Songs of Two

Excerpt

  Last night I dreamed this dream: That I was dead;      And as I slept, forgot of man and God,      That other dreamless sleep of rest,      I heard a footstep on the sod,      As of one passing overhead,—  And lo, thou, Dear, didst touch me on the breast,      Saying: "What shall I write against thy name          That men should see?"      Then quick the answer came,          "I was beloved of thee."

      Dear Giver of Thyself when at thy side,      I see the path beyond divide,      Where we must walk alone a little space,      I say: "Now am I strong indeed      To wait with only memory awhile,      Content, until I see thy face,—"      Yet turn, as one in sorest need,      To ask once more thy giving grace,          So, at the last      Of all our partings, when the night      Has hidden from my failing sight          The comfort of thy smile,  My hand shall seek thine own to hold it fast;  Nor wilt thou think for this the heart ingrate,          Less glad for all its past,      Less strong to bear the utmost of its fate.

  As once through forest shade I went,  I heard a flower call, and bent—  Then strove to go. Should love not spare?  "Nay, Dearest, this is love's sweet share  Of selfishness. For which is best,  To die alone or on thy breast?  If thou hast heard my call,  Take fearlessly, thou art my guest—      To give is all"  Hush! O Love, thou casuist!

  Ask me not why,—I only know,  It were thy loss if I could show  Thee cause as for a lesser thing.  Remember how we searched the spring,  But found no source,—so clear the sky  Within its earth bound depths did lie,        Give to thy joy its wings,    And to thy heart its song, nor try        With questionings    The throbbing throat that sings.

  For in thy clear and steadfast eyes  Thine own self wonder deepest lies,  Nor any words that lips can teach  Are sweeter than their wonder speech.  And when thou givest them to me,  Through dawns of tenderness I see,—        As in the water-sky,    The sun of certainly appear.        So, ask me why,    For then thou knowest, Dear.

      To give is more than to receive, men say.      But thou hast made them one! What if, some day,  Men bade me render back the gifts I cannot pay,—      Since all were undeserved! should I obey?      Lo, all these years of giving, when we try      To own our thanks, we hear the giver cry;      "Nay, it was thou who givest, Dear, not I."          If Wisdom smile, let Wisdom go!              All things above  This is the truest; that we know because we love,          Not love because we know....