Chapter II

My dreams are as a closed up book,
(Drearily.)
Upon whose clasp of love I look,
Wearily.

All night the rain raved overhead,
Drearily;
All night I wept awake in bed,
Wearily.

I heard the wind sweep wild and wide,
Drearily;
I turned upon my face and sighed,
Wearily.

The wind and rain spake unto me,
Drearily:
"What is this thing God takes from thee?"
(Wearily.)

I said unto the rain and wind,
Drearily:
"The love, for which my soul hath sinned."
(Wearily.)

The rain and wind spake unto me,
Drearily:
"What are these things thou still dost see?"
(Wearily.)

I said unto the wind and rain,
Drearily:
"Regret, and hope despair hath slain."
(Wearily.)

"Thou lov'st him still," they made reply,
Drearily.
I said, "That God would let me die!"
(Wearily.)

FINALE.

So let it be. Thou wilt not say 't was I!
Here in life's temple, where thy soul may see,
Look how the beauty of our love doth lie,
Shattered in shards, a dead divinity!
Approach: kneel down: yea, render up one sigh!
This is the end. What need to tell it thee!
So let it be.

So let it be. Care, who hath stood with him,
And sorrow, who sat by him deified,
For whom his face made comfort, lo! how dim
They heap his altar which they can not hide,
While memory's lamp swings o'er it, burning slim.
This is the end. What shall be said beside?
So let it be.

So let it be. Did we not drain the wine,
Red, of love's sacramental chalice, when
He laid sweet sanction on thy lips and mine?
Dash it aside! Lo, who will fill again
Now it is empty of the god divine!
This is the end. Yea, let us say Amen.
So let it be.

THE CROSS.

The cross I bear no man shall know--
No man can ease the cross I bear!--
Alas! the thorny path of woe
Up the steep hill of care!

There is no word to comfort me;
No sign to help my bended head;
Deep night lies over land and sea,
And silence dark and dread.

To strive, it seems, that I was born,
For that which others shall obtain;
The disappointment and the scorn
Alone for me remain.

One half my life is overpast;
The other half I contemplate--
Meseems the past doth but forecast
A darker future state.

Sick to the heart of that which makes
Me hope and struggle and desire,
The aspiration here that aches
With ineffectual fire;

While inwardly I know the lack,
The insufficiency of power,
Each past day's retrospect makes black
Each morrow's coming hour.

Now in my youth would I could die!--
As others love to live,--go down
Into the grave without a sigh,
Oblivious of renown!

THE FOREST OF DREAMS.

I.

Where was I last Friday night?--
Within the forest of dark dreams
Following the blur of a goblin-light,
That led me over ugly streams,
Whereon the scum of the spawn was spread,
And the blistered slime, in stagnant seams;
Where the weed and the moss swam black and dead,
Like a drowned girl's hair in the ropy ooze:
And the jack-o'-lantern light that led,
Flickered the fox-fire trees o'erhead,
And the owl-like things at airy cruise.

II.

Where was I last Friday night?--
Within the forest of dark dreams
Following a form of shadowy white
With my own wild face it seems.
Did a raven's wing just flap my hair?
Or a web-winged bat brush by my face?
Or the hand of--something I did not dare
Look round to see in that obscene place?
Where the boughs, with leaves a-devil's-dance,
And the thorn-tree bush, where the wind made moan,
Had more than a strange significance
Of life and of evil not their own.