Part 30

What had I then? a hope, that grew Each hour more bright and dear, The flush upon the eastern skies That showed the sun was near:- Now night has faded far away, my sun has risen, and it is day.

A dim Ideal of tender grace In my soul reigned supreme; Too noble and too sweet I thought To live, save in a dream-- Within thy heart to-day it lies, and looks on me from thy dear eyes.

Some gentle spirit--Love I thought-- Built many a shrine of pain; Though each false Idol fell to dust, The worship was not vain, But a faint radiant shadow cast back from our Love upon the Past.

And Grief, too, held her vigil there; With unrelenting sway Breaking my cloudy visions down, Throwing my flowers away:- I owe to her fond care alone that I may now be all thine own.

Fair Joy was there--her fluttering wings At times she strove to raise; Watching through long and patient nights, Listening long eager days: I know now that her heart and mine were waiting, Love, to welcome thine.

Thus I can read thy name throughout, And, now her task is done, Can see that even that faded Past Was thine, beloved one, And so rejoice my Life may be all consecrated, dear, to thee.

VERSE: TRUE OR FALSE

So you think you love me, do you? Well, it may be so; But there are many ways of loving I have learnt to know. Many ways, and but one true way, Which is very rare; And the counterfeits look brightest, Though they will not wear.

Yet they ring, almost, quite truly, Last (with care) for long; But in time must break, may shiver At a touch of wrong: Having seen what looked most real Crumble into dust; Now I chose that test and trial Should precede my trust.

I have seen a love demanding Time and hope and tears, Chaining all the past, exacting Bonds from future years; Mind and heart, and joy and sorrow, Claiming as its fee: That was Love of Self, and never, Never Love of me!

I have seen a love forgetting All above, beyond, Linking every dream and fancy In a sweeter bond; Counting every hour worthless, Which was cold or free:- That, perhaps, was--Love of Pleasure, But not Love of me!

I have seen a love whose patience Never turned aside, Full of tender, fond devices; Constant, even when tried; Smallest boons were held as victories, Drops that swelled the sea: That I think was--Love of Power, But not Love of me!

I have seen a love disdaining Ease and pride and fame, Burning even its own white pinions Just to feed its flame; Reigning thus, supreme, triumphant, By the soul's decree; That was--Love of Love, I fancy, But not Love of me!

I have heard--or dreamt, it may be-- What Love is when true; How to test and how to try it, Is the gift of few: These few say (or did I dream it?) That true Love abides In these very things, but always Has a soul besides.

Lives among the false loves, knowing Just their peace and strife: Bears the self-same look, but always Has an inner life. Only a true heart can find it, True as it is true, Only eyes as clear and tender Look it through and through.

If it dies, it will not perish By Time's slow decay, True Love only grows (they tell me) Stronger, day by day: Pain--has been its friend and comrade; Fate--it can defy; Only by its own sword, sometimes Love can choose to die.

And its grave shall be more noble And more sacred still, Than a throne, where one less worthy Reigns and rules at will. Tell me then, do you dare offer This true Love to me? . . . Neither you nor I can answer; We will--wait and see!

VERSE: GOLDEN WORDS

Some words are played on golden strings, Which I so highly rate, I cannot bear for meaner things Their sound to desecrate.

For every day they are not meet, Or for a careless tone; They are for rarest, and most sweet, And noblest use alone.

One word is POET: which is flung So carelessly away, When such as you and I have sung, We hear it, day by day.

Men pay it for a tender phrase Set in a cadenced rhyme: I keep it as a crown of praise To crown the kings of time.

And LOVE: the slightest feelings, stirred By trivial fancy, seek Expression in that golden word They tarnish while they speak.

Nay, let the heart's slow, rare decree, That word in reverence keep Silence herself should only be More sacred and more deep.

FOR EVER: men have grown at length To use that word, to raise Some feeble protest into strength, Or turn some tender phrase.

It should be said in awe and fear By true heart and strong will, And burn more brightly year by year, A starry witness still.

HONOUR: all trifling hearts are fond Of that divine appeal, And men, upon the slightest bond, Set it as slighter seal.

That word should meet a noble foe Upon a noble field, And echo--like a deadly blow Turned by a silver shield.