresoe'er I go ;
Life nor death may sunder
From his heart I know.

Therefore, do not weep, love ;
He is calling home ;
Still the day is deep, love :
In the evening come !