LYRICS

You sang me a song, ’Twas the close of the year, Sing again! I do not remember the name Or the words, ’Tis the same You listen to hear When the window is open in spring And the air’s full of birds; One calls from the branch some rare thing And one sings on the wing The refrain. You sang me a song, My heart thrilled to hear. The refrain Has run like a fillet of gold Through the woof Of the cold, Dark days of this year. To-night there’s a year at its start, The birds are aloof: But your eyes hold the sun for my part And the Spring’s in your heart, Sing again!

Of poplar, birch, and balsam boughs, Red cedar-walled, I’ll build my house; Its pillars silver-boled shall be, With rafters of the hemlock tree; Upon the ground the dried ferns spread, And slippery pine shall make our bed; And all night long the lapping sound Of waves shall fill our faerie swound; Nor native creatures, small and shy, Shall fright us, as they hurry by, Nor phantom rustle of the trees Disturb our loving mysteries. With the first flying birds to nest We’ll stretch our happy limbs to rest, And lip to lip, and palm to palm, Drift dreamward in the deep wood’s calm, Whilst thro’ the windy rafter bars Pale out the lanterns of the stars. Thus love shall hold us (as Love said), And holy be the forest bed, The fresh, wild odours everywhere Rise on the censers of the air, And in the soft dark Love shall find New vows, our lips and souls to bind. When the white-vestured dawn shall move, We’ll wake, as we have slept—with love, And sinless as the forest-born Arise with them to greet the morn. From every mist-grey tree-top tall The singing, singing dews that fall Shall mingle thro’ veiled vistas dim With whisper of our marriage hymn.

Like to a songless bird that swings On a high branch, and thrills to hear How the deep-hearted forest rings With melody enchanting clear, And vainly swells his throat to wake A song as pure as these that fill The wood, and every echo shake, Whilst he alone is dumb and still. So, thrilling to the music dear Since the first song woke, low and sweet; To purest sound I bend my ear, And with my heart the rhythms beat; Until the palpitating Past With melody becometh rife; With parted lips and hands locked fast I hear the songs of Love and Life. And then I lift my voice to wake A song as pure as these that thrill Through Time. The vaults with music shake And I alone am dumb and still.

I heard the wind in the trees The stir of the leaves in the white birch tops Then sat alone with my past till dawn Crept over the edge of the leas And a dull red line was drawn In the East. There memory stops. We do not follow our lives As the almanacs run. I lived that night Three years in the past and three to be.... As foam that the sea-wind drives My thoughts sped on—three years and three, Marked by this lock of white.

The wind upon a summer day How sweet it is! The shaking trees, The shifting shadows as they lie Across the grass, the bending rye, The blue flowers in the grain,—and you To love the livelong summer through— There are no sweeter things than these. The dawning of a winter day How sad it is! The leafless trees, The frozen meadow lands that lie Leaden beneath a snowy sky; The old year’s bitterness,—and you To lack the livelong winter through— There are no sadder things than these.

The summer fields sweep to the farther blue Crimson with poppies, yellow gold with grain. They roll their warm wealth seaward—thus to you I bring my boundless love. Dearest, in vain Would I bestow its treasure otherwhere; It floods to find your heart—enfold it there! The land’s caress the far seas never knew; Not on the wave falls the sweet rain of gold. Far lie the changeful waters, pure and cold, Sundered by the high cliffs: thus I from you By Fate am kept a universe apart. And yet my constant thought inspires me To seek to lay my love upon your heart.

On this midwinter afternoon, When all the sky is cold and grey, What power can change the white world’s rune To a midsummer holiday? The branches of the leafless trees, Bent in the pathway of the storm, Give up their buds to orchard bees, The atmosphere is soft and warm. And from a thousand rose-hearts, too, The air delicious fragrance yields; The birds fly up against the blue, The Summer ripens on the fields. Thou art with me! This happy thought, That all the birds of love unchains To the white world, has Summer brought Through warmth of Summer in my veins.

Across the tossing tumult of my sea The peaceful current of your Spirit flows. The ships attain their harbours, enter free Beyond the pale horizon’s line of rose. Tempests are banished from these miles serene: Held cloud-free, wind-free, by your love’s control, My sea shall yield its deep-bed treasure soon! Mirror the evening star,—the cloud,—the moon: Tranquil, as tho’ no storm had ever been— My sea shall be the mirror of your soul.

I fly like a bird to my home that lies Far in the west, by a fair green hollow. The straight, fine, meadow-line runs with the skies: A clear horizon for sight to follow, To leave, then rest where the zenith’s blue, Blue of the bluest, like my love’s eyes! I leave the noise of the busy mart; The small stream’s mouth with its shining shallows; I go with its going; till here, apart, Hid by rushes and low white mallows, Hushed in its singing it lieth deep— Deep of the deepest, like my love’s heart! I will sleep and dream while the shadows move And the slant of the sunlight falleth yellow. I will wake to the note of the greenwood dove As it calleth low to its distant fellow:— Where life of the fields and the woods is pure, Pure of the purest, like my love’s love!

To-night I watch the sun go down, Blood-red it sinks behind the hills. The deep low-lying valleys brown, The wheat fields, and the daisied down, The bright, mist-shrouded radiance fills. Across the surface of the pond The small trees throw their dark shadows: Whilst in the outlying wood beyond The deeper darkness broods and grows. The day is no awakener To greater beauty, than day’s wane. The little leaves that move and stir Make noise as of the sound of rain. The very air is gone to rest, And long and black the shadows lie, As over all the crimson west The darkness follows up the sky. Good-night!—until the sun shall send Along the east a shining mark! In answer to my greeting, Friend, You seem to call across the dark.

Oh ... my love comes to me to-night, After the weary days. And I must trim the candle bright And light a cheerful blaze. Then close within the window stand, As down the silent streets My heart shall hear his coming, and How it knows, and beats! His footstep falls from stair to stair, (Oh my love is my own!) I wear a ribbon in my hair That only he has known. His kiss upon my palms he left; I hold its message, still. Long days have made his soul bereft, To-night ... he takes his fill! In winter-time, in summer too, In sunshine, and in rain. Love waits for love, the wide world thro’. (Alas ... for watches vain!) As in my window, hid I stand; (Would all so blest might be!) His step is on the threshold, and My love has come to me.

When I am old! Oh Love, who well can say Whether within a year, a month, a day Or six times ten years that dead time shall come When Hope is pale and wan Desire stands dumb, And Love though living, clasps with fingers cold, When we are old. I think, perhaps, that Boundary’s dim outline Will not be crossed by these swift steps of mine, But while Desire is warm, and Hope still thrills I shall go hence and look from unseen hills On mighty scrolls of centuries unrolled, I still not old. To Be: unpierced by Vision. Break the Glass! But if fourscore and ten my years should pass, Witness, dear eyes! Mine, looking back, shall see Towers of strength, and Peaceful Seas, and Thee, And Love, a fragrant cerement, my heart shall fold When I am old.

Not love’s command Could dry one league of sea; Or even God’s hand Fold up one mile of land, To bring you sooner unto me! There are but three more days to climb— To-day, to-morrow, and its mate, Till that day!... Did love know to wait Would it be love? Not in my time Or in my blood! My thought, elate, Swells like a rising sea to flood Covering barren days between And brings you (as love should) Till you stand there—my lord, my light, my good!... Ere the frail screen Of fancy falls to my embrace Sudden, the spell snaps short to Fate! Till that day—when I see your face— There are still three dark days to climb, To-day, to-morrow, and its mate.

I love you more with every rising day With every waning sun I love you more. Love walketh with me on the outward way, It stands to meet me at the open door. It singeth low when other sounds clash loud; It keeps me lonely ’mid a changing crowd. I love you most when I am far away; I love you most when on your heart I rest; I love you most when rapture has its sway, I love you in your still caresses best. In restfulness, or when your pulses beat— All times, forever, most I love you, Sweet!

The flight of the years pursues me. And nothing is done! Nor gained, nor made, nor accomplished— Only Youth—lost. Slave to the pleasure that fetters, (nor would be free,) Tired of the light before the disk of the sun Is more than half of a circle! Stunned at the cost Of full free living, and nothing wherewith to pay The long close score that blights with its fearful truth— But my Youth.

Love in a life and after life—the Sleep! And we hang on a word, a look, and keep The pulses throbbing,—make the Spark burn low,— And close the Book, to laugh perhaps, to weep Most surely! if, oh gods! we may but know Love in life! Our burning hands we raise For dear palms’ clasp, and kisses on the lips, And close embrace. We give our nights and days, In the one draught delectable our spirits steep, Forgetting—(whilst the lights of Love eclipse—) The Sleep.

I heard the little cricket cry Last night in the dull rain—as I Put on my dark, my sombre dress. (I had no ear for happiness!) And as I braided up my hair I saw the white threads, silvered there, And on my cheeks the mark of tears, My only kisses thro’ the years. Sudden—that little voice I heard— Finer than call of cheerful bird. A human—tender—crying sound In the low grasses near the ground. Just as I said:—“I will take Cheer Instead of Joy!”—Your footsteps, Dear, Fell on the garden walk ... and when I put my candle out,—.... Again Late in the night I heard it plain The cricket, singing in the rain.

My only light is candle-light From candles fitly set In sconces, dazzling. Long threads, half melting, cling To snowy candle-masts, and fret The straight, slim forms, and I shall sit Alone, until the Spirit stirs These lily lights (for they are conjurers). From the high corners, shadows flit Across the floor: and One shall bring Back all my soul has loved and missed. And the dim others fade when we have kissed. But one remains, and I am one with it. My only light is candle-light From candles burning down Till each flame flickers into night. Is it the perfume slight From shadow hair and shadow gown Unseals my long-locked senses? Or, Light touching hands and lips that fill For me the waste of time, caress until I live as I have lived before? My only light shall be the candle’s light, To summon shades and mysteries Until my solitary spirit sees Your shadow steal across the shining floor.

At break of day when shadows fly And still the earth is white with dew, When light soft mists on hillside lie And, stirring purple meadows thro’, The morning wind moves like a sigh, Oh I awake then quietly! Earth’s sullied things draw never nigh When thus the day from God is new And from a dim far place on high On the chaste line of day and night Where holy thoughts the souls imbue Who wake, praise God, keep pure, walk right A boon comes ... is’t not blest that I Walk thus thro’ fields of God with you At break of day when shadows fly?

Last night I felt your kisses on my face, Softer than April fall of wind-flowers; Sweeter than summer rain upon the grass; Sweeter than the light wind, that in the South Wakes, and in groves of myrrh and cassia stirs. I bent with parted lips to kiss your mouth— Straightway there fell a fine thin veil between. There stood the trees in level rows, The sunlight filled the trembling green Of the leaf-sea, in the fair close. By these straight boles, under these slender boughs, Throughout the days of midsummer, I stand Until God part the veil with shining hand And show me where you sit within His house Holding the seven-sparred star, whose name is Love. The time, though long, I know comes fast apace Because of the sweet sign you told’st me of,— Last night I felt your kisses on my face.