The Destroyer

Our clasp too firm for aught to sever,
I swore to hold thee, love, for ever.
Last height of all my life's endeavour !

A child may laughing homeward run,
With snow-wreath frail hands closed upon,
But opening them he finds it gone !

I press thee close, I feel thine hand ;
My spirit can, nor will, command
A thought that in this lovelit land.

Within the heart of ferns and flowers,
That mantle round these feet of ours,
A subtle exhalation cowers,

To breathe unseen a fatal breath.
And sure, though slowly, to unwreathe
Locked hands that would not loose till death.

Yet lurks miasma in the air.
However seeming pure and fair,
For tainted spirits everywhere.

And we, foam-globes the sunlight strews
With iridescent moment hues,
While to the flood new strength accrues !

My child, must our sweet love go by?
We foambeads fleeting, you and I ?
Ah ! turn we now with tearful eye

To that Divine Man who alone
Stream taintless from the spring hath flown,
Who feels the Father's will his own ;

And so his name as Saviour gave.
In teaching faith and love shall save
And bloom their full beyond the grave !

For long our holiday extends.
It seems when first we visit friends
Beloved, but all too soon it ends !

So brief the life of holiest mirth,
For what to us this teeming earth,
If love's cold ashes choke the hearth ?

And since 'tis gloaming infinite
All round our solitary light,
What end would thy desire invite ?

— That when the shadows nearer press
From forth the outer loneliness—
If they could make love's watchfire less,

Till we numb cowering, even we !
Half- vacant note the encroaching grey
On those red brands — it ne'er can be !

Or as we two love's vigil keep,
If unaware night's fingers creep
About one heart to still its leap —

We leaning close might nestle so
O'er both the numbing night must flow :
And so the last each soul shall know

Will be the sister spirit nigh,
What last swims near each filming eye
The one dear face — and so to die !

Then if below the ghostly rim
There lives a day that grows not dim,
We trample on the boast of Time !

If one had stayed, that friendly art
Accurst might soothe and heal — and part-
But now we go locked heart to heart !

Ah, rave not, poor blind human pride !
For is not Love Divine the guide ?
Come, let us kneel then side by side !