Part 3

She sees the stars turn slowly Past the tangle of the poles, Through the smoke of the dying embers, Like the eyes of dead souls.

Her heart is shaken with longing For the strange, still years, For what she knows and knows not, For the wells of ancient tears.

A voice calls from the rapids, Deep, careless and free, A voice that is larger than her life Or than her death shall be.

She covers her face with her blanket, Her fierce soul hates her breath, As it cries with a sudden passion For life or death.

NIGHT BURIAL IN THE FOREST

Lay him down where the fern is thick and fair. Fain was he for life, here lies he low: With the blood washed clean from his brow and his beautiful hair, Lay him here in the dell where the orchids grow.

Let the birch-bark torches roar in the gloom, And the trees crowd up in a quiet startled ring So lone is the land that in this lonely room Never before has breathed a human thing.

Cover him well in his canvas shroud, and the moss Part and heap again on his quiet breast, What recks he now of gain, or love, or loss Who for love gained rest?

While she who caused it all hides her insolent eyes Or braids her hair with the ribbons of lust and of lies, And he who did the deed fares out like a hunted beast To lurk where the musk-ox tramples the barren ground Where the stroke of his coward heart is the only sound.

Haunting the tamarac shade, Hear them up-thronging Memories foredoomed Of strife and of longing: Haggard or bright By the tamaracs and birches, Where the red torch light Trembles and searches, The wilderness teems With inscrutable eyes Of ghosts that are dreams Commingled with memories.

Leave him here in his secret ferny tomb, Withdraw the little light from the ocean of gloom, He who feared nought will fear aught never, Left alone in the forest forever and ever.

Then, as we fare on our way to the shore Sudden the torches cease to roar: For cleaving the darkness remote and still Comes a wind with a rushing, harp-like thrill, The sound of wings hurled and furled and unfurled, The wings of the Angel who gathers the souls from the wastes of the world.

DREAM VOYAGEURS

To ports of balm through isles of musk The gentle airs are leading us; To curtained calm and tents of dusk, The wood-wild things unheeding us Will share their hoards of hardihood, Cool dew and roots of fern for food, Frail berries full of the sun's blood.

To planets bland with dales of dream A tranquil life is leading us, We shall land from the languid stream, The musing shades, unheeding us, Will share their veils of angelhood, Thoughts that are tranced with mystic food, Still broodings tinct with a seraph's blood.

SONG

Creep into my heart, creep in, creep in, Afar from the fret, the toil and the din, Where the spring of love forever flows, As clear as light and as sweet as the rose; (Creep into my heart), Where the dreams never wilt but their tints refine, Rooted in beautiful thoughts of thine; Where morn falls cool on the soul, like sleep, And the nights are tranquil and tranced and deep; Where the fairest thing of all the fair Thou art, who hast somehow crept in there, Deep into my heart, Deep into my heart.

ECSTASY

The shore-lark soars to his topmost flight, Sings at the height where morning springs, What though his voice be lost in the light, The light comes dropping from his wings.

Mount, my soul, and sing at the height Of thy clear flight in the light and the air, Heard or unheard in the night in the light Sing there! Sing there!

LYRICS, SONGS AND SONNETS

MEDITATION AT PERUGIA

The sunset colours mingle in the sky, And over all the Umbrian valleys flow; Trevi is touched with wonder, and the glow Finds high Perugia crimson with renown; Spello is bright; And, ah! St. Francis, thy deep-treasured town, Enshrined Assisi, fully fronts the light.

This valley knew thee many a year ago; Thy shrine was built by simpleness of heart; And from the wound called life thou drew'st the smart: Unquiet kings came to thee and the sad poor-- Thou gavest them peace; Far as the Sultan and the Iberian shore Thy faith and abnegation gave release.

Deeper our faith, but not so sweet as thine; Wider our view, but not so sanely sure; For we are troubled by the witching lure Of Science, with her lightning on the mist; Science that clears, Yet never quite discloses what she wist, And leaves us half with doubts and half with fears.

We act her dreams that shadow forth the truth, That somehow here the very nerves of God Thrill the old fires, the rocks, the primal sod; We throw our speech upon the open air, And it is caught Far down the world, to sing and murmur there; Our common words are with deep wonder fraught.

Shall not the subtle spirit of man contrive To charm the tremulous ether of the soul, Wherein it breathes?--until, from pole to pole, Those who are kin shall speak, as face to face, From star to star, Even from earth to the most secret place, Where God and the supreme archangels are.

Shall we not prove, what thou hast faintly taught, That all the powers of earth and air are one, That one deep law persists from mole to sun? Shall we not search the heart of God and find That law empearled, Until all things that are in matter and mind Throb with the secret that began the world?