Part 7 (1/2)

Nothing is left. Aye, how much less than naught!

What shall be said or thought Of the slack hours and waste imaginings, The cynic rending of the wings, Known to that froward, that unreckoning heart Whereof this brewage was the precious part, Treasured and set away with furtive boast?

O dear and cruel ghost, Be merciful, be just!

See, I was yours and I am in the dust.

Then look not so, as if all things were well!

Take your eyes from me, leave me to my shame, Or else, if gaze they must, Steel them with judgment, darken them with blame; But by the ways of light ineffable You bade me go and I have faltered from, By the low waters moaning out of h.e.l.l Whereto my feet have come, Lay not on me these intolerable Looks of rejoicing love, of pride, of happy trust!

Nothing dismayed?

By all I say and all I hint not made Afraid?

O then, stay by me! Let These eyes afflict me, cleanse me, keep me yet, Brave eyes and true!

See how the shrivelled heart, that long has lain Dead to delight and pain, Stirs, and begins again To utter pleasant life, as if it knew The wintry days were through; As if in its awakening boughs it heard The quick, sweet-spoken bird.

Strong eyes and brave, Inexorable to save!

Tears. [Lizette Woodworth Reese]

When I consider Life and its few years -- A wisp of fog betwixt us and the sun; A call to battle, and the battle done Ere the last echo dies within our ears; A rose choked in the gra.s.s; an hour of fears; The gusts that past a darkening sh.o.r.e do beat; The burst of music down an unlistening street, -- I wonder at the idleness of tears.

Ye old, old dead, and ye of yesternight, Chieftains, and bards, and keepers of the sheep, By every cup of sorrow that you had, Loose me from tears, and make me see aright How each hath back what once he stayed to weep: Homer his sight, David his little lad!

The Sea-Lands. [Orrick Johns]

Would I were on the sea-lands, Where winds know how to sting; And in the rocks at midnight The lost long murmurs sing.

Would I were with my first love To hear the rush and roar Of spume below the doorstep And winds upon the door.

My first love was a fair girl With ways forever new; And hair a sunlight yellow, And eyes a morning blue.

The roses, have they tarried Or are they dun and frayed?

If we had stayed together, Would love, indeed, have stayed?

Ah, years are filled with learning, And days are leaves of change!