WANTING IS-WHAT? WANTING is-what? Summer redundant, Blueness abundant, -Where is the spot? Beamy the world, yet a blank all the same, Roses embowering with nought they embower! Rose-beauty above, And all that was death Grows life, grows love, This is still the love of earth; but dealt with so grandly, that it is no wonder that some have understood it of the higher love, and to the question of the first line would give the answer, "God." Nor can it be said that the thought is alien-rather is it close akin; for is not the earthly love, when pure and true, an image of the heavenly? It would be well, indeed, if love songs were oftener written in such a way as to suggest thoughts of the love of Heaven. The Bible is especially fearless in its use of the one to illustrate the other. With the higher thought in view, we are reminded of the closing lines of "The Rhyme of the Duchess May," by Mrs. Browning "And I smiled to think God's greatness flowed around our incompleteness— Round our restlessness, His rest. " Compare "By the Fireside," especially stanza 39. EVELYN HOPE. I. BEAUTIFUL Evelyn Hope is dead! Sit and watch by her side an hour. That is her book-shelf, this her bed; She plucked that piece of geranium-flower, Beginning to die too, in the glass; Little has yet been changed, I think: The shutters are shut, no light may pass Save two long rays through the hinge's chink. II. Sixteen years old when she died! Perhaps she had scarcely heard my name; It was not her time to love; beside, Her life had many a hope and aim, Duties enough and little cares, And now was quiet, now astir, Till God's hand beckoned unawares,— And the sweet white brow is all of her. III. Is it too late then, Evelyn Hope? And our paths in the world diverged so wide. Each was nought to each, must I be told? IV. No, indeed! for God above Is great to grant, as mighty to make, And creates the love to reward the love: I claim you still, for my own love's sake! Delayed it may be for more lives yet, Through worlds I shall traverse, not a few : Much is to learn, much to forget Ere the time be come for taking you. V. But the time will come, at last it will, When, Evelyn Hope, what meant (I shall say) In the lower earth, in the years long still, That body and soul so pure and gay ? Why your hair was amber, I shall divine, And your mouth of your own geranium's redAnd what you would do with me, in fine, In the new life come in the old one's stead. VI. I have lived (I shall say) so much since then, Gained me the gains of various men, Ransacked the ages, spoiled the climes; Yet one thing, one, in my soul's full scope, Either I missed or itself missed me : And I want and find you, Evelyn Hope! What is the issue? let us see! VII. I loved you, Evelyn, all the while! My heart seemed full as it could hold; There was place and to spare for the frank young smile And the red young mouth, and the hair's young gold. So hush, I will give you this leaf to keep: See, I shut it inside the sweet cold hand! There, that is our secret: go to sleep! You will wake, and remember, and understand. This poem, so exquisite in finish, well-nigh perfect in form, is one of the few works of our author, almost universally known and admired. It is doubtful, however, if all its admirers look beneath the form and finish, or understand much more of it than they do of other poems, the crabbed style of which repels admiration as strongly as this attracts it. The tender pathos of the "geranium leaf" in the first and last stanzas, touches a chord in every heart; but the thought of the piece is something far deeper and stronger, namely this, that true love is immortal, and that, therefore, however much it may fail of its object here, or even (if possible) in lives that follow this, it cannot fail for ever, it must find its object and be satisfied. It is a poem, not of the pathos of death, but of the promise of Life! PROSPICE. FEAR death ?-to feel the fog in my throat, The mist in my face, When the snows begin, and the blasts denote The power of the night, the press of the storm, Where he stands the Arch Fear in a visible form, For the journey is done and the summit attained, Though a battle 's to fight ere the guerdon be gained, I was ever a fighter, so-one fight more, The best and the last! I would hate that death bandaged my eyes, and forebore, And bade me creep past. No! let me taste the whole of it, fare like my peers The heroes of old, Bear the brunt, in a minute pay glad life's arrears For sudden the worst turns the best to the brave, And the elements' rage, the fiend-voices that rave, Shall change, shall become first a peace out of pain, O thou soul of my soul! I shall clasp thee again, |