Let change transfuse all other traits,
Enact all other blame,
But deign this least certificate—
That thou shalt be the same.
XCII
THE Devil, had he fidelity,
Would be the finest friend—
Because he has ability,
But Devils cannot mend.
Perfidy is the virtue
That would he but resign,—
The Devil, so amended,
Were durably divine.
XCIII
PAPA above!
Regard a Mouse
O‘erpowered by the Cat;
Reserve within thy Kingdom
A “mansion” for the Rat!
Snug in seraphic cupboards
To nibble all the day,
While unsuspecting cycles
Wheel pompously away.
XCIV
NOT when we know
The Power accosts,
The garment of Surprise
Was all our timid Mother wore
At Home, in Paradise.
XCV
ELIJAH‘S
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wagon knew no thill,
Was innocent of wheel,
Elijah’s horses as unique
As was his vehicle.
Elijah’s journey to portray,
Expire with him the skill,
Who justified Elijah,
In feats inscrutable.
XCVI
“REMEMBER me,” implored the Thief—
Oh magnanimity!
“My Visitor in Paradise
I give thee Guaranty.”
That courtesy will fair remain,
When the delight is dust,
With which we cite this mightiest case
Of compensated Trust.
Of All, we are allowed to hope,
But Affidavit stands
That this was due, where some, we fear,
Are unexpected friends.
XCVII
TO this apartment deep
No ribaldry may creep;
Untroubled this abode
By any man but God.
XCVIII
“SOWN in dishonor?”
Ah! Indeed!
May this dishonor be?
If I were half so fine myself,
I’d notice nobody!
“Sown in corruption?”
By no means!
Apostle is askew;
Corinthians 1:15, narrates
A circumstance or two!
269
XCIX
THROUGH lane it lay, through bramble,
Through clearing and through wood,
Banditti
270
often passed us
Upon the lonely road.
The wolf came purring curious,
The owl looked puzzled down,
The serpent’s satin figure
Glid stealthily along.
The tempest touched our garments,
The lightning’s poignards
271
gleamed,
Fierce from the crag above us
The hungry vulture screamed.
The satyr‘s
272
fingers beckoned,
The valley murmured “Come”—
These were the mates—and this the road
Those children fluttered home.
C
WHO is it seeks my pillow nights?
With plain inspecting face,
“Did you, or did you not?” to ask,
’T is Conscience, childhood’s nurse.
With martial hand she strokes the hair
Upon my wincing head,
“All rogues shall have their part in”—
What-
The Phosphorus
273
of God.
CI
His Cheek is his Biographer—
As long as he can blush,
Perdition is Opprobrium;
Past that, he sins in peace.
Thief
CII
“HEAVENLY Father,” take to thee
The supreme iniquity,
Fashioned by thy candid hand
In a moment contraband.
Though to trust us seem to us
More respectful—“we are dust.”
274
We apologize to Thee
For Thine own Duplicity.
CIII
THE sweets of Pillage can be known
To no one but the Thief,
Compassion for Integrity
Is his divinest Grief.
CIV
THE Bible is an antique volume
Written by faded men,
At the suggestion of Holy Spectres—
275
Subjects—Bethlehem—
Eden—the ancient Homestead—
Satan—the Brigadier,
Judas—the great Defaulter,
David—the Troubadour.
Sin—a distinguished Precipice
Others must resist,
Boys that “believe”
Are very lonesome—
Other boys are “lost.”
Had but the tale a warbling Teller
All the boys would come—
Orpheus’
276
sermon captivated,
It did not condemn.
CV
A little over Jordan,
As Genesis record,
An Angel and a Wrestler
Did wrestle long and hard.
277
Till, morning touching mountain,
And Jacob waxing strong,
The Angel begged permission
To breakfast and return.
“Not so,” quoth wily Jacob,
And girt his loins anew,
“Until thou bless me, stranger!”
The which acceded to:
Light swung the silver fleeces
Peniel
278
hills among,
And the astonished Wrestler
Found he had worsted God!
CVI
DUST is the only secret,
Death the only one
You cannot find out all about
In his native town:
Nobody knew his father,
Never was a boy,
Hadn’t any playmates
Or early history.
Industrious, laconic,
Punctual, sedate,
Bolder than a Brigand,
279
Swifter than a Fleet,
Builds like a bird too,
Christ robs the next—
Robin after robin
Smuggled to rest!
CVII
AMBITION cannot find him,
Affection doesn’t know
How many leagues of Nowhere
Lie between them now.
Yesterday undistinguished—
Eminent to-day,
For our mutual honor-
Immortality!
CVIII
EDEN is that old-fashioned House
We dwell in every day,
Without suspecting our abode
Until we drive away.
How fair, on looking back, the Day
We sauntered from the door,
Unconscious our returning
Discover it no more.
CIX
CANDOR, my tepid Friend,
Come not to play with me!
The Myrrhs and Mochas
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of the Mind
Are its Iniquity.
CX
SPEECH is a symptom of affection,
And Silence one,
The perfectest communication
Is heard of none—
Exists and its endorsement
Is had within—
Behold! said the Apostle,
Yet had not seen.
CXI
WHO were “the Father and the Son”—
We pondered when a child,
And what had they to do with us—
And when portentous told
With inference appalling,
By Childhood fortified,
We thought, “at least they are no worse
Than they have been described.”
Who are “the Father and the Son”—
Did we demand today,
“The Father and the Son” himself
Would doubtless specify,
But had they the felicity
When we desired to know,
We better Friends had been, perhaps,
Than time ensue to be.
We start, to learn that we believe
But once, entirely—
Belief, it does not fit so well
When altered frequently.
We blush, that Heaven if we achieve,
Event ineffable—
We shall have shunned, until ashamed
To own the Miracle.
CXII
THAT Love is all there is,
Is all we know of Love;
It is enough, the freight should be
Proportioned to the groove.
CXIII
THE luxury to apprehend
The luxury ’t would be
To look at thee a single time,
An Epicure of me,
In whatsoever Presence, makes,
Till, for a further food
I scarcely recollect to starve,
So first am I supplied.
The luxury to meditate
The luxury it was
To banquet on thy Countenance,
A sumptuousness bestows
On plainer days,
Whose table, far as
Certainty can see,
Is laden with a single crumb—
The consciousness of Thee.
CXIV
THE Sea said “Come” to the Brook,
The Brook said “Let me grow!”
The Sea said “Then you will be a Sea—
I want a brook, Come now!”
CXV
ALL I may, if small,
Do it not display
Larger for its Totalness?
’T is economy
To bestow a world
And withhold a star,
Utmost is munificence;
Less, though larger, Poor.
CXVI
LOVE reckons by itself alone,
“As large as I” relate the Sun
To one who never felt it blaze,
Itself is all the like it has.
CXVII
THE inundation of the Spring
Submerges every soul,
It sweeps the tenement away
But leaves the water whole.
In which the Soul, at first alarmed,
Seeks furtive for its shore,
But acclimated, gropes no more
For that Peninsular.
CXVIII
NO Autumn’s intercepting chill
Appalls this Tropic Breast,
But African exuberance
And Asiatic Rest.
CXIX
VOLCANOES be in Sicily
And South America,
I judge from my geography.
Volcanoes nearer here,
A lava step, at any time,
Am I inclined to climb,
A crater I may contemplate,
Vesuvius
281
at home.
CXX
DISTANCE is not the realm of Fox,
Nor by relay
282
as Bird;
Abated, Distance is until
Thyself, Beloved!
CXXI
THE treason of an accent
Might vilify the Joy—
To breathe,—corrode the rapture
Of Sanctity to be.
CXXII
How destitute is he
Whose Gold is firm,
Who finds it every time,
The small stale sum—
When Love, with but a pence
Will so display,
As is a disrespect to India!
283
CXXIII
CRISIS is sweet and, set of Heart
Upon the hither
284
side,
Has dowers of prospective
Surrendered by the Tried.
Inquire of the closing Rose
Which Rapture she preferred,
And she will tell you, sighing,
The transport of the Bud.
CXXIV
TO tell the beauty would decrease,
To state the Spell demean,
There is a syllableless sea
Of which it is the sign.
My will endeavours for its word
And fails, but entertains
A rapture as of legacies—
Of introspective mines.
CXXV
TO love thee, year by year,
May less appear
Than sacrifice and cease.
However, Dear,
Forever might be short
I thought, to show,
And so I pieced it with a flower now.
CXXVI
I showed her heights she never saw—
“Wouldst climb?” I said,
She said “Not so”—
“With me?” I said, “With me?”
I showed her secrets
Morning’s nest,
The rope that Nights were put across—
And now, “Wouldst have me for a Guest?”
She could not find her yes—
And then, I brake my life, and Lo!
A light for her, did solemn glow,
The larger, as her face withdrew—
And could she, further, “No?”
CXXVII
ON my volcano grows the grass,—
A meditative spot,
An area for a bird to choose
Would be the general thought.
How red the fire reeks below,
How insecure the sod—
Did I disclose, would populate
With awe my solitude.
CXXVIII
IF I could tell how glad I was,
I should not be so glad,
But when I cannot make the Force
Nor mould it into word,
I know it is a sign
That new Dilemma be
From mathematics further off,
Than from Eternity.
CXXIX
HER Grace is all she has,
And that, so vast displays,
One Art, to recognize, must be,
Another Art to praise.
CXXX
NO matter where the Saints abide,
They make their circuit fair;
Behold how great a Firmament
Accompanies a star!
CXXXXI
TO see her is a picture,
To hear her is a tune,
To know her an intemperance
As innocent as June;
By which to be undone
Is dearer than Redemption—
Which never to receive,
Makes mockery of melody
It might have been to live.
CXXXII
SO set its sun in thee,
What day is dark to me—
What distance far,
So I the ships may see
That touch how seldomly
Thy shore?
CXXXIII
HAD this one day not been,
Or could it cease to be—
How smitten, how superfluous
Were every other day!
Lest Love should value less
What Loss would value more,
Had it the stricken privilege—
It cherishes before.
CXXXIV
THAT she forgot me was the least,
I felt it second pain,
That I was worthy to forget
What most I thought upon.
Faithful, was all that I could boast,
But Constancy became,
To her, by her innominate,
285
A something like a shame.
CXXXV
THE incidents of Love
Are more than its Events,
Investments best expositor
Is the minute per cents.
CXXXVI
A little overflowing word
That any hearing had inferred
For ardor or for tears,
Though generations pass away,
Traditions ripen and decay,
As eloquent appears.
CXXXVII
JUST so, Jesus raps—He does not weary—
Last at the knocker and first at the bell,
Then on divinest tiptoe standing
Might He out-spy the lady’s soul.
When He retires, chilled and weary—
It will be ample time for me;
Patient, upon the steps, until then—
Heart, I am knocking low at Thee!
CXXXVIII
SAFE Despair it is that raves,
Agony is frugal,
Puts itself severe away
For its own perusal.
Garrisoned no Soul can be
In the front of Trouble,
Love is one, not aggregate,
Nor is Dying double.
CXXXIX
THE Face we choose to miss,
Be it but for a day—
As absent as a hundred years
When it has rode away.
CXL
OF so divine a loss
We enter but the gain,
Indemnity for loneliness
That such a bliss has been.
CXLI
THE healed Heart shows its shallow scar
With confidential moan,
Not mended by Mortality
Are fabrics truly torn.
To go its convalescent way
So shameless is to see,
More genuine were Perfidy
Than such Fidelity.
CXLII
GIVE little anguish
Lives will fret.
Give avalanches—
And they’ll slant,
Straighten, look cautious for their breath,
But make no syllable—
Like Death,
Who only shows his
Marble disc—
Sublimer sort than speech.