Collected Works (Vol. I)

The PRIEST SPEAKS 37 Nov sun is mirrored in its treacherous water, Only the fulse moon flickers and its by Like to the bloodless phantom shape of slaughter Laughing a lipless laugh - a mockery, A ghastly memory to wake and weep —-Shouid Sorrow let me sleep. No current draws a man, to his fair seem- ing, Yetall the while he whirlsa stealthy sweep Narrower, nearer, where the wave is steam- ing With the slight spray tossed from that funnel deep Which dips, one wide black shaft, most horrible, Down to the nether ITell. Yet there seems time. God’s grief has not forgotten Ilis mighty arm, and with [lis pitying breath A strong wind woke me ere my boat grew rotten With venom of the stream, that quivereth Now as He blew upon it—fish and bird Live at that silent word! And I arose to seek the oars of Lying Wherewith I had embarked—the wind had torn Their wood to splinters—‘‘ Jesus! I dying ! Send me Thy cross to fashion some un- born Oarage of Truth to quit this stream of Death!” O vain, O wasted breath ! am Ihave no strength. Upright I kneel, lament- ing The days when Love seemed fair, the bitter years When pain might have found truth, ere un- relenting I shipwrecked Life! O agony of tears! Vain tears! In silence, with abated breath I drift, drift on to Death ! PRIEST SPEAKS. Duy 1V. Vale VET) THE ( Proccdee to. LAY them together for the sake of Love Within a little plot of piteous earth, When life’s last flower is faded in the sun. Lay them together in the tender ground That summer showers may shed a trembling lear, And summer breezes whisper melodies Of pity. Lay them there, and when the sky Opens a lingering eyelash of deep cloud, And the sea sparkles out from under it To kiss the earth into awakening From the dream-slumbers that its fancies weave— ‘ancies Of starlight on the lucent sea Gleaming from wide horizon to the feet Of Cynthia’s bow, all silver-shot with fire, That virgin fame that lingers evermore In the sweet phantasies of subtle sleep— Ifancies of lonely shadows darkly strewn About the leaves of autumn in the woods, Where the small floweret, hidden by the maze Of the dying children of the copper-beech, Lifts a blue forehead to the sun to kiss— Fancies of old romance too pitiful lor any delicate quill to ight upon-- Yes, when the sky from stainless ebony Merges in azure, like as if the light Of stars had melted into all the black To gladden it, O then the solemn hush Of morning shall behold the silent grave, And wait a moment in rich worshipping Of Love, creator of the world’s delight, Till the full chorus of the spirits of fre (Whose mighty shoulders and wide-flashing wings Bear the proud sun from his luxurious bed Of rosy fleeces in the West low lying Into the staircase of the jealous day) Burst on the silence of the world beyond And bid the listening poet catch the strain Of their half-echoed hymn. But come, my friends,