Part 32 (1/2)

[A] Steven, a voice; old word revived.

VI.

DIFFIDENCE.

I cannot deck my thought in proud attire, Or make it fit for thee in any dress, Or sing to thee the songs of thy desire, In summer's heat, or by the winter's fire, Or give thee cause to comfort or to bless.

For I have scann'd mine own unworthiness And well I know the weakness of the lyre Which I have striven to sway to thy caress.

Yet must I quell my tears and calm the smart Of my vext soul, and steadfastly emerge From lonesome thoughts, as from the tempest's surge.

I must control the beating of my heart, And bid false pride be gone, who, with his art, Has press'd, too long, a suit I dare not urge.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

VII.

FAIRIES.

Glory endures when calumny hath fled; And fairies show themselves, in friendly guise, To all who hold a trust beyond the dead, And all who pray, albeit so worldly-wise, With cheerful hearts or wildly-weeping eyes.

They come and go when children are in bed To gladden them with dreams from out the skies And sanctify all tears that they have shed!

Fairies are wing'd for wandering to and fro.

They live in legends; they survive the Greeks.

Wisdom is theirs; they live for us and grow, Like things ambrosial, fairer than the freaks Of signs and seasons which the poets know, Or fires of sunset on the mountain-peaks.

VIII.

SPIRIT LOVE.

How great my joy! How grand my recompense!

I bow to thee; I keep thee in my sight.

I call thee mine, in love though not in sense I share with thee the hermitage immense Of holy dreams which come to us at night, When, through the medium of the spirit-lens We see the soul, in its primeval light, And Reason spares the hopes it cannot blight.

It is the soul of thee, and not the form, And not the face, I yearn-to in my sleep.

It is thyself. The body is the storm, The soul the star beyond it in the deep Of Nature's calm. And yonder on the steep The Sun of Faith, quiescent, round, and warm!

IX.

AFTER TWO DAYS.

Another night has turned itself to day, Another day has melted into eve, And lo! again I tread the measured way Of word and thought, the twain to interweave, As flowers absorb the rays that they receive.