Chapter I: BUILT myself a pleasant house

Content was I to dwell in it-- Its door was fast against the wind With all the gusty swell of it.

It had two windows, high and clear,
With trees and skies to shine through them,
They were acquainted with the moon,
And every star was mine through them.

Its walls were silent walls; its hearth
Held little fires to gladden me--
And though the nights might weep outside
No sob crept through to sadden me.

Then came your hand upon the latch
(Although I had not sent for you)
And all Outside came blowing in
The way I had not meant it to!

Upon the hearth my tended flame
Leapt to a blaze and died in it.
The night sought out a hidden place
I had forgot and sighed in it.

My window that had known the stars
Seemed suddenly not high at all.
The trees drew back; the friendly birds
Swept dumbly by, too shy to call.

Said you: "It is a pleasant house,
But surely somewhat small for two!"--
And at your word my walls fell down,
Leaving no house at all, just you.

The Sea's Withholding

THE ladye's bower faced the sea, Its casements framed a sea-born day. She saw the fishers sail away, And, far and high, The gulls sweep by Within the hollow of the sky!

She saw the laggard twilight come And, chased by rippling wakes of foam, She saw the fisher fleet come home-- Brown sails a-sheen Against the green With shadows creeping in between!

She saw, when it was evening, all Day's banners stream in crimson rout Till night's soft finger blurred them out, And, high and far, A perfect star Shone where the keys of heaven are!

"O far and constant star," she said, "O passing sail, O passing bird, O passing day--bring you no word Of winds that steer His ship a-near? Where sails my love that sails not here?

"The days in splendid pageant pass, In lovely peace the nights go by, And day and night are sweet; but I-- I cannot say Lo, the bright day! Can it be dawn and love away?"

Love Unkind

OUT upon the bleak hillside, the bleak hillside, he lay-- Her lips were red, and red the stream that slipped his life away. Ah, crimson, crimson were her lips, but his were turning gray.

The troubled sky seemed bending low, bending low to hide The foam-white face so wild upturned from off the bleak hillside-- White as the beaten foam her face, and she was wond'rous eyed.

The soft, south-wind came creeping up, creeping stealthily To breathe upon his clay-cold face--but all too cold was he, Too cold for you to warm, south-wind, since cold at heart was she!

Sweet morning peeped above the hill, above the hill to find The shattered, useless, godlike thing the night had left behind-- Wept the sweet morn her crystal tears that love should prove unkind!

Christmas in Heaven

HOW hushed they were in Heaven that night,
How lightly all the angels went,
How dumb the singing spheres beneath
Their many-candled tent!

How silent all the drifting throng
Of earth-freed spirits, strangely torn
By dim and half-remembered pain
And joy but newly born!

The Glory in the Highest flamed
With awful, unremembered ray--
But quiet as the falling dew
Was He who went away.

So swift He went, His passing left
A low, bright door in Heaven ajar--
With God it was a covenant,
To man it seemed a star.

I Whispered to the Bobolink