Many Voices

See the budding lane!
Go and meet your lover:
Spring is here again!

Every day is longer
Than the day before;
Lambs are whiter, stronger,
Birds sing more and more;
Woods are less than shady,
Griefs are more than vain—
Go and kiss your lady:
Spring is here again!

A PARTING

So good-bye!
This is where we end it, you and I.
Life’s to live, you know, and death’s to die;
So good-bye!

I was yours
For the love in life that loves while life endures,
For the earth-path that the Heaven-flight ensures
I was yours.

You were mine
For the moment that a garland takes to twine,
For the human hour that sorcery shews divine
You were mine.

All is over.
You and I no more are love and lover;
Nought’s to seek now, gain, attain, discover.
All is over.

THE GIFT OF LIFE

Life is a night all dark and wild,
Yet still stars shine:
This moment is a star, my child—
Your star and mine.

Life is a desert dry and drear,
Undewed, unblest;
This hour is an oasis, dear;
Here let us rest.

Life is a sea of windy spray,
Cold, fierce and free:
An isle enchanted is to-day
For you and me.

Forget night, sea, and desert: take
The gift supreme,
And, of life’s brief relenting, make
A deathless dream.

INCOMPATIBILITIES

If you loved me I could trust you to your fancy’s furthest bound
While the sun shone and the wind blew, and the world went round,
To the utmost of the meshes of the devil’s strongest net . . .
If you loved me, if you loved me—but you do not love me yet!

I love you—and I cannot trust you further than the door!
But winds and worlds and seasons change, and you will love me more
And more—until I trust you, dear, as women do trust men—
I shall trust you, I shall trust you, but I shall not love you then!

THE STOLEN GOD

LAZARUS TO DIVES

We do not clamour for vengeance,
We do not whine for fear;
We have cried in the outer darkness
Where was no man to hear.
We cried to man and he heard not;
Yet we thought God heard us pray;
But our God, who loved and was sorry—
Our God is taken away.

Ours were the stream and the pasture,
Forest and fen were ours;
Ours were the wild wood-creatures,
The wild sweet berries and flowers.
You have taken our heirlooms from us,
And hardly you let us save
Enough of our woods for a cradle,
Enough of our earth for a grave.

You took the wood and the cornland,
Where still we tilled and felled;
You took the mine and quarry,
And all you took you held.
The limbs of our weanling children
You crushed in your mills of power;
And you made our bearing women toil
To the very bearing hour.