bind
All hearts in wisdom. Unforlorn
He lives in deserts, though he mourn,
Who loveth all the Kind ...

With storm gone by, from jeopardy,
With loss for gain, and blindness past,
Home to divine reality
The tides have borne me,--home at last.
Time like a silver flower doth blow
And blossom o'er a subtler sod,
And through the meads of light I go
Beneath the golden boughs of God ...

My soul hath won to the city of love
With the burnished walls of the dreams' desires;
And my life is glad as a glittering dove
That coos in the sun upon golden spires;
And I welcome the winds of the world, and move
To the music of unseen choirs.

Great powers are for us; mighty wings
Toward man's proud peril speed.
Life nourished at eternal springs,
Beats up through star and creed,
Till soul, ascendant, fetter-freed,
A soaring seraph sings!...

On the rim of the world is a rosy tower
Sky-poised above wide sea-foam,
Where a beautiful spirit waits hour by hour,
Far-eyed 'gainst a dawn like a phantom flower,
Till a ghostly lover comes home ...

Ah! love is as lust till it count love lost;
The soul is as sin till it weep sin's cost;
O, happy is he, though he suffer most,
Who wins to the Holy Ghost!

So spake old Iolaeus. There
That drifting, chant-like monody,
Its eerie passion, weird despair,
Had wrought on me like wizardry;--
Withal he moved through strange eclipse
With God's faint finger at his lips,
And with such tense and far surprise,
That half uncanny seemed the man
With cloudy hair, in human guise,
So warped with age, so weirdly wan,
Whose dry flesh into spirit ran,
And saw with ghostly eyes.

THE RETURN

(To E.W.)

Home, O most pale adventurer, are you bound
From that strange kingdom where no love may trace
The life it loves to its abiding place,
Or hail it from afar with cheerful sound.
From deeps whose marges mortal ne'er hath found
You steal, and we are awed before your face--
For you are weird with wonder, with the grace
Of death's most delicate lilies are you crowned.

After the ranging sunset of Farewell--
When life's loved country fades, and hope is lorn,
Is it not fair from that dim, tideless bourn
To drift back home to ma