Part 5 (1/2)

1.

The shadows fallen of years are nine Since heaven grew seven times more divine With thy soul entering, and the dearth Of souls on earth Grew sevenfold sadder, wanting One Whose light of life, quenched here and done, Burns there eternal as the sun.

2.

Beyond all word, beyond all deed, Beyond all thought beloved, what need Has death or love that speech should be, Hast thou of me?

I had no word, no prayer, no cry, To praise or hail or mourn thee by, As when thou too wast man as I.

3.

Nay, never, nor as any born Save one whose name priests turn to scorn, Who haply, though we know not now, Was man as thou, A wanderer branded with men's blame, Loved past man's utterance: yea, the same, Perchance, and as his name thy name.

4.

Thou wast as very Christ--not he Degraded into Deity, And priest-polluted by such prayer As poisons air, Tongue-wors.h.i.+p of the tongue that slays, False faith and parricidal praise: But the man crowned with suffering days.

5.

G.o.d only, being of all mankind Most manlike, of most equal mind And heart most perfect, more than can Be heart of man Once in ten ages, born to be As haply Christ was, and as we Knew surely, seeing, and wors.h.i.+pped thee.

6.

To know thee--this at least was ours, G.o.d, clothed upon with human hours, O face beloved, O spirit adored, Saviour and lord!

That wast not only for thine own Redeemer--not of these alone But all to whom thy word was known.

7.

Ten years have wrought their will with me Since last my words took wing for thee Who then wast even as now above Me, and my love.

As then thou knewest not scorn, so now With that beloved benignant brow Take these of him whose light wast thou.

_FOR A PORTRAIT OF FELICE ORSINI._

Steadfast as sorrow, fiery sad, and sweet With underthoughts of love and faith, more strong Than doubt and hate and all ill thoughts which throng, Haply, round hope's or fear's world-wandering feet That find no rest from wandering till they meet Death, bearing palms in hand and crowns of song; His face, who thought to vanquish wrong with wrong, Erring, and make rage and redemption meet, Havoc and freedom; weaving in one weft Good with his right hand, evil with his left; But all a hero lived and erred and died; Looked thus upon the living world he left So bravely that with pity less than pride Men hail him Patriot and Tyrannicide.

_EVENING ON THE BROADS._

Over two shadowless waters, adrift as a pinnace in peril, Hangs as in heavy suspense, charged with irresolute light, Softly the soul of the sunset upholden awhile on the sterile Waves and wastes of the land, half repossessed by the night.

Inland glimmer the shallows asleep and afar in the breathless Twilight: yonder the depths darken afar and asleep.

Slowly the semblance of death out of heaven descends on the deathless Waters: hardly the light lives on the face of the deep-- Hardly, but here for awhile. All over the grey soft shallow Hover the colours and clouds of the twilight, void of a star.

As a bird unfledged is the broad-winged night, whose winglets are callow Yet, but soon with their plumes will she cover her brood from afar, Cover the brood of her worlds that c.u.mber the skies with their blossom Thick as the darkness of leaf-shadowed spring is enc.u.mbered with flowers.

World upon world is enwound in the bountiful girth of her bosom, Warm and l.u.s.trous with life lovely to look on as ours.

Still is the sunset adrift as a spirit in doubt that dissembles Still with itself, being sick of division and dimmed by dismay-- Nay, not so; but with love and delight beyond pa.s.sion it trembles, Fearful and fain of the night, lovely with love of the day: Fain and fearful of rest that is like unto death, and begotten Out of the womb of the tomb, born of the seed of the grave: Lovely with shadows of loves that are only not wholly forgotten, Only not wholly suppressed by the dark as a wreck by the wave.

Still there linger the loves of the morning and noon, in a vision Blindly beheld, but in vain: ghosts that are tired, and would rest.

But the glories beloved of the night rise all too dense for division, Deep in the depth of her breast sheltered as doves in a nest.

Fainter the beams of the loves of the daylight season enkindled Wane, and the memories of hours that were fair with the love of them fade: Loftier, aloft of the lights of the sunset stricken and dwindled, Gather the signs of the love at the heart of the night new-made.

New-made night, new-born of the sunset, immeasurable, endless, Opens the secret of love hid from of old in her heart, In the deep sweet heart full-charged with faultless love of the friendless Spirits of men that are eased when the wheels of the sun depart.