Part 22 (1/2)

She seemed a wind of music pa.s.sing on.

Alone I saw her that one day Stand in the window of my life.

Her sudden hand melted away Under my lips, and without strife I held her in my arms awhile And drew into my lips her living smile, --

Now many a day ago and year!

Since when I dream and lie awake In summer nights to feel her near, And from the heavy darkness break Glitters, till all my spirit swims And her hand hovers on my shaking limbs.

If once again before I die I drank the laughter of her mouth And quenched my fever utterly, I say, and should it cost my youth, 'T were well! for I no more should wait Hammering midnight on the doors of fate.

Love knocks at the Door. [John Hall Wheelock]

In the pain, in the loneliness of love, To the heart of my sweet I fled.

I knocked at the door of her living heart, ”Let in -- let in --” I said.

”What seek you here?” the voices cried, ”You seeker among the dead” -- ”Herself I seek, herself I seek, Let in -- let in!” I said.

They opened the door of her living heart, But the core thereof was dead.

They opened the core of her living heart -- A worm at the core there fed.

”Where is my sweet, where is my sweet?”

”She is gone away, she is fled.

Long years ago she fled away, She will never return,” they said.

The Candle and the Flame. [George Sylvester Viereck]

Thy hands are like cool herbs that bring Balm to men's hearts, upon them laid; Thy lovely-petalled lips are made As any blossom of the spring.

But in thine eyes there is a thing, O Love, that makes me half afraid.

For they are old, those eyes . . . They gleam Between the waking and the dream With antique wisdom, like a bright Lamp strangled by the temple's veil, That beckons to the acolyte Who prays with trembling lips and pale In the long watches of the night.

They are as old as Life. They were When proud Gomorrah reared its head A new-born city. They were there When in the places of the dead Men swathed the body of the Lord.

They visioned Pa-wak raise the wall Of China. They saw Carthage fall And marked the grim Hun lead his horde.

There is no secret anywhere Nor any joy or shame that lies Not writ somehow in those child-eyes Of thine, O Love, in some strange wise.

Thou art the lad Endymion, And that great queen with spice and myrrh From Araby, whom Solomon Delighted, and the l.u.s.t of her.

The legions marching from the sea With Caesar's cohorts sang of thee, How thy fair head was more to him Than all the land of Italy.

Yea, in the old days thou wast she Who lured Mark Antony from home To death and Egypt, seeing he Lost love when he lost Rome.