No More Learning

? STEFAN GEORGE

? By the same Author
THE SHADOWS OF SILENCE AND
THE SONGS OF YESTERDAY
THE GRAVE OF EROS AND THE
BOOK OF MOURNFUL MELODIES
WITH DREAMS FROM THE EAST
BAUDELAIRE--THE FLOWERS OF EVIL
In preparation
THE VOICE OF THE ANCIENT

? STEFAN GEORGE
SELECTION FROM HIS WORKS
? ? ? "? *
'. >> ? - ?
TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH
BY
CYRIL SCOTT
LONDON
ELKIN MATHEWS, VIGO STREET
MCMX

? To
FRIEDRICH GUNDOLF AND
ERNST GUNDOLF; THE
FRIENDS OF THE FRIEND

? FOREWORD
IN the opinions of some of the deepest literary
thinkers of Germany, Stefan George finds a place as
the greatest poet of the day. Apart from his depth
and beauty, he has created a new form, endowed
verse with new colour and sound, and greatly ex-
tended the possibilities of expression in the German
language. Through his personality; his pathos and
ethology he has furthermore engendered a new ideal;
a synthesis of Christian and Pagan feeling which in
this form has not existed before. That the English-
speaking public may gain at any rate some faint idea
of his genius, it has been my joyous task to translate
the following small selection of his works.
421202

?
? INDEX OF FIRST LINES
I may not lean across the wicket, turning 11
As on the languorous settle 12
Silvery swallows I saw flying 13
Through the blossoms softly simmer 17
Were it much to implore thee 18
Since I be down-cast 19
See my child I'm going 20
This is just the kind of morning 21
Through the casement a noble-child saw 22
Come in the death-foreboded park, to view 25
'Neath trembling tree-tops to and fro we wander 26
Let us surround the silent pool 27
To-day we will not cross the garden-railing 27
The blue-toned campions and the blood-red poppies . . . 28
Doth still before thee rise the beauteous image 29
There laughs in the heightening year, soft 30
The blissful meadows beckoned. To the stile 31
Night of grief and gloom }? 31
I know you step within mine house 32
'Tis not wise until the latest hour 32
The hill where o'er we wander lies in shadow 33
Needs must thou be upon the wastelands yearning . . . 34
Seek not to know which song or saying yields 37
As long as tinted haze the mountain covered 38
Ye speak of raptures that are void and friendless 39

? Look at this azure hour 40
I stood in summer waiting. Now with pallor 41
Blossoms of summer, rich is your fragrance still 42
Can such a pain be branded? 43
This throbbing shows what we abandoned 44
By the waters that make faint moan 45
Lustre and fame! thus ariseth our sphere 46
Troubled soul -- thus didst thou ask -- why art thou
mourning? 49
Now let me call across the snow-clad meadows 50
There were no ruins, neither fragments 51
In sorrow day and night the disciple watched 52
Sunlight slantingly flows 53
The wild resplendence of the year resolves 54
Doth live for thee again, Beloved that October? 55
In white and glowing blossomy undulation 57
Stars ascend up there 58
Par from the harbour's noise 59
My child came home 60
Love calls not worthy him whoe'er renounced 61
Behold the crossways 62
Windows where I gazed with you 63
Whene'er I stand upon your bridge 64

? FROM
HYMNS, PILGRIMAGES, ALGABAL
ERRATA
Page 20, line 11, for " Brief " read " Grief. "
Page 34, line 5, for " put" read "but. "
Page 63, line 8, for " through " read " threw. "

?
? From--" Visions
I may not lean across the wicket, turning
My gaze so long towards the lawn,
I hear a mellow flute's afar-off yearning.
Amid the laurels laughs a fawn.
Whene'er I meet you at the ruddy tower,
You ne'er reward me with more gentle tread,
You know not how I prize this sacred hour,
How sad I am when it is dead.
Denying that which mine own spirit guesses
--Our great and ancient fame is also known--
Can I tear off the scarf which veils my tresses,
And with an early widowhood atone?
Oh may he glean my lips delights unbidden,
--I gleaned them all since as a dream he rose--
The oleanders "mid the fragrance hidden
And others smiling as the jasmin blows.
I may not lean across the wicket, turning
My gaze so long towards the lawn,
I hear a mellow flute's afar-off yearning,
Amid the laurels laughs a fawn.
11

? From--" Days"
As on the languorous settle
Slumber evaded me long,
Then bring me no wondrous saga,
Nor sooth me with slumbrous song
From maidens of mythical regions
That favoured my fancy erewhile,
But snare me into your bondage
Flute-players from the Nile.
I lay in the ether recesses,
I ate of the heavenly bread,
Ye sang of celestial journeys,
Ye sang of the glorious dead.
Before my burning eyelids
At last me with slumber beguile,
O! carry me distant and kill me
Flute-players from the Nile!
12

? Auguration
Silvery swallows I saw flying,
Swallows snow and silver white,
In the breezes lullabying,
In the breezes hot and light.
Coloured jackdaws I saw hiding,
Paroquets and kolibri,
Through the magic branches gliding
In the woods of Tusfery.
Great black ravens I saw flutt'ring,
Caddows black and sombre gray,
In the enchanted coppice strutting
'Mid the adders on the way.
And again I see them flying,
Swarms of swallows silver white,
In the breezes lullabying,
In the breezes brisk and bright.
13

?
? FROM
THE BOOK OF THE SHEPHERDS,
OF PRIZE POEMS, SONGS AND
SAYINGS, AND THE HANGING
GARDENS

?
? Songs of a Strolling Player
THROUGH the blossoms softly simmer
Drops profound and fair
Since the light-beams o'er them shimmer.
And if I should languish, jaded,
That which was erewhile unknown
Now to me this day is clear,
That my final hope hath flown:
That your joys for me have faded
New-born sun, and youthful year.
17

? WERE it much to implore thee,
If devoutly, once,
I might kneel before thee
After suffering long?
And thine hand embracing,
Press it tenderly,
Calm with kisses tracing,
Short and soft and still?
Would'st thou grant my pleading,
If severe and still
Passively conceding,
Thy look should suffer me?
18

? SINCE I be down-cast,
Alone I know one thing,
I dream myself near thee,
A song to thee I sing.
Then methinks I hear
Almost thy voice's sound,
Afar its echo falls,
And calmer grows my care.
19

? SEE my child, I'm going,
For I would not pain thee
Mortal sorrows vainly
Unto thee foreshowing.
I for thee am wary,
See my child I'm going,
Lest erelong thy fairy
Roses pale be growing.
Fain would I have taught thee,
But alone that wrought me,
U. Brief beyond all knowing,
See my child, I'm going.
20

? THIS is just the kind of morning;
Balmy breaths o'er brook and tree
Make thine ear more keen and tender
Unto vows I hid for thee;
Sweet petitions softly dawning.
No more should I be dismayed
If beside the verdant hedges,
We again together strayed,
I would whisper soft my pledges
And to thee all homage tender.
21

? THROUGH the casement a noble-child saw
In the spring-time golden and green,
As he harked to the swallow's lore,
And looked so rejoiced and keen.
A minstrel. --Minstrel here!
Come give me thy loveliest lay.
The child inclined his ear,
And then grew weary and gray.
Oh 1 why did he sing me that song,
I threw him the ring from my hand
Bitter and treacherous wrong
That sought me with fetters to brand.
No longer the flowers are gay,
The springtime hath lost its caress,
Alone I will dream to-day,
Weep in the silent recess.
22

? FROM
THE YEAR OF THE SOUL

?
? i
\
After Vintage
COMB in the death-foreboded park, to view
How yonder smiling bank in radiance shimmers,
The virgin cloudlets' unexpected blue
Upon the tarn and tinted pathway glimmers.
There, take the darkling gold, the gentle gray
From birches and from box--the zephyrs sway,
Few lingering roses yet their perfumes breathe,
Select them, kiss them and a crown enwreathe.
Do not forget these asters that remain,
The scarlet leafage round the tendrils twining,
And all the rests of verdant life combining,
Resolve them in the soft autumnal vein.
25

? NEATH trembling tree tops to and fro we wander
Along the beech-grove, nearly to the bower,
And see within the silent meadow yonder,
The almond tree a second time in flower.
We search for seats by cooling shades deserted,
There, where never strangers' voices fluster,
Our arms entwined, our eyes in dreams averted,
We steep our souls in gentle lingering lustre.
We feel so grateful, when to soft discourses
Of tree-tops, slanting rays towards us travel,
And only look, and listen when in pauses,
The ripened fruit resounds upon the gravel.
26

? LET us surround the silent pool
Wherein the water ways commingle,
You seek my chary soul to kindle:
A breeze o'erwafts us chaste and cool.
Prom leaflets that bedeck the ground
Renewed and goodly scents arise,
The coloured volume I expound,
While you repeat the words I prize.
But can you glean the silent sorrows,
And unto deeper joys attain?
With shaded eyes your vision follows
The gentle swans' receding train.
TO-DAY we will not cross the garden railing,
For sometimes swiftly, yet in ways unclear,
This soft caressing or this sweet exhaling,
With long-forgotten joy again draws near:
And thus it brings us ghosts which goad and harass,
And anguish rendering weary and afraid.
Behold beneath the tree upon the terrace
The many corpses from the tempest's raid.
From off the gateway's rusting iron asters,
5The birds take flight to far sequestered greens,
? And others shiv'ring on the stone pilasters
* Drink raindrops from the hollow flower-steens,
27

? The Conquest of Summer
THE blue-toned campions and the blood-red poppies
Escape the murmuring and fleeting grain!
O wander without brooding through these valleys,
Through every oft-entwining path again.
Bestow no heed to signs upon the beeches,
The hand that carved them once now hangs effete,
And be not deaf to other names and speeches:
To young and fresher stems your steps entreat.
Forget the anguish and the ancient bleedings,
The wounds engendered by the thorny rind,
And leaves of arid hours, and empty pleadings,
O'ertrample them and leave them all behind.
28

? DOTH still before thee rise the beauteous image
Of him who high the cliff for roses scales,
Who nigh forgets the day amidst the scrimmage,
Who fullest honey from the bunch inhales?
Who oft towards the park for quiet wandered
When far a bird allured him o'er the lea,
Who sat beside the tranquil pool and pondered,
And listened to the silent secrecy?
And from the moss-crowned island slowly gliding
The swan forsook the fountain's mellow note,
Within his noble infant-hand confiding
The virgin frailty of its slender throat.
29

? Solemn Dances
THERE laughs in the heightening year, Sweet,
The scent from the garden benign.
Weaves in thy fluttering hair, Sweet,
Ivy and celandine.
The wavering corn is like gold, still,
Perhaps not so rich nor so hale,
Roses with greetings unfold still,
Be though their bloom something pale.
Let's hush over all that's denied us,
Let's promise at peace to remain,
Though everything else be decried us
But still a stroll-round atwain.
30

? THE blissful meadows beckoned. To the stile
She came o'er violet carpets soft, attired,
To meet the harvest bridegroom, as erewhile,
To be his truelove till the feast expired.
Only a lark that sang within the grove,
Beheld her start; beheld her secret blushes.
And as the lengthening days of summer throve,
She sighed, then withered by the waving rushes.
And left--her slender sweetness to divine,
Alone a necklace wreathed with silken tresses,
(With which a godly friend arrayed her shrine)
A marble block amid the weeds and cresses.
NIGHT of grief and gloom 1
Black velvet covering veils
Footsteps in the room
Wherein thy love travails.
His death wrought thy desire,
Now look how mute and wan
He rests upon the pyre.
Around him tapers burn.
The tapers slowly fade
Thou speedest from these halls,
Now that thy love is dead--
And sound of weeping falls.
31

? I KNOW you step within mine house
Like some-one who to grief is prone,
Who wearies when in rude carouse,
The viols twixt the columns drone.
Here no man treadeth oft nor loud,
Through casement comes the Autumn balm,
Here to the hopeless, hope is vowed,
To pleadings, tendered words of calm.
On entering, soft, a touch of hand,
And at the dole of parting-time,
A kiss, with an adornment bland,
As farewell gift: a gentle rhyme.
'Tis not wise until the latest hour
To enjoy delight's ephemeral dower:
Birds to southern seas have taken flight,
Fading flow'rs wait till the snows alight.
How thy hands caress the weary rose!
Other ones this year no more bestows,
No petitions can recall them here,
Other ones with springtide may appear.
Loosen thou mine arm, yet steadfast stay,
Leave the park ere sunlight's parting ray,
And the mists descend o'er mount and lea,
Let's depart ere winter bids us flee.
82

? THE hill where o'er we wander lies in shadow,
Whereas the other side is bathed in light,
The moon upon its tender verdant meadow
Appears but as a tiny cloud in flight.
The outlines of the distant streets grow shorter,
A murmuring bids the wanderer to respite;
Is it the music of some hidden water?
Is it a bird that trills his mate "goodnight? "
Two early night-winged butterflies together
Be-chase themselves from halm to halm in jest,
The balk prepares from out the shrubs and weather,
The balm of evening for the soul distressed.

? NEEDS must thou be upon the wastelands, yearning
For earlier, richer colours yet?
Towards the fallow deserts ever turning,
And crops of barren summers still regret?
Console thyself if ptlt in shadow's veiling
Soft shimmering, thou thy previous plenty seest,
And a Redeemer through the breezes sailing;
The distant wind that falters from the East.
And look! within our annals past, those hours
That burned as wounds, now fade in silent breath,
For all the things we ever christened flowers
Regather round the well of Death.
84

? FROM
THE TAPESTRY OF LIFE AND
THE SONGS OF DREAM AND
DEATH. WITH A PRELUDE

?
? From the Prelude ix
SEEK not to know which song or saying yields
The palm of praise or garland at the feast,
What yester tempest blew through arid fields,
Now lies 'mid laurels in the hallowed Bast.
Erewhile 'twas corn resplendent and unstained,
Or crystal, that through morning radiance shone,
Now flowing agate, deep and sombre-veined,
Then like a crimson sparkling precious stone.
What as a gurgling softly simmered through
The soil, within the dead deserted brake,
--And no more than a drop of fragrant dew
That fell from flowerlet unto deepest lake:
Becomes the clinging mist that cleaves the heights,
And which in darkest midnights as a beam
The heart of the chasm suddenly be-smites
To spring and ramble like a ruddy stream.
37

? XXI
As long as tinted haze the mountain covered,
Upon my course the track I soon discovered.
And through the copse a few known voices stray,
Now all is silent on the evening way.
Now no one fares awhile my road, forsaken,
I find no wight within me hope to waken,
Who yet the smallest solace might implore,
So deep in darkness plods no pilgrim more.
And with the dying strain--the songful cricket--
Remembrance too fades in the silent thicket,
A fallow vapour broods the woods around
And veils the pathway without gleam or sound.
A damp and death-like odour from the hollow
--Where all must slumber--rises, yet I follow
Thy wafture still, which fire enkindles new
And Thy great love which ever watches true.

? The Disciple
YB speak of raptures that are void and friendless,
With me all love ascends towards my Lord,
Ye know alone the luscious, I the endless,
I live but for mine endless Lord.
More than for any work your guild adjureth,
Am I ordained to labour for my Lord,
Thus I will prosper, for my Lord endureth,
I ever serve my kindly Lord.
I know the way we tread is dark and snary
And many fainted, yet beside my Lord
I dare all dangers, for my Lord is wary,
I ever trust my wary Lord.
And should he deem it well, and ne'er requite me
My comfort is the vision of my Lord,
Are others richer, he is the most mighty,
I follow my most mighty Lord,
39

? Azure Hour
LOOK at this azure hour.
Dissolving o'er the garden tent,
It brought a joyful dower,
For sisters pale a sweet lament.
Resplendent, fleet and flowing
It hastens with the clouds; behold
An offering's-billet glowing:
It tells what it bestowed when cold.
"That it so swiftly passes"
--For thus in rapt regret we trow--
A night of joy amasses
Its wealth of arches even now.
Tis like a burden olden
That renders grave or renders gay,
In heaven new and golden
Still charms and thrills when died away.
40

? A Boy who Sang to me of Autumn and
Evening
I STOOD in summer waiting. Now with pallor,
I see the scarlet flag already waving;
It means the harvest-hirelings' dance with Death;
With unpicked fruitage tempest-toused and torn.
Now all that faith, so free from care, hath vanished,
Now in the short respite I haste and gather
Of all remaining, binding leaf and blossoms;
Half withered marvels of my sorrowed hand.
My hand in dedicative worship lifts
In shame on high to thee the scattered off'ring,
No more a token of imagined glory,
--Although with many a precious tear-drop shining--
No more a choice of rare and wondrous jewels,
That fain from destiny for thee I'd conquer,
Than e'er the tale of hellish love and hatred
Can spread by this subdued and falt'ring voice.
41

? July Melancholy
BLOSSOMS of summer, rich is your fragrance
still,
Breezes blend with the bitter scent of seed.
You lead me to the withering balustrade,
The gardens' sesame has become so strange.
From the forgotten you call forth dreams; the
child
Reposing on the ground in the corn-clad fields,
In harvest-glow beside the naked mowers.
Beside the shining scythe and exhausted jug.
Sleepily lull the wasps in the noon-day song,
And through the meagre shelter of the blades
Upon his sunburnt forehead slowly trickle
The poppy-petals: large red drops of blood.
Transience ne'er can rob me of aught that
has been,
Languishing just as erewhile on the languish-
ing field,
I lie: from languid lips there sighs " how weary
Am I of all the flowers--the lovely flowers. "
42

? Thrill of the Dawn
CAN such a pain be branded?
And such an haze and such a light?
The morning be commanded,
That breaks within us blest and bright?
As through the spirit paling,
The pathways--then across the weald
Caressing breezes sailing
Respond themselves o'er fence and field.
Dim, as through tears o'erflowing,
The tree--the house that offers rest;
A silver saint's-day glowing,
The cherry-branch that waves its crest.
A rustling and a flitter
Torments and charms, makes sad and free.
A swaying sweet and bitter,
A singing without melody. .
43

? Throbbing
THIS throbbing shows what we abandoned,
Which through the vacant chamber wells,
Wherein our joys, in parting, beckoned,
No longer hour nor pathway tells 1
How oft in sleep we wander, straying!
How shrill at every word it quells,
Resounding like those joys' last echoes I
How sorely every stone retells.
That we perceived ourselves erst only . . . .
How all around, it chokes and swells
When we approach the things they cherished.
Against it how the heart rebels.
--Since, chides and asks our solemn action,
For such an end what rage compels ? --
Yet silenced cannot be this throbbing
Which dolefulness alone dispels.
44

?
The Disciple
YB speak of raptures that are void and friendless,
With me all love ascends towards my Lord,
Ye know alone the luscious, I the endless,
I live but for mine endless Lord.
More than for any work your guild adjureth,
Am I ordained to labour for my Lord,
Thus I will prosper, for my Lord endureth,
I ever serve my kindly Lord.
I know the way we tread is dark and snary
And many fainted, yet beside my Lord
I dare all dangers, for my Lord is wary,
I ever trust my wary Lord.
And should he deem it well, and ne'er requite me
My comfort is the vision of my Lord,
Are others richer, he is the most mighty,
I follow my most mighty Lord,
39

? Azure Hour
LOOK at this azure hour.
Dissolving o'er the garden tent,
It brought a joyful dower,
For sisters pale a sweet lament.
Resplendent, fleet and flowing
It hastens with the clouds; behold
An offering's-billet glowing:
It tells what it bestowed when cold.
"That it so swiftly passes"
--For thus in rapt regret we trow--
A night of joy amasses
Its wealth of arches even now.
Tis like a burden olden
That renders grave or renders gay,
In heaven new and golden
Still charms and thrills when died away.
40

? A Boy who Sang to me of Autumn and
Evening
I STOOD in summer waiting. Now with pallor,
I see the scarlet flag already waving;
It means the harvest-hirelings' dance with Death;
With unpicked fruitage tempest-toused and torn.
Now all that faith, so free from care, hath vanished,
Now in the short respite I haste and gather
Of all remaining, binding leaf and blossoms;
Half withered marvels of my sorrowed hand.
My hand in dedicative worship lifts
In shame on high to thee the scattered off'ring,
No more a token of imagined glory,
--Although with many a precious tear-drop shining--
No more a choice of rare and wondrous jewels,
That fain from destiny for thee I'd conquer,
Than e'er the tale of hellish love and hatred
Can spread by this subdued and falt'ring voice.
41

? July Melancholy
BLOSSOMS of summer, rich is your fragrance
still,
Breezes blend with the bitter scent of seed.
You lead me to the withering balustrade,
The gardens' sesame has become so strange.
From the forgotten you call forth dreams; the
child
Reposing on the ground in the corn-clad fields,
In harvest-glow beside the naked mowers.
Beside the shining scythe and exhausted jug.
Sleepily lull the wasps in the noon-day song,
And through the meagre shelter of the blades
Upon his sunburnt forehead slowly trickle
The poppy-petals: large red drops of blood.
Transience ne'er can rob me of aught that
has been,
Languishing just as erewhile on the languish-
ing field,
I lie: from languid lips there sighs " how weary
Am I of all the flowers--the lovely flowers. "
42

? Thrill of the Dawn
CAN such a pain be branded?
And such an haze and such a light?
The morning be commanded,
That breaks within us blest and bright?
As through the spirit paling,
The pathways--then across the weald
Caressing breezes sailing
Respond themselves o'er fence and field.
Dim, as through tears o'erflowing,
The tree--the house that offers rest;
A silver saint's-day glowing,
The cherry-branch that waves its crest.
A rustling and a flitter
Torments and charms, makes sad and free.
A swaying sweet and bitter,
A singing without melody. .
43

? Throbbing
THIS throbbing shows what we abandoned,
Which through the vacant chamber wells,
Wherein our joys, in parting, beckoned,
No longer hour nor pathway tells 1
How oft in sleep we wander, straying!
How shrill at every word it quells,
Resounding like those joys' last echoes I
How sorely every stone retells.
That we perceived ourselves erst only . . . .
How all around, it chokes and swells
When we approach the things they cherished.
Against it how the heart rebels.
--Since, chides and asks our solemn action,
For such an end what rage compels ? --
Yet silenced cannot be this throbbing
Which dolefulness alone dispels.
44

? Day Song
BY the waters that make faint moan,
Yonder where the poplar tree sways,
Sits a songful bird, whose quaint tone
T'wards us softly o'er the lea strays.
And the warbler's voice resounds clear :?
"Bloom is in the garden-close dead,
All within its season rounds fair,
See how yonder summit glows red.
Only memory leaves him prize-dreams,
Who to happier ones the way treads,
Golden glory from his eyes beams,
Which in flight he on the way sheds.
Lift thy tired head that fain bends,
Should a visage from the night rise,
And thus wait until my strain ends,
And thus tarry until the light dies. "
45

? Dream and Death
LUSTRE and fame! thus ariseth our sphere
Like heroes we banish both mountain and mere,
Young and great beams the spirit, unbound
On the fields, on the floods that surround.
O'er the way, a light breaks, a form flies,
And both rapture and grief swiftly rise,
The Supreme, muses, weeps, to bend were fain:
"Thou my weal, thou my star, thou my gain. "
Then a dream of great pomp rises o'er,
And it conquers the god that it bore,
Till a shout casts us down far beneath;
We so small, and so stript before death.
All these storm, tear and beat, blare and blast,
Till on the night-firmament at last,
Converged in a light-gem that glisteneth;
Lustre and fame, rapture and grief, dream and death.

? FROM
THE SEVENTH RING

?
? From "Tides
TROUBLED soul--thus didst thou ask--why art thou
mourning?
Is this then thy return for fate's good will?
Sickly soul--I said to thee--but now in mourning
This fate is wrong and makes me deathly ill.
Pallid soul--thus didst thou ask--is dead the fire
Forever, that divinely in us burns?
Blinded soul--I said to thee--I'm full of fire;
My yearning is mine only grief that burns.
Harden'd soul--thus didst thou ask--can more be
given
Than youth can give? I gave mine every good. .
Has e'er a higher wish in any bosom thriven
Than this one: take unto thy weal my blood!
Flighty soul--I said to thee--what means "I love
thee " 1
A shade alone of that for thee I shed . . .
Sombre soul--thus didst thou say--I needs must love
thee
Although through thee my fairest dream be dead.
49

? Now let me call across the snow-clad meadows,
Wherein you threatened oft to sink away,
As you, oblivious, lead me through the shadows
Of time--my solace now--but erst in play.
You came amidst the show of flow'ry splendour,
Again I saw you at the aftermath,
And, 'mid the ruddy corn-blades' rustling tender,
Unto your cottage always wound my path.
Your speech resounded, as the foliage faded,
So gently, that my life in yours I laid.
And as you left, suspired confused and jaded
In sighful accents the deserted glade.
Thus did alone, with every wand'ring wended
As goal, the shimmer of two eyelets glow,
Thus your faint song as song of the year ascended,
And all befell, since you ordained it so.
50

? THERE were no ruins, neither fragments,
There was no chasm, nor grave nor pall,
There was no longing, was no wooing,
Where but one hour rendered all.
Prom thousand blossoms came a bubbling
'Mid purple sheen of sorcery,
The song of countless warblers singing
Broke through the Spring's first cry of glee.
Then such a rearing without bridle,
A raging which no arm could fend,
An opening of new fragrant spaces,
A thrill in which all senses blend.

? From Maximin
IN sorrow, day and night the disciple watched
Upon the mount where from the Lord ascended:
"Thus leaveth thou thy faithful to despair?
Thou think'st no more of earth in thy great glory?
Thy holy voice I never more shall hear,
Nor kiss thy feet, nor kiss thy garment hem?
I pray thae for a sign, yet thou art mute. "
Then came that way a stranger: "Brother speak,
Upon thy cheeks there burns so great a woe
That I must bear, if it I cannot quench. "
"In vain is all thy solace . . . . leave this poorling!
I seek my lord who has forgotten me. "
The stranger vanished . . the disciple sank
With anguished cry . . For through the sacred glow
That bathed the spot, he knew that which through
blind
Despair and sickly hope he had not seen
Before: it was the Lord who came and went.
52

? Visitation
SUNLIGHT slantingly flows
Down through the rampart notches
Onto thine house by the thicket,
Onto thy garden-close.
When the birds swirl on the sward,
When the trees wave their branches,
After sundown the early
Wayfarers wander abroad.
Plenish the pail at the well,
Sprinkle the sand on the pathway,
Bushes and beds of the grass-plot,
Roses and heather-bell.
And on the wall, by the seat,
Break the entangled ivy,
Scatter buds for a carpet,
Let all be balmy and sweet.
Lest as a pilgrim, again,
In such twilight shadows,
HE should alight, peradventure
Onto our earth, and then
Over the way he should glide,
--Parting the leaves with his radiance-
Through the copse to thy threshold,
There awhile to abide.
63

? Dream--Darkness
LANDSCAPE I
THE wild resplendence of the year resolves,
The sombre mood of evening fades away
Within a wood, where from a late array
Of saffron, bronze and crimson--dole dissolves.
And leaf on leaf in languid flakes alight
Upon the surface of a silent pool,
Whereby a boy keeps watch with eyelets cool;
Already cruel spouse to falling night.
And through the solitudes remote and strange
The golden gloss of eve, from tree to tree,
Descends, amid the yellow, flamingly,
Then darksome mists o'er darksome bushes range.
Night-shades assemble, edges white with foam,
Around a wall of blood-red barren thorn,
Pale hands throng forward, groping tired and torn--
If only through the thicket sleep would come! . .
Then "mid the gray there peeps a glimmer soon,
A new light rises 'neath the evening star,
A grass-plot stretches o'er a crag afar.
Along there glides among the violets strewn
A row of slender stems, like lances free.
The azure vault in silver shimmers soft,
A dewy breeze with fragrance soars aloft. . . .
And blossoms fall upon an open sea.
54

? LANDSCAPE II
DOTH live for thee again, Beloved, that October,
That stroll we took--and how we went astray,
When midst the bronze-like beams of fir-trees dark
and sober,
And flaming crimson leaves we made our way
From tree to tree--upon the pathway silent vagrants,
Divided, and in loving strife beset,
While each in secret hearkened, midst the foliage
fragrance,
To music of a dream that is not yet.
At first, the elf-like laughter of a streamlet roaming
Down in the valley, served us still as guide,
Which hastened onward, growing softer and more
gloaming,
Till unobserved its sobbing echoes died.
So charmed were we, so long we tarried o'er this
ramble,
That soon the path forsook us, soon the light,
Until a child, who late plucked berries from the
bramble,
Across the thicket guided us aright.
Along the lichened pathway of the leaf-crowned alley,
With faltering footsteps tardily we passed,
And then through ever lighter-glimmering twigs, the
valley
With distant dome re-opened forth at last.
55

? Our loving arms towards the mossy bark extended,
We bid farewell unto the final tree,
Then down through flowers towards our lovely goal
descended:
And earth and ether swam in a golden sea.
56

? Roses
IN white and glowing blossomy undulation,
From shrubs encircling distant heights and hollows,
You lost yourself . . . . sang musing, as you hastened
Within the fragrant thicket. . . you, abandoned quite
Within the rosy sheen. At noonday tumbled
Leaflets, changing with delight upon your lips,
And as you slept there played with you, bunches,
bushes,
Billows of roses.
That eve should still have found you here! you
wander
In shrubs where you no longer know the way
Yea, blind and wounded by the thorny kiss . .
Now tarry there--your head bowed low and bleeding.
And now the blossoms by the night be stirred
Around you surge, and may their purple fall
To veil from sight your shame. Thus learn of
mourning
And strife from roses,
57

? Songs
PRELUDE
STARS ascend up there
And strike up the song,
Stars descend up there
With the counter-song.
Because so fair thou art
Moves the spheral course,
And when mine thou art
I will command its course.
Because so fair thou art
Exiled I am till death,
Because my lord thou art
My path is dole and death.
"That so fair I am
Thus it dawns on me,
That all thine I am
This I swear to thee. "
58

? I
FAR from the harbour's noise,
Lies the sun-kissed shore,
Where billows sink to rest--
Hope slips softly away.
There, a wind from the sea
Stirs the arched waves up,
Rearing high, they break.
Thus doth anguish surge!
Still louder the breakwater sounds,
And hissing it beats the surf
Up to the sand-dune heights.
And thus doth passion moan.
59

? II
MY child came home,
The sea-breeze in his hair still blows,
His gait still bears
The traveller's proven fear and youthful glee.
From salty spray
The brown tint of his glowing cheek still rough;
Fruit quickly ripe,
'Neath foreign suns in scorching airs and heat.
His look is grave,
--Yea from thejsecret that I never knew--
And slightly glazed,
Since to our winter from the spring he came.
So fully bloomed
The bud, that almost dazed I looked thereon,
Denying myself
That mouth which chose another mouth to kiss.
Mine arms enfold
That, which unswayed by me grew up and bloomed
To other worlds:
Mine own, and yet so infinitely far.
60

? Ill
LOVE calls not worthy him whoe'er renounced . . .
It perseveres if grief be all its view,
And squanders gems for which no mortal thanks,
And blesses when self as sacrifice it burns.
Dearest! the only path you know to joy
Grows dark through my approach: that never lot
Confound you, which betrays itself so soon
Against desire, I wrench myself away.
Sweetest! yea more than this, that never breath
Should mar your virgin sport, to exile I
Depart, and doubly suffering, only this
Mine anguish speaks with me, and this poor song.
61

? BEHOLD the crossways .
We are at the end.
Eve descended . . . .
This is the end.
A moment's wandering
Whom maketh tired?
For me too long though,
Pain maketh tired.
Hands extended:
Thou heedest not?
Sighs ascended,
Thou gleanest not?
Along my pathway
Thou goest not.
Tears are falling:
Thou knowest not.

? WINDOWS where I gazed with you
At eve upon the landscape once
Are now illumed with other lights.
From the gate the path still runs,
Where without looking back you stood,
Then swerved towards the valley down.
By the turning, once again,
The moon thniwfeh up your visage wan,
And yet too late to call you back.
Darkness--silence--rigid air
As whilome sink around your house.
Yea every joy you took with you.

? Whene'er I wander by thine house,
I send a silent prayer on high
As if thou layest dead within.
WHENE'ER I stand upon your bridge,
A whisper tells me from the stream,
"Here rose your light within me once. "
And when yourself you come my way
My vision does not cleave, but turns
Without a shiver or salute.
And only inwardly inclines,
As we are wont if there draws nigh
A stranger on his final round.
W. U. DAHOAN, LTD. , BKITUFIELD, E. C.

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