Eacher - Love - We Bring In Our Hearts To Preach And Sing Week-Day Shade To Sabbath Glisten. 16 He, At Parting: Yes, To-Morrow. Early Morn. - When The House Of Day Uncloses Portals That The Stars Adorn, - Whence Light'S Golden Presence Throws His Fiery Lilies, Burning Roses On The World, - How Good To Ride With One'S Sweetheart At One'S Side! So To-Morrow We Will Ride To The Wood'S Cathedral Places; Where The Prayer-Like Wildflowers Hide, Sweet Religion In Their Faces; Where, In Truest, Untaught Phrases, Worship In Each Rhythmic Word, God Is Praised By Many A Bird. Look Above You. - Pearly White, Star On Star Now Crystallizes Out Of Darkness; And The Night Hangs Them Round Her Like Devices Of Strange Jewels. Vapour Rises, Glimmering, From Each Wood And Dell - Till To-Morrow, Then, Farewell. Part Iii Late Summer Heat Lightning Flickers In One Cloud, As In A Flow'R A Firefly; Some Rain-Drops, That The Rose-Bush Bowed, Jar Through The Leaves And Dimly Lie; Among The Trees, Now Low, Now Loud, The Whispering Breezes Sigh. The Place Is Lone; The Night Is Hushed; Upon The Path A Rose Lies Crushed. 1 Musing He Strolls Among The Quiet Lanes By Farm And Field. Now Rests The Season In Forgetfulness, Careless In Beauty Of Maturity; The Ripened Roses 'Round Brown Temples, She Fulfils Completion In A Dreamy Guess. Now Time Grants Night The More And Day The Less; The Gray Decides; And Brown Dim Golds And Drabs In Dulling Green Express Themselves And Redden As The Year Goes Down. Sadder The Fields Where, Thrusting Hoary High Their Tasseled Heads, The Lear-Like Corn-Stocks Die, And, Falstaff-Like, Buff-Bellied Pumpkins Lie. - Deeper To Tenderness, Sadder The Blue Of Hills That Lounge Along The Lonesome West; Sadder The Song Of The Wild Red-Bird In The Leafage Yellow. - Deeper And Dreamier, Ay! Than Woods Or Waters, Leans The Languid Sky Above Lone Orchards Where The Cider-Press Drips And The Russets Mellow. Nature Grows Liberal: From The Beechen Leaves The Beech-Nuts' Burs Their Little Pockets Thrust, Bulged With The Copper Of The Nuts That Rust; Above The Grass The Spendthrift Spider Weaves A Web Of Silver For Which Dawn Designs Thrice Twenty Rows Of Pearls; Beneath The Oak, That Rolls Old Roots In Many Gnarly Lines, - The Polished Acorns, From Their Saucers Broke, Strew Wildwood Agates. - On Sonorous Pines The Far Wind Organs, But The Forest Near Is Silent; And The Blue-White Smoke Of Burning Brush, Beyond That Field Of Hay, Hangs Like A Pillar In The Atmosphere; But Now It Shakes - It Breaks; And All The Vines And Tree-Tops Tremble; - See! The Wind Is Here! Billowing And Boisterous; And The Smiling Day Rejoices With Its Clamor. Earth And Sky Resound With Glory Of Its Majesty, Impetuous Splendor Of Its Rushing By. - But On Those Heights The Forest Yet Is Still, Expectant Of Its Coming. Far Away Each Anxious Tree Upon Each Waiting Hill Tingles Anticipation, As In Gray Surmise Of Rapture. Now The First Gusts Play, Like Little Laughs, About Their Rippling Spines; And Now The Wildwood, One Exultant Sway, Shouts - And The Light At Each Tumultuous Pause, The Light That Glooms And Shines, Seems Hands In Wild Applause. How Glows That Garden! Though The White Mists Keep The Vagabonding Flowers Reminded Of Decay That Comes To Slay In Open Love, When The Full Moon Hangs Cold And Night Is Deep; Unheeding Still, Their Happy Colors Leap And Laugh Encircled Of The Scythe Of Death, - Like Lovely Children He Prepares To Reap, - Staying His Blade A Breath To Mark Their Beauty Ere, With One Last Sweep, He Lays Them Dead And Turns Away To Weep. - Let Me Admire, - Ere Yet The Sickle Of The Coming Cold Has Mown Them Down, - Their Beauties Manifold: - How Like To Spurts Of Fire That Scarlet Salvia Lifts Its Blooms, Which Heap Yon Space Of Sunlight. And, As Sparkles Creep Through Charring Parchment, Up That Window'S Screen The Cypress Dots With Crimson All Its Green, The Haunt Of Many Bees. And, Showering Down Cascaded Lattices, That Nightshade Bleeds With Berries; Drops Of Blood, In Clusters Hanging 'Mid The Blue Monk'S-Hood. There In The Garden Old The Bright-Hued Clumps Of Zinnias Unfold Their Formal Flowers; And The Marigold Lifts Its Pinched Shred Of Orange Sunset Caught And Elfed In Petals. The Nasturtium, All Pungent Leaved And Bitter Of Perfume, Hangs Up Its Goblin Bonnet, Fairy Bought From Gnomeland. There, Predominant, Red, And Arrogant The Dahlia Lifts Its Head, Beside The Balsam'S Rosy Horns Of Honey, Within The Murmuring, Sunny Dry Wildness Of The Weedy Flower Bed; Where Crickets And The Weed-Bugs, Noon And Night, Sing Dirges For The Flowers That Soon Will Die, For Flowers Already Dead. - I Seem To Hear The Passing Summer Sigh; A Voice, That Seems To Weep, "Too Soon, Too Soon The Beautiful Passes By!" - If I Perchance Might Peep Beneath Those Leaves Of Podded Hollyhocks, That The Bland Wind With Odorous Whispers Rocks, I Might Behold Her, - White And Weary, - Summer, 'Mid Her Flowers Asleep, Her Drowsy Flowers Asleep, The Withered Poppies Knotted In Her Locks. 2 He Is Reminded Of Another Day With Her. The Hips Were Reddening On This Rose, Those Haws Were Hung With Fire, That Day We Went This Way That Goes Up Hills Of Bough And Brier. This Hooked Thorn Caught Her Gown And Seemed Imploring Her To Linger; Upon Her Hair A Sun-Ray Streamed Like Some Baptizing Finger. This False-Foxglove, So Golden Now With Yellow Blooms Like Bangles, Was Fading Then. But Yonder Bough, - The Sumach'S Plume Entangles, - Was Like An Indian'S Painted Face; And, Like A Squaw, Attended That Bush, In Vague Vermilion Grace With Beads Of Berries Splendid. And Here We Turned To Mount That Hill, Down Which The Wild Brook Tumbles; And, Like To-Day, That Day Was Still, And Soft Winds Swayed The Umbles Of These Wild Carrots Lawny Gray; And There, Deep-Dappled O'Er Us, An Orchard Stretched; And In Our Way Dropped Ripened Fruit Before Us. A Muffled Thud The Pippin Fell, And At Our Feet Rolled Dusty; A Hornet Clinging To Its Bell, The Pear Lay Bruised And Rusty. The Smell Of Pulpy Peach And Plum, From Which The Juice Oozed Yellow, Around Which Bees Made Sleepy Hum, Filled Warm The Air And Mellow. And Then We Came Where, Many Hued, The Wet Wild-Morning-Glory Hung Its Balloons In Shadows Dewed For Dawning'S Offertory. With Bush And Bramble, Far Away, Beneath Us Stretched The Valley, Cleft Of One Creek, As Clear As Day, That Bickered Musically. The Brown, The Bronze, The Green, The Red Of Weed And Brier Ran Riot To Walls Of Woods, Whose Vistas Led To Shadowy Nooks Of Quiet. Long Waves Of Feathering Golden-Rod Ran Through The Gray In Patches; As In A Cloud The Gold Of God Burns, That The Sunset Catches. And There, Above The Blue Hills, Rolled, Like Some Vast Conflagration, The Sunset, Flaming Rose And Gold, We Watched In Exultation. Then Turning Homeward, She And I Went In Love'S Sweet Derangement - How Different Now Seem Earth And Sky, Since This Undreamed Estrangement! 3 He Enters The Woods. He Sits Down Despondently. Here Where The Day Is Dimmest, And Silence Company, Some Might Find Sympathy For Loss, Or Grief The Grimmest, In Each Great-Hearted Tree - Here Where The Day Is Dimmest - But, Ah, There'S None For Me! In Leaves Might Find Communion, Returning Sigh For Sigh, For Love The Heavens Deny; The Love That Yearns For Union, Yet Parts And Knows Not Why. - In Leaves Might Find Communion - But, Ah, Not I, Not I! My Eyes With Tears Are Aching. - Why Has She Written Me? And Will No Longer See? - My Heart With Grief Is Breaking, With Grief That This Should Be - My Eyes With Tears Are Aching - Why Has She Written Me? 4 He Proceeds In The Direction Of A Stream. Better Is Death Than Sleep, Better For Tired Eyes. - Why Do We Weep And Weep When Near Us The Solace Lies? There In That Stream, That, Deep, - Reflecting Woods And Skies, - Could Comfort All Our Sighs. The Mystery Of Things, Of Dreams, Philosophies, 'Round Which The Mortal Clings, That Can Unriddle These. - What Is'T The Water Sings? What Is'T It Promises? - End To All Miseries! 5 He Seats Himself On A Rock And Gazes Steadily Into The Stream. And Here Alone I Sit And It Is So! - O Vales And Hills! O Valley Lands And Knobs! What Cure Have You For Woe? None That My Heart May Know! - The Wearying Sameness! - Yet This Thing Is So! - This Thing Is So, And Still The Waters Flow, The Leaves Drop Slowly Down; The Daylight Throbs With Sun And Wind, And Yet This Thing Is So! - Here, At This Culvert'S Mouth, The Shadowy Water, Flowing Towards The South, Seems Deepest, Stagnant-Stayed. - What Is There Yonder That Makes Me Afraid? - Of My Own Self Afraid? - What Is'T Below? What Power Draws Me To The Striate Stream? What Evil Or What Dream? - Me, Dropping Pebbles In The Quiet Wave, That Echoes, Strange As Music In A Cave, Hollow And Thin; Vibrating In The Shade Like Sound Of Tears - The Shadow Of Some Woe, An Ailing Phantom That Will Not Be Laid, Since This Is So, Since This Sad Thing Is So. There, In The Water, How The Lank Green Grass Mats Its Rank Blades, Each Blade A Crooked Kris, Making A Marsh; 'Mid Which The Currents Miss Their Rock-Born Melodies. But There, And There One Sees The Wide-Belled Mallow, As Within A Glass, Long-Pistiled, Leaning O'Er The Root-Contorted Shore, As If Its Own Pink Image It Would Kiss. And There The Tangled Wild-Potato Vine Lifts Conical Blossoms, Each A Cup Of Wine, As Pale As Moonlight Is. And There Tall Gipsy Lilies, All A-Sway, Their Savage, Coppery Faces, Fierce Of Hue, Dull Purple-Streaked, Bend In Inverted View. - And Where The Stream Around Those Rushes Creeps, The Dragon-Fly, In Endless Error, Keeps Sewing The Pale Gold Gown Of Day With Tangled Stitches Of A Burning Blue: Its Brilliant Body Seems A Needle Fine, A Thread Of Azure Ray. But Here Below Me Where My Pensive Shade Looks Up At Me, The Stale Stream Stagnant Lies, Deep, Dark, But Clear And Silent; Save The Hiss Of Bursting Bubbles In The Spawny Ooze. - All Flowers Here Refuse To Grow Or Blossom; Beauties, Too, Are Few, That Haunt Its Depths: No Glittering Minnows Braid Its Languid Crystal; And No Gravels Strew With Colored Orbs Its Bottom. Half Afraid I Shrink From My Own Eyes There In Its Cairngorm Skies - I Know Not Why, And Yet It Seems 'Tis This: - I Know Not What - But Where The Kildees Wade Slim In The Foamy Scum, From That Direction Hither Doth It Come, And Makes My Heart Afraid. Nearer It Draws To Where Those Low Rocks Ail, Warm Rocks On Which Some Water-Snake Hath Clomb To Bask Its Spotted Body, Coiling Numb. - At First It Seemed A Prism On The Grail, A Bubble'S Prism Yonder; Then A Trail, An Angled Sparkle In A Shadow, Swayed Frog-Like Through Deeps, To Crouch A Flaccid, Pale, Squat Bulk Below.... Reflected Trees And Skies, And Breeze-Blown Clouds That Lounge At Sunny Loss, Seem In Its Stolid Eyes, Deep Down - The Dim Disguise Of Something Ghoulish There, Whose Features Fail, Then Come Again In Rhythmic Waviness, With Arms Like Tentacles That Seem To Press Up Towards Me. Limbs That Writhe, And Fade, And Clench - Tough Limbs, That Twist And Cross Through Flabby Hair Like Smoky Moss. How Horrible To See This Thing At Night! Or When The Sunset Slants Its Brimstone Light Above The Water! When, In Phantom Flight, The Will-O'-The-Wisps, Perhaps, Above It Reel. Then Haply Would It Rise, A Rotting Green, Up, Up, And Gather Me With Arms Of Steel, Soft Steel, And Drag Me Where The Wave Is White, Beneath That Boulder There, That Plants A Keel Against The Ripple There, A Shoulder Lean. - No! No! I Must Away Before 'Tis Night! Before The Fire-Flies Dot The Dusk With Sulphur Blurrings Bright! Before Upon Yon Height The White Wild-Carrots Vanish From The Sight; And Boneset Blossoms, Tossing There In Clusters, Fade To A Ridge, A Streak Of Ghostly Lustres. And In Yon Sunlit Spot, That Cedar Tree Is Not! - But A Huge Cap Instead, That, Half-Asleep, Some Giant Dropped While Driving Home His Sheep. And 'Mid Those Fallow Browns And Russet Grays, The Fragrant Peak Of Yonder Timothy Stack, Is Not A Stack, But Something Hideous, Black, That Threatens And, Grotesquely Demon, Frowns. I Must Away From Here. - Already Dusk Draws Near. The Owlet'S Dolorous Hoot Sounds Quavering As A Gnome'S Wild Flute; The Toad, Within The Wet, Begins To Tune Its Goblin Flageolet. The Slow Sun Sinks Behind Those Hills; And Like A Withered Cheek, Distorted There, The Spectral Moon'S Defined Above Those Trees; Above That Mass Of Vines That, Like A Wrecked Appentice, Roofs Those Pines. - Oh, I Am Faint And Weak. - I Must Away, Away, Before The Close Of Day! - Already At My Back I Feel The Woods Grow Black; And Sense The Evening Wind, Guttural And Gaunt And Blind, Snarling Behind Me Like A Were-Wolf Pack. - When Will It Cease To Pierce, This Anguish Dull And Fierce, At Heart And Soul? When Will It Let Me Go? - At Last, With Footsteps Slow, With Half Averted Cheek, I'Ve Reached This Woodland Creek, Far From That Place Of Fear; And Still I Seem To Hear A Dripping Footstep Near; A Gurgling Voice Dim Glimmering At My Ear. I Try To Fly! - I Can Not! - Yes, And No! - What Horror Holds Me! - God! That Obscene, Slow, Sure Mastering Chimera There Has Yet Some Horrible Feeler Round My Neck, Or In My Scattered Hair! - Off! Off! Thou Devil'S Coil! - The Waters, Thrashing, Boil - Once More I'M Free! Once More I'M Free! Glad Of That Firefly Fleck, That, Like A Lamp Of Golden Fairy Oil, Lights Me The Way I Flee. - No More I Stare, Magnetic-Fixed; Nor Reck, Nor Little Care To Foil The Madness There! The Murder There! That Slips Back To Its Lair Of Slime, That Seeps And Drips, That Sought In Vain To Fasten On My Lips. 6 Taking A Letter From His Pocket, He Hurries Away. What Can It Mean For Me? What Have I Done To Her? I, In Our Season Of Love As A Sun To Her: She, All Its Heaven Of Silvery, Numberful Stars And Its Moon Shining Golden And Slumberful; Who On My Life, That Was Thorny And Lowery, Gazed - And Made Beautiful; Smiled - And Made Flowery. She, To My Heart And My Soul A Divinity! She, Who - I Dreamed! - Seemed My Spirit'S Affinity! - What Have I Done To Her? What Have I Done? What Can She Mean By This? - What Have I Said To Her! I, Who Have Idolized, Worshipped, And Pled To Her; Sung For Her, Laughed For Her, Sorrowed And Sighed For Her; Lived For Her Only; Would Gladly Have Died For Her! See! - She Has Written Me Thus! She Has Written Me.... Sooner Would Dagger Or Serpent Had Smitten Me! - Would You Had Shriveled Ere Ever You'D Read Of It, Eyes, That Are Wide To The Bitterest Dread Of It! - What Have I Said To Her? What Have I Said? What Shall I Make Of It? I Who Am Trembling, Dreading To Lose Her. - A Moth, The Dissembling Flame Of The Candle Attracts With Its Guttering, Flattering On Till Its Body Lies Fluttering, Scorched In The Summer Night. - Foolish, Importunate, Why Did'St Thou Leave The Cool Flowers, Unfortunate! - Such Has She Been To Me Making Me Such To Her, Slaying Me, Saying I Never Was Much To Her! - What Shall I Make Of It? What Can I Make? Love, In Thy Everglades, Moaning And Motionless, Look, I Have Fallen; The Evil Is Potionless. I, - With No Thought But The Heav'N That Did Lock Us In, - Set Naked Feet 'Mid The Cottonmouth, Moccasin, Under The Roses, The Cherokee, Eyeing Me. - I, - In The Sky With The Egrets That, Flying Me, Loosened Like Blooms From Magnolias, Rose Slenderly, White And Pale Pink; Where The Mocking-Bird Tenderly Sang, Making Vistas Of Mosses Melodious; - Wandered Unheeding My Steps In The Odious Ooze And The Venom. I Followed The Wiry Violet Curve Of Thy Star Falling Fiery - So Was I Lost In Night! Thus Am Undone! Have I Not Told To Her - Living Alone For Her - Purposed Unfoldments Of Deeds I Had Sown For Her Here In The Soil Of My Soul? Their Variety Endless - And Ever She Answered With Piety. See! It Has Come To This - All The Tale'S Suavity At The Ninth Chapter Grows Wretched To Gravity; Cruel As Death All Our Beautiful History - Close It! - The Finis Is More Than A Mystery. - Yes, I Will Go To Her; Yes, I Will Speak. 7 After The Last Meeting; The Day Following. I Seem To See Her Still; To See That Dim Blue Room. Her Perfume Comes From Lavender Folds Draped Dreamily - One Blossom Of Brocaded Blooms - Some Stuff Of Orient Looms. I Seem To Hear Her Speak; And Back Where Lies The Sun On Books And Piles Of Porcelain And Bric-A-Brac, A Tall Clock Ticks Above The Tiles, Where Love'S Framed Profile Smiles. I Hear Her Say, "Ah, Had I Known! - I Suffer Too For What Has Been - For What Must Be." - A Wild Ache Shone In Her Sad Eyes That Seemed To Lean On Something Far, Unseen. And As In Sleep My Own Self Seems Outside My Suffering Self. - I Flush 'Twixt Facts And Undetermined Dreams, And Wait As Silent As That Hush Of Lilac Light And Plush. Smiling, But Suffering, I Feel, Beneath That Face, So Sweet And Sad, In Those Pale Temples, Thoughts Like Steel Pierce Burningly. - I Had Gone Mad Had I Once Deemed Her Glad. - Unconsciously, With Eyes That Yearn To Look Beyond The Present Far For Some Faint Future Hope, I Turn - Above Her Garden, Day'S Fierce Star, Vermilion At The Window Bar, Sank Sullenly - Like Love'S Own Sun - An Omen Of Our Future Life. - And Then The Memory Of One Rich Day She'D Said She'D Be My Wife Set Heart And Brain At Strife. Again Amid The Heavy Hues, Soft Crimson, Seal, And Satiny Gold Of Flowers There, I Stood 'Mid Dews With Her; Deep In Her Garden Old, While Sunset Fires Uprolled. And Now.... It Can Not Be! And Yet To Feel 'Tis So! - In Heart And Brain To Know 'Tis So! - While Warm And Wet I Seem To Smell Those Scents Again, Verbena-Scents And Rain. I Turn, In Hope She'Ll Bid Me Stay. Again Her Cameo Beauty Mark Set In That Smile. - She Turns Away. No Word Of Love! Not Even A Spark Of Hope To Cheer The Dark! That Sepia Sketch - Conceive It So - A Jaunty Head With Mouth And Eyes Tragic Beneath A Rose-Chapeau, Silk-Masked, Unmasking - It Denies The Look We Half Surmise, We Know Is There. 'Tis Thus We Read The True Beneath The False; Perceive The Smile That Hides The Ache. - Indeed! Whose Soul Unmasks?... Not Mine! - I Grieve, - Oh God! - But Laugh And Leave.... 8 He Walks Aimlessly On. Beyond Those Twisted Apple-Trees, That Partly Hide The Old Brick-Barn, Its Tattered Arms And Tattered Knees A Scare-Crow Tosses To The Breeze Among The Shocks Of Corn. My Heart Is Gray As Is The Day, In Which The Rain-Wind Drearily Makes All The Sounding Branches Sway, And In The Hollows Far Away The Dry Leaves Rustle Wearily. And Soon We'Ll Hear The Far Wild-Geese Honk In Frost-Bitten Heavens Under Arcturus; When My Walks Must Cease, And By The Fireside'S Log-Heaped Peace I'Ll Sit And Nod And Ponder. - When Every Fall Of This Loud Creek Is Architectured Ice; And Hinted Brown Acres Of Yon Corn Stretch Bleak, White-Sculptured With The Snows, That Streak The Hillsides Bitter-Tinted, I'Ll Sit And Dream Of That Glad Morn We Went Down Ways Where Blooms Were Blowing; That Dusk We Strolled Through Flower And Thorn, By Tasseled Meads Of Cane And Corn, To Where The Stream Was Flowing. Again I'Ll Oar Our Boat Among The Lily-Pads That Dot The River; And Reach Her Hat The Grape-Vine Long Strikes In The Stream; We'Ll Sing That Song, And Then.... I'Ll Wake And Shiver. Why Is It That My Mind Reverts To That Sweet Past? While Full Of Parting The Present Is; So Full Of Hurts And Heartache, That What It Asserts Adds Only To The Smarting. How Often Shall I Sit And Think Of That Sweet Past! Through Lowered Lashes What-Might-Have-Been Trace Link By Link; Then Watch It Gradually Sink And Crumble Into Ashes. Outside I'Ll Hear The Sad Wind Weep Like Some Lone Spirit, Grieved, Forsaken; Then Shuddering To Bed Shall Creep And Lie Awake, Or Haply Sleep A Sleep By Visions Shaken. Dreams Of The Past That Paint And Draw The Present In A Hue That'S Wanting; A Scare-Crow Thing Of Sticks And Straw, - Like That Just Now I, Passing, Saw, - Its Empty Tatters Flaunting. 9 He Compares The Present Day With A Past One. The Sun A Splintered Splendor Was In Trees, Whose Waving Branches Blurred Its Disc, That Day We Went Together, 'Mid Wild-Bee Hum And Whirring Buzz Of Insects, Through The Fields That Purred With Summer In The Perfect Weather. So Sweet It Was To Look And Lean To Her Young Face And Feel The Light Of Eyes That Met My Own Unsaddened! Her Laugh, That Left Lips More Serene; Her Speech, That Blossomed Like The White Life-Everlasting There And Gladdened. Maturing Summer! You Were Fraught With More Of Beauty Then Than Now Parades The Pageant Of September: Where What-Is-Now Contrasts In Thought With What-Was-Once, That Bloom And Bough Can Only Help Me To Remember. 10 He Pauses Before A Deserted House By The Roadside. Through Iron-Weeds And Roses And Ancient Beech And Oak, Old Porches It Discloses Above The Weeds And Roses, The Drizzling Raindrops Soak. Neglected Walks A-Tangle With Dodder-Strangled Grass; And Every Mildewed Angle Heaped With Dead Leaves That Spangle The Paths That Round It Pass. The Creatures There That Bury And Hide Within Its Rooms, And Spidered Closets - Very Dim With Gray Webs - Will Hurry Out When The Twilight Glooms. Owls Roost In Room And Basement; Bats Haunt Its Hearth And Porch, And Through Some Paneless Casement Flit, In The Moon'S Enlacement, Or Firefly'S Twinkling Torch. There Is A Sense Of Frost Here, And Gusts That Sigh Away. - What Was It That Was Lost Here? Long, Long Ago Was Lost Here? - Can Anybody Say? My Foot Perhaps Would Startle Some Bird That Mopes Within; Some Owl Above Its Portal, That Stares Upon The Mortal As On A Thing Of Sin. The Rutty Road Winds By It This Side The Dusty Toll. - Why Do I Stop To Eye It? My Heart Can Not Deny It - The House Is Like My Soul. 11 He Proceeds On His Way. I Bear A Burden - Look Not Therein! Naught Will You Find But Sorrow And Sin; Sorrow And Sin That Wend With Me Wherever I Go. And Misery, A Gaunt Companion, A Wretched Bride, Goes Always With Me, Side By Side. Sick Of Myself And All The Earth, I Ask My Soul Now - Is Life Worth The Little Pleasure That We Gain For All Our Sorrow And Our Pain? The Love, To Which We Gave Our Best, That Turns A Mockery And A Jest? 12 Among The Twilight Fields. The Things We Love, The Loveliest Things We Cherish, Pass From Us Soonest, Vanish Utterly. Dust Are Our Deeds, And Dust Our Dreams That Perish Ere We Can Say They Be! I Have Loved Man And Learned We Are Not Brothers - Within Myself, Perhaps, May Lie The Cause; - Then Set One Woman High Above All Others, And Found Her Full Of Flaws. Made Unseen Stars My Keblahs Of Devotion; Aspired To Knowledge And Remained A Clod: With Heart And Soul, Led On By Blind Emotion, The Way To Failure Trod. Chance, Say, Or Fate That Works Through Good And Evil; Or Destiny, That Nothing May Retard, That To Some End, Above Life'S Empty Level, Perhaps Withholds Reward. Part Iv Late Autumn They Who Die Young Are Blest. - Should We Not Envy Such? They Are Earth'S Happiest, God-Loved And Favored Much! - They Who Die Young Are Blest. 1 Sick And Sad, Propped Among Pillows, She Sits At Her Window. 'Though The Dog-Tooth Violet Come With April Showers, And The Wild-Bees' Music Hum About The Flowers, We Shall Never Wend As When Love Laughed Leading Us From Men Over Violet Vale And Glen, Where The Bob-White Piped For Hours, And We Heard The Rain-Crow'S Drum. Now November Heavens Are Gray; Autumn Kills Every Joy - Like Leaves Of May In The Rills. - Still I Sit And Lean And Listen To A Voice That Has Arisen In My Heart - With Eyes That Glisten Looking At The Happy Hills Fading Dark-Blue Far Away. 2 She Gazes Out Upon The Dying Garden. There Rank Death Clutches At The Flowers And Drags Them Down And Stamps In Earth. At Morn The Thin, Malignant Hours, Shrill-Mouthed Among The Windy Bowers, Clamor A Bitter Mirth. - Or Is It Heart-Break That, Forlorn, Would So Conceal Itself In Scorn? At Noon The Weak, White Sunlight Crawls, Like Feeble Feet Once Beautiful, From Mildewed Walks To Mildewed Walls, Down Which The Oozing Moisture Falls Upon The Cold Toadstool. - Faint On The Leaves It Drips And Creeps - Or Is It Tears Of One Who Weeps? At Night A Misty Blur Of Moon Slips Through The Trees, - Pale As A Face Of Melancholy Marble Hewn; - And, Like The Phantom Of Some Tune, Winds Whisper In The Place. - Or Is It Love Come Back Again, Seeking Its Perished Joy In Vain? 3 She Muses Upon The Past. When In Her Cloudy Chiton, Spring Freed The Frozen Rills, And Walked In Rainbowed Light On The Forests, Fields, And Hills; Beyond The World'S Horizon, That No Such Glory Lies On, And No Such Hues Bedizen, Love Led Us Far From Ills. When Summer Came, A Sickle Stuck In Her Sheaf Of Gleams, And Let The Honey Trickle From Out The Beehives' Seams; Within The Violet-Blotted Sweet Book To Us Alloted, - Whose Lines Are Starry Dotted, - Love Read Us Still His Dreams. Then Autumn Came, - A Liar, A Fair-Faced Heretic; - In Gypsy Garb Of Fire, Throned On A Harvest Rick. - Our Lives, That Fate Had Thwarted, Stood Pale And Broken Hearted, - Though Smiling When We Parted, - Where Love To Death Lay Sick. Now Is The Winter Waited, The Tyrant Hoar And Old, With Death And Hunger Mated, Who Counts His Crimes Like Gold. - Once More Before Forever We Part - Once More, Then Never - Once More Before We Sever Must I His Face Behold! 4 She Takes Up A Book And Reads. What Little Things Are Those That Hold Our Happiness! A Smile, A Glance, A Rose Dropped From Her Hair Or Dress; A Word, A Look, A Touch, - These Are So Much, So Much. An Air We Can'T Forget; A Sunset'S Gold That Gleams; A Spray Of Migonette, Will Fill The Soul With Dreams More Than All History Says, Or Romance Of Old Days. For Of The Human Heart, Not Brain, Is Memory; These Things It Makes A Part Of Its Own Entity; The Joys, The Pains Whereof Are The Very Food Of Love. 5 She Lays Down The Book. How True! How True! - But Words Are Weak In Sympathy They Give The Soul, To Music - Music, That Can Speak All The Heart'S Pain And Dole; Still Making Us Remember Most The Love We'Ve Lost, The Love We'Ve Lost. So Weary Am I, And So Fain To See His Face, To Feel His Kiss Thrill Rapture Through My Soul Again, There Is No Hell Like This. - Ah, God! My God, Were It Not Best To Give Me Rest, To Give Me Rest? 6 She Writes To Him To Come To Her. Dead Lie The Dreams We Cherished, The Dreams We Loved So Well; Like Forest Leaves They Perished, Like Autumn Leaves They Fell. Alas! That Dreams So Soon Should Pass! Alas! Alas! The Stream Lies Bleak And Arid That Once Went Singing On; The Flowers Once That Varied Its Banks Are Dead And Gone: Where These Were Once Are Thorns And Thirst - The Place Is Curst. Come To Me; I Am Lonely: Forgive What You Have Heard. - Come To Me; If For Only One Last Sad Parting Word: For One Last Word Before The Pall Falls Over All. The Day And Hour Are Suited For What I'D Say To You Of Love That I Uprooted - But I Have Suffered Too! Come To Me; I Would Say Good-By Before I Die. 7 The Wind Rises; The Trees Are Agitated. Woods, That Beat The Wind With Frantic Gestures And Drop Darkly 'Round Acorns Gnarled And Leaves That Antic Wildly On The Rustling Ground! Is It Tragic Grief That Saddens Through Your Souls This Autumn Day? Or The Joy Of Death That Gladdens In Exultance Of Decay? Arrogant You Lift Defiant Boughs Against The Moaning Blast, That, Like Some Invisible Giant, Wrapped In Tumult, Thunders Past. Is It That In Such Insurgent Fury Tossed From Tree To Tree, You Would Quench The Fiercely Urgent Pangs Of Some Old Memory? As In Toil And Violent Action, That Still Help Them To Forget, Mortals Drown The Dark Distraction And Insistence Of Regret. 8 She Muses In The Gathering Twilight. Last Night I Slept Till Midnight; Then Woke, And Far Away A Cock Crowed; Lonely And Distant Came Mournful A Watch-Dog'S Bay: But Lonelier, Sadder The Tedious, Old Clock Ticked On Towards Day. And What A Day! - Remember Those Morns Of Summer And Spring, That Bound Our Lives Together! Each Morn A Wedding-Ring Of Dew, Aroma And Sparkle, And Flowers And Birds A-Wing. Sweet Morns When I Strolled My Garden Awaiting Him, The Rose Expected Too, With Blushes - The Giant-Of-Battle That Grows A Bank Of Radiance And Fragrance Where The Gate Its Shadow Throws. Not In Vain Did I Wait, Departed Summer, Amid Your Phlox! The Powdery Crystal And Crimson Of Your Hollow Hollyhocks; Your Fairy-Bells And Poppies And The Bee That In Them Rocks. Cool-Clad 'Neath The Pendulous Purple Of The Morning-Glory Vine, By The Jewel-Mine Of The Pansies And The Snapdragons In Line, I Waited, And There He Met Me Whose Heart Was One With Mine. How Warm Was The Breath Of The Garden When He Met Me There That Day! How The Burnished Beetle And Butterfly Flew Past Us, Each A Ray! - The Memory Of Those Meetings Still Bears Me Far Away. Ah, Me! When I Think Of The Handfuls Of Little Gold Coins A-Mass My Bachelor'S-Buttons Scattered Over The Garden Grass, And The Marigolds That Boasted Their Bits Of Burning Brass; More Bitter I Feel The Autumn Tighten 'Round Spirit And Heart; And Regret The Days Remembered As Lost - That Stand Apart, A Chapter Holy And Sacred, I Read With Eyes That Smart. Again To The Woods A-Trysting By The Watermill I Steal, Where The Lilies Tumble Together, The Madcap Wind At Heel; And Meet Him Among The Blossoms That The Rocks And The Trees Conceal. Or The Wild-Cat Grey Of The Meadows That The Ox-Eyed Daisies Dot; Fawn-Eyed And Tiger-Yellow, That Tangle A Tawny Spot Of Languid Leopard Beauty That Dozes Fierce And Hot.... Ah! Back Again With The Present! With Winds That Pinch And Twist The Leaves In Their Peevish Passion, And Whirl Wherever They List; With The Autumn, Hoary And Nipping, Whose Mausolean Mist Builds Wan A Tomb For The Daylight; - Each Morning Shaggy With Fog, That Fits Grey Wigs To The Cedars, And Furs With Frost Each Log; That Carpets With Pearl The Meadow, And Marbles Brook And Bog, - Alone At Dawn - Indifferent: Alone At Eve - I Sigh: And Wait, Like The Wind Complaining: Complain And Know Not Why: But Ailing And Longing And Pining Because I Do Not Die. How Dull Is That Sunset! Dreary And Cold, And Hard And Dead! The Ghost Of The One Last August That, Deeply Rich And Red, Like The Wine Of God'S Own Vintage, Poured Purple Overhead. But Now I Sit With The Sighing Dead Dreams Of A Dying Year; Like The Fallen Leaves And The Acorns, Am Worthless And Feel As Sear, With A Withered Soul And Body Whose Heart Is One Big Tear. As I Stare From My Window The Daylight, Like A Bravo, Its Cloak Puts On. The Moon, Like A Cautious Lanthorn, Glitters And Then Is Gone. - Will He Come To-Night? Will He Answer? - Oh, God! Would It Were Dawn! 9 He Enters. Taking Her In His Arms He Speaks. They Said You Were Dying - You Shall Not Die!... Why Are You Crying? Why Do You Sigh? - Cease That Sad Sighing! - Love, It Is I. All Is Forgiven! - Love Is Not Poor; Though He Was Driven Once From Your Door, Back He Has Striven, To Part Nevermore! Will You Remember What I Forget? - Words, Each An Ember, That You Regret? Now In November, Now We Have Met? What If Love Wept Once! What Though You Knew! What If He Crept Once Pleading To You! - He Never Slept Once, Nor Was Untrue. Often Forgetful, Love May Forget; Froward And Fretful, Dear, He Will Fret; Ever Regretful, He Will Regret. Life Is Completer Through His Control; Living Made Sweeter Even Through Dole, Hearing Love'S Metre Sing In The Soul. Flesh May Not Hear It, Being Impure; And Mind May Fear It, May Not Endure; But In The Spirit - There We Are Sure. So When To-Morrow Ceases, And We Quit This We Borrow, Mortality, Love Chastens Sorrow So It Can See.... Still You Are Weeping! Why Do You Weep? - Are Tears In Keeping With Joy So Deep? Gladness So Sweeping? - Are You Asleep? Speak To Me, Dearest! Say It Is True! - That I Am Nearest, Dearest To You. - Smile With Those Clearest Eyes Of Grey Blue. 10 She Smiles Through Her Tears; Holding His Hands She Speaks. They Did Not Say I Could Not Live Beyond This Weary Night, But Now I Know That I Shall Die Before The Morning'S Light. How Weak I Am! - But You'Ll Forgive Me When I Tell You How I Loved You - Love You; And The Pain It Is To Leave You Now? We Could Not Marry! - See, The Flesh, That Clothes The Soul Of Me, Ordained At Birth A Sacrifice To This Heredity, Denied, Forbade. - Ah, You Have Seen The Bright Spots In My Cheeks Flush Hectic, As Before The Night The West Burns Blood-Red Streaks? Consumption. - "But I Promised You My Hand"? - A Thing Forlorn Of Life; Diseased! - Oh, God! - And So, Far Better So, Forsworn! - Oh, I Was Jealous Of Your Love. But Think: If I Had Died Ere Babe Of Mine Had Come To Be A Solace At Your Side! Had It Been Little Then - Your Grief, When Heaven Had Made Us One In Everything That'S Good On Earth And Then The Good Undone? No! No! And Had I Had A Child, What Grief And Agony To Know That Blight Born In Him, Too,