Or, Hypocrisy Detected

Thus says the prophet of the Turk —
Good mussulman, abstain from pork;
There is a part in ev'ry swine
No friend or follower of mine
May taste, whate'er his inclination,
On pain of excommunication.
Such Mahomet's mysterious charge,
And thus he left the point at large.
[Had he the sinful part express'd,
They might with safety eat the rest;
But for one piece they thought it hard
From the whole hog to be debarr'd,
And set their wit at work to find

I seek among the living & I seek
Among the dead for some to love; but few
I find at last & these have quite run through
Their store of love & friendship is too weak
And cold for me; yet will I never speak
Telling my heart want to cold listeners who
Will wonder smiling; I can bear & do
No tears shall sully my unfurrowed cheek
So when my dust shall mix with other dust
When I shall have found quiet in decay
And lie at ease & cease to be & rot
Those whom I love thinking of me shall not

How blest the youth whom Fate ordains
A kind relief from all his pains,
In some admired fair;
Whose tend'rest wishes find express'd
Their own resemblance in her breast
Exactly copied there.

What good soe'er the Gods dispense,
Th' enjoyment of its influence
Still on her love depends;
Her love the shield that guards his heart,
Or wards the blow, or blunts the dart,
That peevish Fortune sends.

Thus, Delia, while thy love endures,
The flame my happy breast secures
From Fortune's fickle pow'r;

I

You love all, you say,
 Round, beneath, above me:
Find me then some way
 Better than to love me,
Me, too, dearest May!

II

O world-kissing eyes
 Which the blue heavens melt to;
I, sad, overwise,
 Loathe the sweet looks dealt to
All things—men and flies.

III

You love all, you say:
 Therefore, Dear, abate me
Just your love, I pray!
 Shut your eyes and hate me—
Only me —fair May!

No hope in life; yet is there hope
In death, the threshold of man's scope:
Man yearneth (as the heliotrope

For ever seeks the sun) thro' light
Thro' dark for Love: all read aright
Is Love for Love is infinite.

Shall not this infinite Love suffice
To feed thy dearth? Lift heart and eyes
Up to the hills, grow glad and wise.

The hills are glad because the sun
Kisses their round tops every one
Where silver fountains laugh and run:

Smooth pebbles shine beneath; beside
The grass, mere green, grows myriad-eyed

Oh for my love, my only love,
Oh for my lost love far away! —
Oh that the grass were green above
Her head or mine this weary day: —
The grass green in the morning grey.

She lies down in a foreign land
And in a foreign land doth rise.
I cannot hold her by the hand;
I cannot read her speaking eyes
That turned mere spoken words to lies.

This is the bough she leaned upon
And watched the rose deep western sky,
For the last sun rays almost gone:
I did not hear the wind pass by,
Nor stream; I only heard her sigh.

I

I CLASSED , appraising once,
Earth's lamentable sounds, — the welladay,
The jarring yea and nay,
The fall of kisses on unanswering clay,
The sobbed farewell, the welcome mournfuller, —
But all did leaven the air
With a less bitter leaven of sure despair
Than these words — " I loved ONCE ."

II

When we can all so excellently give
The measure of love's wisdom with a blow, —
Why can we not in turn receive it so,
And end this murmur for the life we live?
And when we do so frantically strive
To win strange faith, why do we shun to know
That in love's elemental over-glow
God's wholeness gleams with light superlative?

Oh, brother men, if you have eyes at all,
Look at a branch, a bird, a child, a rose,
Or anything God ever made that grows, —
Nor let the smallest vision of it slip,
Till you may read, as on Belshazzar's wall,

DEDICATION TO THE Nursery " A LICE ," 1889

A Mother's breast:
Safe refuge from her childish fears,
From childish troubles, childish tears,
Mists that enshroud her dawning years!
See how in sleep she seems to sing
A voiceless psalm — an offering
Raised, to the glory of her King,
In Love: for Love is Rest.

A Darling's kiss:
Dearest of all the signs that fleet
From lips that lovingly repeat
Again, again, their message sweet!
Full to the brim with girlish glee,
A child, a very child is she,

Around my lonely hearth, to-night,
Ghostlike the shadows wander:
Now here, now there, a childish sprite,
Earthborn and yet as angel bright,
Seems near me as I ponder.

Gaily she shouts: the laughing air
Echoes her note of gladness —
Or bends herself with earnest care
Round fairy-fortress to prepare
Grim battlement or turret-stair —
In childhood's merry madness!

New raptures still hath youth in store.
Age may but fondly cherish
Half-faded memories of yore —
Up, craven heart! repine no more!