Part 12 (2/2)

Where is her laughter now? Old tarnished covers-- You that reflect her with fresh young face unchanged-- Tell that we met, that we parted, not as lovers; Time, chance, brought us together, and these estranged.

Loyal were we to the mood of the moment granted, Bruised not its bloom, but danced on the wave of its joy; Pa.s.sion--wisdom--fell back like a fence enchanted, Ringing a floor for us both--whole Heaven for the boy!

Where is she now? Regretted not, though departed, Blessings attend and follow her all her days!

--Look to your hound: he dreams of the hares he started, Whines, and awakes, and stretches his limbs to the blaze.

Far old friend in the Manse, by the green ash peeling Flake by flake from the heat in the Yule log's core, Look past the woman you love. On wall and ceiling Climbs not a trellis of roses--and ghosts--of yore?

Thoughts, thoughts! Whistle them back like hounds returning-- Mark how her needles pause at a sound upstairs.

Time for bed, and to leave the log's heart burning!

Give ye good-night, but first thank G.o.d in your prayers!

THE ROOT

Deep, Love, yea, very deep.

And in the dark exiled, I have no sense of light but still to creep And know the breast, but not the eyes. Thy child Saw ne'er his mother near, nor if she smiled; But only feels her weep.

Yet clouds and branches green There be aloft, somewhere, And winds, and angel birds that build between, As I believe--and I will not despair; For faith is evidence of things not seen.

Love! if I could be there!

I will be patient, dear.

Perchance some part of me Puts forth aloft and feels the rus.h.i.+ng year And shades the bird, and is that happy tree Then were it strength to serve and not appear, And bliss, though blind, to be.

TO A FRIEND WHO SENT ME A BOX OF VIOLETS

Nay, more than violets These thoughts of thine, friend!

Rather thy reedy brook-- Taw's tributary-- At midnight murmuring, Descried them, the delicate Dark-eyed G.o.ddesses, There by his cressy bed Dissolved and dreaming Dreams that distilled into dew All the purple of night, All the s.h.i.+ne of a planet.

Whereat he whispered; And they arising--

Of day's forget-me-nots The duskier sisters-- Descended, relinquished The orchard, the trout-pool, Torridge and Tamar, The Druid circles, Sheepfolds of Dartmoor, Granite and sandstone; By Roughtor, Dozmare, Down the vale of the Fowey Moving in silence, Brus.h.i.+ng the nightshade By bridges cyclopean, By Trevenna, Treverbyn, Lawharne and Largin, By Glynn, Lanhydrock, Restormel, Lostwithiel, Dark wood, dim water, dreaming town; Down the vale of the Fowey To the tidal water Was.h.i.+ng the feet Of fair St Winnow-- Each, in her exile Musing the message, Pa.s.sed, as the starlit Shadow of Ruth from the land of the Moabite.

So they came, Valley-born, valley-nurtured-- Came to the tideway The jetties, the anchorage, The salt wind piping, Snoring in Equinox, By s.h.i.+ps at anchor, By quays tormented, Storm-bitten streets; Came to the Haven Crying, ”Ah, shelter us, The strayed amba.s.sadors, Love's lost legation On a comfortless coast!”

Nay, but a little sleep, A little folding Of petals to the lull Of quiet rainfalls-- Here in my garden, In angle sheltered From north and east wind-- Softly shall recreate The courage of charity, Henceforth not to me only Breathing the message.

Clean-breath'd Sirens!

Hencefore the mariner.

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