"There are stars enough -- when the sun's away."Then he went back to the same still room That had held his dream in the long ago, When he buried his days in a nameless tomb, And the stars were bleak, and the nights were slow.
And a passionate humor seized him there --Seized him and held him until there grew Like life on his canvas, glowing and fair, A perilous face -- and an angel's, too.
Angel and maiden, and all in one, --
All but the eyes.-- They were there, but yet They seemed somehow like a soul half done.
What was the matter? Did God forget?...
But he wrought them at last with a skill so sure That her eyes were the eyes of a deathless woman, --With a gleam of heaven to make them pure, And a glimmer of hell to make them human.
God never forgets.-- And he worships her There in that same still room of his, For his wife, and his constant arbiter Of the world that was and the world that is.
And he wonders yet what her love could be To punish him after that strife so grim;But the longer he lives with her eyes to see, The plainer it all comes back to him.
Two MenThere be two men of all mankind That I should like to know about;But search and question where I will, I cannot ever find them out.
Melchizedek he praised the Lord, And gave some wine to Abraham;But who can tell what else he did Must be more learned than I am.
Ucalegon he lost his house When Agamemnon came to Troy;But who can tell me who he was --
I'll pray the gods to give him joy.
There be two men of all mankind That I'm forever thinking on:
They chase me everywhere I go, --
Melchizedek, Ucalegon.
Villanelle of ChangeSince Persia fell at Marathon, The yellow years have gathered fast:
Long centuries have come and gone.
And yet (they say) the place will don A phantom fury of the past, Since Persia fell at Marathon;And as of old, when Helicon Trembled and swayed with rapture vast (Long centuries have come and gone),This ancient plain, when night comes on, Shakes to a ghostly battle-blast, Since Persia fell at Marathon.
But into soundless Acheron The glory of Greek shame was cast:
Long centuries have come and gone,The suns of Hellas have all shone, The first has fallen to the last: --Since Persia fell at Marathon, Long centuries have come and gone.
John Evereldown"Where are you going to-night, to-night, --Where are you going, John Evereldown?
There's never the sign of a star in sight, Nor a lamp that's nearer than Tilbury Town.
Why do you stare as a dead man might?
Where are you pointing away from the light?
And where are you going to-night, to-night, --Where are you going, John Evereldown?"
"Right through the forest, where none can see, There's where I'm going, to Tilbury Town.
The men are asleep, -- or awake, may be, --But the women are calling John Evereldown.
Ever and ever they call for me, And while they call can a man be free?
So right through the forest, where none can see, There's where I'm going, to Tilbury Town.""But why are you going so late, so late, --Why are you going, John Evereldown?
Though the road be smooth and the path be straight, There are two long leagues to Tilbury Town.
Come in by the fire, old man, and wait!
Why do you chatter out there by the gate?
And why are you going so late, so late, --Why are you going, John Evereldown?"
"I follow the women wherever they call, --That's why I'm going to Tilbury Town.
God knows if I pray to be done with it all, But God is no friend to John Evereldown.
So the clouds may come and the rain may fall, The shadows may creep and the dead men crawl, --But I follow the women wherever they call, And that's why I'm going to Tilbury Town."Luke HavergalGo to the western gate, Luke Havergal, --There where the vines cling crimson on the wall, --And in the twilight wait for what will come.
The wind will moan, the leaves will whisper some --Whisper of her, and strike you as they fall;But go, and if you trust her she will call.
Go to the western gate, Luke Havergal --
Luke Havergal.
No, there is not a dawn in eastern skies To rift the fiery night that's in your eyes;But there, where western glooms are gathering, The dark will end the dark, if anything:
God slays Himself with every leaf that flies, And hell is more than half of paradise.
No, there is not a dawn in eastern skies --In eastern skies.
Out of a grave I come to tell you this, --Out of a grave I come to quench the kiss That flames upon your forehead with a glow That blinds you to the way that you must go.
Yes, there is yet one way to where she is, --Bitter, but one that faith can never miss.
Out of a grave I come to tell you this --To tell you this.
There is the western gate, Luke Havergal, There are the crimson leaves upon the wall.
Go, -- for the winds are tearing them away, --Nor think to riddle the dead words they say, Nor any more to feel them as they fall;But go! and if you trust her she will call.
There is the western gate, Luke Havergal --Luke Havergal.
The House on the HillThey are all gone away, The House is shut and still, There is nothing more to say.
Through broken walls and gray The winds blow bleak and shrill:
They are all gone away.
Nor is there one to-day To speak them good or ill:
There is nothing more to say.
Why is it then we stray Around that sunken sill?
They are all gone away,And our poor fancy-play For them is wasted skill:
There is nothing more to say.
There is ruin and decay In the House on the Hill:
They are all gone away, There is nothing more to say.
Richard CoryWhenever Richard Cory went down town, We people on the pavement looked at him:
He was a gentleman from sole to crown, Clean favored, and imperially slim.
And he was always quietly arrayed, And he was always human when he talked;But still he fluttered pulses when he said, "Good-morning," and he glittered when he walked.
And he was rich, -- yes, richer than a king, --And admirably schooled in every grace:
In fine, we thought that he was everything To make us wish that we were in his place.
So on we worked, and waited for the light, And went without the meat, and cursed the bread;And Richard Cory, one calm summer night, Went home and put a bullet through his head.