Pain and Despair

Delight becomes pictorial

Delight becomes pictorial
When viewed through pain,--
More fair, because impossible
That any gain.


The mountaln at a given distance
In amber lies;
Approached, the amber flits a little,--
And that's the skies!

By a flower—By a letter

109

By a flower—By a letter—
By a nimble love—
If I weld the Rivet faster—
Final fast—above—


Never mind my breathless Anvil!
Never mind Repose!
Never mind the sooty faces
Tugging at the Forge!

Bound-a trouble

269

Bound-a trouble-
And lives can bear it!
Limit-how deep a bleeding go!
So-many-drops-of vital scarlet-
Deal with the soul
As with Algebra!


Tell it the Ages-to a cypher-
And it will ache-contented-onSing-
at its pain-as any Workman-
Notching the fall of the Even Sun!

Best Gains—must have the Losses' Test

684

Best Gains—must have the Losses' Test—
To constitute them—Gains—

Better—than Music! For I—who heard it

503

Better—than Music! For I—who heard it—
I was used—to the Birds—before—
This—was different—'Twas Translation—
Of all tunes I knew—and more—


'Twasn't contained—like other stanza—
No one could play it—the second time—
But the Composer—perfect Mozart—
Perish with him—that Keyless Rhyme!


So—Children—told how Brooks in Eden—
Bubbled a better—Melody—
Quaintly infer—Eve's great surrender—
Urging the feet—that would—not—fly—


Children—matured—are wiser—mostly—
Eden—a legend—dimly told—
Eve—and the Anguish—Grandame's story—
But—I was telling a tune—I heard—


Not such a strain—the Church—baptizes—
When the last Saint—goes up the Aisles—
Not such a stanza splits the silence—
When the Redemption strikes her Bells—


Let me not spill—its smallest cadence—
Humming—for promise—when alone—
Humming—until my faint Rehearsal—
Drop into tune—around the Throne—

As the Starved Maelstrom laps the Navies

872

As the Starved Maelstrom laps the Navies
As the Vulture teased
Forces the Broods in lonely Valleys
As the Tiger eased

By but a Crumb of Blood, fasts Scarlet
Till he meet a Man
Dainty adorned with Veins and Tissues
And partakes-his Tongue

Cooled by the Morsel for a moment
Grows a fiercer thing
Till he esteem his Dates and Cocoa
A Nutrition mean

I, of a finer Famine
Deem my Supper dry
For but a Berry of Domingo
And a Torrid Eye.

As Frost is best conceived

951

As Frost is best conceived
By force of its Result-
Affliction is inferred
By subsequent effect-

If when the sun reveal,
The Garden keep the Gash-
If as the Days resume
The wilted countenance

Cannot correct the crease
Or counteract the stain-
Presumption is Vitality
Was somewhere put in twain.

As by the dead we love to sit

88

As by the dead we love to sit,
Become so wondrous dear-
As for the lost we grapple
Tho' all the rest are here-

In broken mathematics
We estimate our prize
Vast-in its fading ration
To our penurious eyes!

After great pain, a formal feeling comes -- (341)

After great pain, a formal feeling comes --
The Nerves sit ceremonious, like Tombs
The stiff Heart questions, was it He, that bore,
And Yesterday, or Centuries before?


The Feet, mechanical, go round --
Of Ground, or Air, or Ought --
A Wooden way
Regardless grown,
A Quartz contentment, like a stone --


This is the Hour of Lead --
Remembered, if outlived,
As Freezing persons, recollect the Snow --
First -- Chill -- then Stupor -- then the letting go --

A Wounded Deer-leaps highest

165

A Wounded Deer-leaps highestI've
heard the Hunter tell'
Tis but the Ecstasy of death-
And then the Brake is still!


The Smitten Rock that gushes!
The trampled Steel that springs!
A Cheek is always redder
Just where the Hectic stings!


Mirth is the Mail of Anguish
In which it Cautious Arm,
Lest anybody spy the blood
And "you're hurt" exclaim!

A Weight with Needles on the pounds

264

A Weight with Needles on the pounds-
To push, and pierce, besides-
That if the Flesh resist the Heft-
The puncture-coolly tries-

That not a pore be overlooked
Of all this Compound Frame-
As manifold for Anguish-
As Species-be-for name-

A throe upon the features

71

A throe upon the features-
A hurry in the breath-
An ecstasy of parting
Denominated "Death"-

An anguish at the mention
Which when to patience grown,
I've known permission given
To rejoin its own.

A Shade upon the mind there passes

882

A Shade upon the mind there passes
As when on Noon
A Cloud the mighty Sun encloses
Remembering

That some there be too numb to notice
Oh God
Why give if Thou must take away
The Loved?

A Planted Life-diversified

806

A Planted Life-diversified
With Gold and Silver Pain
To prove the presence of the Ore
In Particles-'tis when

A Value struggle-it exist-
A Power-will proclaim
Although Annihilation pile
Whole Chaoses on Him-

A nearness to Tremendousness

963

A nearness to Tremendousness-
An Agony procures-
Affliction ranges Boundlessness-
Vicinity to Laws

Contentment's quiet Suburb-
Affliction cannot stay
In Acres-Its Location
Is Illocality-

A Dying Tiger-moaned for Drink

566

A Dying Tiger-moaned for Drink-
I hunted all the Sand-
I caught the Dripping of a Rock
And bore it in my Hand-

His Mighty Balls-in death were thick-
But searching-I could see
A Vision on the Retina
Of Water-and of me


'Twas not my blame-who sped too slow'
Twas not his blame-who died
While I was reaching him-
But 'twas-the fact that He was dead-

Worldly Wisdom

If it were in my dead Past’s power
To let my Present bask

In some lost pleasure for an hour,
This is the boon I’d ask:

Re-pedestal from out the dust
Where long ago ‘twas hurled,

My beautiful incautious trust
In this unworthy world.

The symbol of my souls own truth –
I saw it go with tears –

The sweet unwisdom of my youth –
That vanished with the years.

Since knowledge brings us only grief,
I would return again

To happy ignorance and belief
In motives and in men.

For worldly wisdom learned in pain
Is in itself a cross,

Significant mayhap of gain,
Yet sign of saddest loss.

Widows


The world was widowed by the death of Christ:
Vainly its suffering soul for peace has sought
And found it not.
For nothing, nothing, nothing has sufficed
To bring back comfort to the stricken house
From whence has gone the Master and the Spouse.


In its long widowhood the world has striven
To find diversion. It has turned away
From the vast awefull silences of Heaven
(Which answer but with silence when we pray)
And sought for something to assuage its grief.
Some surcease and relief
From sorrow, in pursuit of mortal joys.
It drowned God's stillness in a sea of noise;
It lost God's presence in a blur of forms;
Till, bruised and bleeding with life's brutal storms,
Unto immutable and speechless space
The World lifts up its face,
Its haggard, tear-drenched face,
And cries aloud for faith's supreme reward,
The promised Second Coming of its Lord.
So many widows, widows everywhere,
The whole earth teems with widows.
Guns that blare-
Winged monsters of the air-
And deep-sea monsters leaping through the water,
Hell bent on slaughter,
All these plough paths for widows. Maids at dawn,
And brides at noon, ere eventide pass on
Into the ranks of widows: but to weep
Just for a little space; then will grief sleep
In their young bosoms, where sweet hope belongs,
New love will sing once more its age-old songs,
And life bloom as a rose-tree blooms again
After a night of rain.
There are complacent widows clothed in crêpe
Who simulate a grief that is not real.
Through paths of seeming sorrow they escape
From disappointed hopes to some ideal,
Or, from the penury of unloved wives
Walk forth to opulent lives.
And there are widows who shed all their tears
Just at the first
In one wild burst,
And then go lilting lightly down the years:
Black butterflies, they flit from flower to flower
And live in the thin pleasures of the hour;
Merging their tender memories of the dead
In tenderer dreams of being once more wed.



But there are others: women who have proved
That loving greatly means so being loved.
Women who through full beauteous years have grown
Into the very body, souls, and heart
Of their dear comrades. When death tears apart
Such close-knit bonds as these, and one alone
Out to the larger freer life is called,
And one is left-
Then God in heaven must sometimes be appalled
At the wild anguish of the soul bereft,
And unto His Son must say, 'I did not know
Mortals could suffer so.'
But Christ, remembering Gethsemane,
Will answer softly, 'It was known to Me.'
God's alchemist, old Time, will merge to calm
That bitter anguish; but there is no balm
Save the sweet certitude that each long day
Is one step in a stair
That circles up to where freed spirits stay.


Widows, so many widows everywhere.


The world was widowed by the death of Christ,
And nothing, nothing, nothing has sufficed
To bring back comfort to the stricken house
From whence has gone the Master and the Spouse.
Hasten, dear Lord, with Thy Millennium,
Hasten and come.

What I Have Seen #4

I saw a youth, one of God's favored few,
Crowned with beauty, and talents, and health;
He had climbed the steep pathway, and cut his way through
To the summit of glory and wealth.
The day is breaking, hearts are waking,
Refreshed for the field of labor:
Arise, arise, like the king of the skies,
With a greeting for friend and neighbor.


He had toiled hard for the honors he'd won,
He had climbed over high rocks, forded streams;
Braved the bleak winter snow, the hot summer sun,
He was reaching the goal of his dreams.
The day hangs around us, the sun hath bound us
With fetters silken and yellow:
Flow, flow away, fleeting day,
Golden-hearted and mellow.


I saw the youth lift a mug to his mouth,
Drink the last drop of the fearful first glass!
Ah! his veins thrill in a fierce, scorching drouth,
He fills it again, again drinks it! alas!
The day is dying, hearts are sighing,
Crushed with a weight of sorrow:
Sleep, oh! sleep, in a slumber deep,
And wait for a bright to-morrow.


I saw him low in the dust at my feet,
Gone beauty, health, wealth, strength, talents, all;
From the summit of Fame to the slime of the street,
He had bartered his soul for the fiend Alcohol.
The night hangs o'er us, the wind's wild chorus
Shrieks like a demons' revel:
Weep, sob, weep, for the fog is deep,
And the world is sold to the devil.

What I Have Seen #2

I saw a maid with her chivalrous lover:
He was both tender and true;
He kissed her lips, vowing over and over,
'Darling, I worship you.'
Sing, sing, bird of the spring,
Tell of the flowers the summer will bring.


I saw the maiden, sweet, loving, confiding,
Smile when he whispered 'Mine,'
Saw her lips meet his with no word of chiding,
Though his breath fumed with wine.
Wail, wail, Nightingale,
Sing of a mourner bowed and pale.


I saw the lover and maid at the altar,
Bound by the bands divine;
Heard the responses-they fail not nor falter-
Saw the guests pledge in wine.
Howl, howl, ominous Owl,
Shriek of the terrible tempest's scowl.


I saw the drunkard's wife weeping in anguish,
Saw her struck down by a blow;
I saw the husband in prison-cells languish-
Thus ends the tale of woe.
Shriek, shriek, O Raven! speak
Of the terrible midnight, dark and bleak.

Two Sunsets

In the fair morning of his life,
When his pure heart lay in his breast,
Panting, with all that wild unrest
To plunge into the great world's strife


That fills young hearts with mad desire,
He saw a sunset. Red and gold
The burning billows surged and rolled,
And upward tossed their caps of fire.


He looked. And as he looked the sight
Sent from his soul through breast and brain
Such intense joy, it hurt like pain.
His heart seemed bursting with delight.


So near the Unknown seemed, so close
He might have grasped it with his hand.
He felt his inmost soul expand,
As sunlight will expand a rose.


One day he heard a singing strain--
A human voice, in bird-like trills.
He paused, and little rapture-rills
Went trickling downward through each vein.


And in his heart the whole day long,
As in a temple veiled and dim,
He kept and bore about with him
The beauty of that singer's song.


And then? But why relate what then?
His smoldering heart flamed into fire--
He had his one supreme desire,
And plunged into the world of men.


For years queen Folly held her sway.
With pleasures of the grosser kind
She fed his flesh and drugged his mind,
Till, shamed, he sated turned away.


He sought his boyhood's home. That hour
Triumphant should have been, in sooth,
Since he went forth an unknown youth,
And came back crowned with wealth and power.


The clouds made day a gorgeous bed;
He saw the splendor of the sky
With unmoved heart and stolid eye;
He knew only West was red.


Then suddenly a fresh young voice
Rose, bird-like, from some hidden place,



He did not even turn his face;
It struck him simply as a noise.


He trod the old paths up and down.
Their ruch-hued leaves by Fall winds whirled--
How dull they were--how dull the world--
Dull even in the pulsing town.


O! worst of punishments, that brings
A blunting of all finer sense,
A loss of feelings keen, intense,
And dulls us to the higher things.


O! penalty most dire, most sure,
Swift following after gross delights,
That we no more see beauteous sights,
Or hear as hear the good and pure.


O! shape more hideous and more dread
Than Vengeance takes in creed-taught minds,
This certain doom that blunts and blinds,
And strikes the holiest feelings dead.

Through The Valley

(After James Thomson)

As I came through the Valley of Despair,
As I came through the valley, onmy sight,
More awful that the darkness of the night,

Shone glimpses of a Past that had been fair,
And memories of eyes that used to smile,
And wafts of perfume from a vanished isle,

As I came through the valley.

As I came through the valley I could see,
As I came through the valley, fair and far,
As drowning men look up and see a star,

The fading shore of my lost Used-to-be;
And like an arrow in my heart I heard
The last sad notes of Hope’s expiring bird,

As I came through the valley.

As I came through the valley desolate,
As I came through the valley, like a beam
Of lurid lightning I beheld a gleam

Of Love’s great eyes that now were full of hate.
Dear God! dear God! I could bear all but that;
But I fell down soul-stricken, dead, thereat,

As I came through the valley.

Three Friends

Of all the blessings which my life has known,
I value most, and most praise God for three:
Want, Loneliness and Pain, those comrades true,


Who, masquerade in the garb of foes
For many a year, and filled my heart with dread.
Yet fickle joys, like false, pretentious friends,
Have proved less worthy than this trio. First,


Want taught me labor, led me up the steep
And toilsome paths to hills of pure delight,
Trod only by the feet that know fatigue,
And yet press on until the heights appear.


Then loneliness and hunger of the heart
Sent me upreaching to the realms of space,
Till all the silences grew eloquent,
And all their loving forces hailed me friend.


Last, pain taught me prayer! placed in my hand the staff
Of close communion with the over-soul,
That I might lean upon it to the end,
And find myself made strong for any strife.


And then these three who had pursued my steps
Like stern, relentless foes, year after year,
Unmasked, and turned their faces full on me,
And lo! they were divinely beautiful,
For through them shone the lustrous eyes of Love.

The Way Of It

This is the way of it, wide world over,
One is beloved, and one is the lover,

One gives and the other receives.
One lavishes all in a wild emotion,
One offers a smile for a life’s devotion,

One hopes and the other believes,
One lies awake in the night to weep,
And the other drifts off in a sweet sound sleep.

One soul is aflame with a godlike passion,
One plays with love in an idler’s fashion,

One speaks and the other hears.
One sobs, ‘I love you, ’ and wet eyes to show it,
And one laughs lightly, and says, ‘I know it, ’

With smiles for the other’s tears.
One lives for the other and nothing beside,
And the other remembers the world is wide.

This is the way of it, sad earth over,
The heart that breaks is the heart of the lover,


And the other learns to forget.
‘For what is the use in endless sorrow?
Though the sun goes down, it will rise tomorrow;

And life is not over yet.’
Oh! I know this truth, if I know no other,
That passionate Love is Pain’s own mother.