We lose with her the right to scorn The voices scornful of her truth: With her a deeper love was born For those who filled her days with ruth. To her they were not sordid things: In them sometimes--her wisdom said-- The Bird of Paradise had wings; It only dreams, it is not dead. We cannot for forgetfulness Forego the reverence due to them, Who wear at times they do not guess The sceptre and the diadem. With wisdom of the olden time She made the hearts of dust to flame; And fired us with the hope sublime Our ancient heritage to claim; That turning from the visible, By vastness unappalled nor stayed, Our wills might rule beside that Will By which the tribal stars are swayed; And entering the heroic strife, Tread in the way their feet have trod Who move within a vaster life, Sparks in the Fire--Gods amid God. --August 15, 1894 By the Margin of the Great Deep When the breath of twilight blows to flame the misty skies, All its vapourous sapphire, violet glow and silver gleam With their magic flood me through the gateway of the eyes; I am one with the twilight's dream. When the trees and skies and fields are one in dusky mood, Every heart of man is rapt within the mother's breast: Full of peace and sleep and dreams in the vasty quietude, I am one with their hearts at rest. From our immemorial joys of hearth and home and love, Strayed away along the margin of the unknown tide, All its reach of soundless calm can thrill me far above Word or touch from the lips beside. Aye, and deep, and deep, and deeper let me drink and draw From the olden Fountain more than light or peace or dream, Such primeval being as o'erfills the heart with awe, Growing one with its silent stream. --March 15, 1894 The Secret One thing in all things have I seen: One thought has haunted earth and air; Clangour and silence both have been Its palace chambers. Everywhere I saw the mystic vision flow, And live in men, and woods, and streams, Until I could no longer know The dream of life from my own dreams. Sometimes it rose like fire in me, Within the depths of my own mind, And spreading to infinity, It took the voices of the wind. It scrawled the human mystery, Dim heraldry--on light and air; Wavering along the starry sea, I saw the flying vision there. Each fire that in God's temple lit Burns fierce before the inner shrine, Dimmed as my fire grew near to it, And darkened at the light of mine. At last, at last, the meaning caught: When spirit wears its diadem, It shakes its wondrous plumes of thought, And trails the stars along with them. --April 15, 1894 Dust