Poems of Optimism Part 3

What are the worst three things to fear, O Seer! - What are the worst three things for a man to fear?

The worst three things for man to fear, O Son! are these: Doubt and suspicion in a young child's eyes; Accusing shame upon a woman's face; And in himself no consciousness of G.o.d.

EARTH BOUND

New paradise, and groom and bride; The world was all their own; Her heart swelled full of love and pride; Yet were they quite alone?

'Now how is it, oh how is it, and why is it' (in fear All silent to herself she spake) 'that something strange seems here?'

Along the garden paths they walked - The moon was at its height - And lover-wise they strolled and talked, But something was not right.

And 'Who is that, now who is that, oh who is that,' quoth she, (All silent in her heart she spake) 'that seems to follow me?'

He drew her closer to his side; She felt his lingering kiss; And yet a shadow seemed to glide Between her heart and his.

And 'What is that, now what is that, oh what is that,' she said, (All silent to herself she spake) 'that minds me of the dead?'

They wandered back by beds of bloom; They climbed a winding stair; They crossed the threshold of their room, But something waited there.

'Now who is this, and what is this, and where is this,' she cried, (All silent was the cry she made) 'that comes to haunt and hide?'

Wide-eyed she lay, the while he slept; She could not name her fear.

But something from her bedside crept Just as the dawn drew near, (She did not know, she could not know--how could she know?--who came To haunt the home of one whose hand had dug her grave of shame).

A SUCCESSFUL MAN

There was a man who killed a loving maid In some mad mood of pa.s.sion; and he paid The price, upon a scaffold. Now his name Stands only as a synonym for shame.

There was another man, who took to wife A loving woman. She was full of life, Of hope, and aspirations; and her pride Clothed her like some rich mantle.

First, the wide Glad stream of life that through her veins had sway He dammed by rocks, cast in it, day by day.

Her flag of hope, flung gaily to the world, He placed half mast, and then hauled down, and furled.

The aspirations, breathing in each word, By subtle ridicule, were made absurd:

The delicate fine mantle of her pride, With rude unfeeling hands, was wrenched aside: And by mean avarice, or vulgar show, Her quivering woman's heart was made to know That she was but a chattel, bought to fill Whatever niche might please the buyer's will.

So she was murdered, while the slow years went.

And her a.s.sa.s.sin, honoured, opulent, Lived with no punishment, or social ban!

'A good provider, a successful man.'

UNSATISFIED

The bird flies home to its young; The flower folds its leaves about an opening bud; And in my neighbour's house there is the cry of a child.

I close my window that I need not hear.

She is mine, and she is very beautiful: And in her heart there is no evil thought.

There is even love in her heart - Love of life, love of joy, love of this fair world, And love of me (or love of my love for her); Yet she will never consent to bear me a child.

And when I speak of it she weeps, Always she weeps, saying: 'Do I not bring joy enough into your life?

Are you not satisfied with me and my love, As I am satisfied with you?

Never would I urge you to some great peril To please my whim; yet ever so you urge me, Urge me to risk my happiness--yea, life itself - So lightly do you hold me.' And then she weeps, Always she weeps, until I kiss away her tears And soothe her with sweet lies, saying I am content.

Then she goes singing through the house like some bright bird Preening her wings, making herself all beautiful, Perching upon my knee, and pecking at my lips With little kisses. So again love's s.h.i.+p Goes sailing forth upon a portless sea, From nowhere unto nowhere; and it takes Or brings no cargoes to enrich the world.

The years Are pa.s.sing by us. We will yet be old Who now are young. And all the man in me Cries for the reproduction of myself Through her I love. Why, love and youth like ours Could populate with G.o.ds and G.o.ddesses This great, green earth, and give the race new types Were it made fruitful! Often I can see, As in a vision, desolate old age And loneliness descending on us two, And nowhere in the world, nowhere beyond the earth, Fruit of my loins and of her womb to feed Our hungry hearts. To me it seems More sorrowful than sitting by small graves And wetting sad-eyed pansies with our tears.

The bird flies home to its young; The flower folds its leaves about an opening bud; And in my neighbour's house there is the cry of a child.

I close my window that I need not hear.

SEPARATION

HE

One decade and a half since first we came With hearts aflame Into Love's Paradise, as man and mate; And now we separate.

Soon, all too soon, Waned the white splendour of our honeymoon.

We saw it fading; but we did not know How bleak the path would be when once its glow Was wholly gone.

And yet we two were forced to follow on - Leagues, leagues apart while ever side by side.

Darker and darker grew the loveless weather, Darker the way, Until we could not stay Longer together.

Now that all anger from our hearts has died, And love has flown far from its ruined nest, To find sweet shelter in another breast, Let us talk calmly of our past mistakes, And of our faults; if only for the sakes Of those with whom our futures will be cast.

You shall speak first.

SHE

A woman would speak last - Tell me my first grave error as a wife.

HE

Inertia. My young veins were rife With manhood's ardent blood; and love was fire Within me. But you met my strong desire With lips like frozen rose leaves--chaste, so chaste That all your splendid beauty seemed but waste Of love's materials. Then of that beauty Which had so pleased my sight You seemed to take no care; you felt no duty To keep yourself an object of delight For lover's-eyes; and appet.i.te And indolence soon wrought Their devastating changes. You were not The woman I had sworn to love and cherish.

If love is starved, what can love do but perish?

Now will you speak of my first fatal sin And all that followed, even as I have done?

SHE

I must begin With the young quarter of our honeymoon.

You are but one Of countless men who take the priceless boon Of woman's love and kill it at the start, Not wantonly but blindly. Woman's pa.s.sion Is such a subtle thing--woof of her heart, Web of her spirit; and the body's part Is to play ever but the lesser role To her white soul.

Seized in brute fas.h.i.+on, It fades like down on wings of b.u.t.terflies; Then dies.

So my love died.

Next, on base Mammon's cross you nailed my pride, Making me ask for what was mine by right: Until, in my own sight, I seemed a helpless slave To whom the master gave A grudging dole. Oh, yes, at times gifts showered Upon your chattel; but I was not dowered By generous love. Hate never framed a curse Or placed a cruel ban That so crushed woman, as the law of man That makes her pensioner upon his purse.

That necessary stuff called gold is such A cold, rude thing it needs the nicest touch Of thought and speech when it approaches love, Or it will prove the certain death thereof.