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Read Ebook: 'Twixt Earth and Stars: Poems by Hall Radclyffe
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Ebook has 330 lines and 17107 words, and 7 pages
What you deny me, you gave; You cannot take it again In life and after the grave There is something that even then, Death will not kill or destroy, It is so with the hearts of men.
Even your pride cannot rob My life of its blessed past; You cannot recall one throb, One glance of the many cast From those dear, passionate eyes; These things will be mine to the last.
ON THE MOUNTAIN
Below and above, yes, over and under us, Swift clouds hover, and speed and fly; Nothing we see that can hurt or sunder us Here in the arms of the circling sky.
When she turns aside to pass us by, With a little smile or a glance only We are all alone, my Heart and I, We are all alone, and very lonely.
THE PRAYER
There stood beside the road a shrine, In whose quaint, vaulted shadow smiled With eyes of tenderness divine, The Blessed Virgin and Her Child.
And I, who wandered all alone, Along a rough and weary way, Felt that a great desire had grown Within my heart, to kneel and pray.
But lo! my voice had lost the power To utter words so deep and sweet, And so, I breathed them in a flower, And left it, at the Virgin's feet.
If all the words you spoke, dear, Were every one untrue, There can be nothing good, dear, In earth, or sun, or dew; And all the world's a lie, dear, Because of you.
If all the smiles you gave, dear, Were only to beguile, Why then there's nothing sweet, dear, In any human smile; And what we deem most fair, dear, Is only vile.
If every kiss that lingered Upon the lips you pressed, Was but an empty token, More fickle than the rest; I wish that I had died, dear, For death were best.
A LAMENT
Like a song that is sung, like a tale that is told, The life in me hushes the voice of its gladness; Youth walks by my side, but his hands have grown cold, And deep in his eyes lurks the shadow of sadness.
Alas! for the flowers that never come to me; Alas! for the morning again, now day closes; The joy of a love is as nothing, for through me There passes the deep-wounding thorn of the roses.
The wind's on the hill, The sun's on the lea, The lark's on the wing And the dawn's on the sea, And the rapture that springeth of Love, is on me.
THOUGHTS
Ah! the kiss of the sweet night air, And the still, deep eyes of the cloudy skies, Grown dim with peace: Peace, the angel of death, that is everywhere.
Ah! the bliss of the soul at rest, And of eyes that weep growing calm in sleep, Hush?d by night: Night, the shadow of death, that in blessing is blessed.
SHIPS
Fair ships, happy and free, Smile on the lonely sea, Only to fade again Into the mist and rain. Ah! me.
Thus do bright hopes appear On life's vast ocean drear; Hopes that beguile the mind, And passing leave behind A tear.
THE DREAM-CHILD
There is a child who will come to me, Often at dusk, when my mind is free. She is the child that I used to be, When I was only nine.
Over her hair is a wreath of flowers, Those are the thoughts of the golden hours Spent in the glory of childhood's bowers, Fancy, those thoughts were mine!
Butterflies whiter than flakes of snow Hover around her lips, and oh! They are the prayers that I used to know, God may remember still.
God who they tell us will not forget Even a penitent child's regret! Now I am callous of prayers, and yet-- Ah, how I hope that He will.
THE DAY
The day walks over the mountains, To the splash of a thousand fountains, To the song of a million streams. Her hair is unbound and flowing, Her eyes are as bluebells growing In a valley of shade and dreams.
Her breast, than the snow is whiter, Her lips, than the poppies brighter, Her limbs are as strong white fire. Thus she comes from the sky above her To the arms of the Earth her lover, In a splendour of warm desire.
FROM MY SOUL
Oh! but to find expression for the thoughts, So marvellous and yet so undefined, That flow from out the palpitating soul To consecrate the mind.
Oh! but to have the gift to put in words, That potent passion, that divine desire, That thrills the aching spirit with unrest And sets the brain on fire.
Oh! God, but once to rise above the flesh, To breathe our inmost thoughts in one vast sigh Of rapture. Oh! to realise ourselves, And at that moment ... die.
We who are made Brave yet afraid, Happy yet sad, Good and yet bad, Sane and yet mad, What can we do?
Turmoil and strife, Passion and life, Love and desire, Can these inspire Spiritual fire? How can we live?
Stumbling feet, Tasks incomplete, Longings that kill Even the will, Left to fulfil, How can we die?
Little have we Bond and yet free, Strong and yet weak, Proud and yet meek, Save but to seek God in it all.
God with His hands Holds all the lands; Rules every sea, Sets the winds free, Counts every tree, Makes every leaf.
Then shall we fear? He placed us here. If God commands God understands, Ponders, and plans; Knowing it all.
TO SINGERS
Sing with your intellect and soul combined; Not all technique, nor yet all wild emotion, Thus shall you touch the heart and please the mind, Winning a real and merited devotion.
THE MAY TREE
A garden in the month of May, The fading of a golden day Upon the tulip flowers. An anthem sung by little birds, The sigh more eloquent than words Of earth to listening hours.
And shadows ... like the fringe that lies On cheek, at close of drowsy eyes, And paths, grown damp with dew; And secret places, where to tread Were to disturb the bridal bed Of creatures born anew.
And fairer than each living thing That stirs with longings of the Spring, A May tree, bearing flower. Like some young nymph the sunlight charms She stretches forth her slender arms, New decked with leafy dower.
While through her wondrous, living form The sap of life leaps strong and warm, Awaking from repose The folded buds to know the Spring, It seems I almost hear them sing For rapture as it flows.
Ay! and it seems as though my heart Strained upward, but to take some part In that sweet hymn of praise; As though my pulses quicker beat, To see perfection so complete Reveal?d to my gaze.
As though the problem of unrest Were solved at last, in this behest To silently fulfil; And deeper still, my soul perceives The mighty Presence that conceives Such beauty at Its will.
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