The Progress of Love (A Lyrical Symphony) II

And God sighed in the sunset; and the seaChanted the soft recessional of TimeAgainst the golden shores of mystery;

And ever as that long low change and chimeWith one slow sob of molten music yearnedWestward, it seemed as if the Love sublime

Almost uttered itself, where the waves burnedIn little flower-soft flames of rose and greenThat woke to seaward, while the tides returned

Rising and falling, ruffled and serene,With all the mirrored tints of heaven aboveShimmering through their mystic myriad sheen.

As a dove's burnished breast throbbing with loveSwells and subsides to call her soft-eyed mateHome through the rosy gloom of glen or grove,

So when the greenwood noon was growing lateThe sea called softly through the waste of years,Called to the star that still can consecrate

The holy golden haze of human tearsWhich tinges every sunset with our griefUntil the perfect Paraclete appears.

Ah, the long sigh that yields the world reliefRose and relapsed across Eternity,Making a joy of sorrows that are brief,

As, o'er the bright enchantment of the sea,Facing the towers of that old City of PainWhich stands upon the shores of mystery

And frowns across the immeasurable main,Venus among her cloudy sunset flowersWoke; and earth melted into heaven again.

For even the City's immemorial towersWere tinted into secret tone and time,Like old forgotten tombs that age embowers

With muffling roses and with mossy rimeUntil they seem no monument of ours,But one more note in earth's accordant chime.

O Love, Love, Love, all dreams, desires and powers,Were but as chords of that ineffable psalm;And all the long blue lapse of summer hours,

And all the breathing sunset's golden balmBy that æonian sorrow were resolvedAs dew into the music's infinite calm,

Through which the suns and moons and stars revolvedAccording to the song's divine decree,Till Time was but a tide of intervolved

And interweaving worlds of melody;In other worlds I loved you, long ago,--The angelic citoles fainted o'er the sea;

And seraph citerns answered, sweet and low,From where the sunset and the moonrise blend,--In other worlds I loved you, long ago;

Love that hath no beginning hath no end;O Love, Love, Love, the bitter City of PainBidding the golden echoes westward wend,

Chimed in accordant undertone again:Though every grey old tower rose like a tombTo mock the glory of the shoreless main

They could but strike such discords as illumeThe music with strange gleams of utter lightAnd hallow all the valley's rosy gloom.

And there, though greyly sinking out of sightBefore the wonders of the sky and sea,Back through the valley, back into the night,

While mystery melted into mystery,The City still rebuffed the far sweet WestThat dimmed her sorrows with infinity;

Yet sometimes yearning o'er the sea's bright breastTo that remote Avilion would she gazeWhere all lost loves and weary warriors rest.

Then she remembered, through that golden haze,(Oh faint as flowers the rose-white waves resound)Her Arthur whom she loved in the dead days,

And how he sailed to heal him of his wound,And how he lives and reigns eternallyWhere now that unknown love is throned and crowned

Who laid his bleeding head against her kneeAnd loosed the bitter breast-plate and unboundHis casque and brought him strangely o'er the sea,

And how she reigns beside him on that shoreFor ever (Yrma, queen, bend down to me)And they twain have no sorrow any more.