The light about me is of regions where
Cold peaks are blue against a colder sky,
And in the dusk-line where begins the Doubt
Men call the Known, we stand in wingless pause,
Unheavened weariness in untaught feet,
And in our hearts sad longing for the fire
Of stars from whence we came. "The earth," he says,
And warms in his my hand amazed to lie
In strange, near comfort,--blossom of first pain.
Then low we dip into the clinging night
That is the Lethe of God-memories;
Stumble and sink in chains of time and sense
Tangle in treacheries of a weed-hung globe,
And tread the dun, dim verges of defeat
Till spirit chafes to vision, and we learn
What morning is, and where the way of love.
In that gold dawn we part, knowing at last
That earth can not divide us. With a smile
He goes, and Fate leads not but runs before
Like an indulged child. That smile again
I sometimes see across the world--a room.

TRYST

(AFTER READING FROM SHAKESPEARE)

Night, thou art heavy, with no stars to chain
Thy darkness unto heaven, that thy feet
May dance along these cliffs in gay retreat
Of the pursuing sea; heavy as pain
Where eyes see not the end, or tears that stain
The joy of him who conquers by defeat;
Or this dark sea whose heart doth climb and beat
The stones that make no sign, then falls again.

Cry with the night and wrestle with the wave,
Ye two-edged winds that cut this shore and me;
I warm me still with thinking of a grave
That can not hold the dust's eternal part;
For here across the centuries and the sea,
A dead hand lies like flame upon my heart.

IN THE STUDIO

Bowed in the firelight's softly climbing gleam,
I sit a shadow, in a shadow's place;
While through the great, grey window vaguely stream
Twilight caresses on each pictured face
That one hour gone was cold in art's repose;
Now each still canvas answers tremblingly,
Till eyes unveil and living spirit glows
Where no light was while the rude Day went by.
And rudest Day, that passed so sternly bare,
Cold as the life that walks without desire,
Unbeauteous as duty or despair,
Plucked by a hope that will not set her free,
Turns back, while memory's soft, informing fire
Falls on her face, and Beauty looks at me.

LOVERS' LEAP