Dear as the dreams life never brings to blossom, Lost as the seeds hope sowed, which never grew, Pure as the love which only you could waken, Prayer, incense, tears, and love were all for you!
When God some day shall call my name And scorch me with a blaze of shame, Bringing to light my inmost thought And all the evil I have wrought,
Tearing away the veils I wove To hide my foulness from my love, And leaving my transgressions bare To the whole heaven's clear, cold air--
When all the angels weep to see The branded, outcast soul of me, One saint at least will hide her face-- She will not look at my disgrace.
"At least, O God, O God Most High, He loved me truly!" she will cry, And God will pause before He send My soul to find its fitting end.
Then, lest heaven's light should leave her face To think one loved her and was base, I will speak out at judgment day-- "I never loved her!" I will say.
Light of my life! though far away, My sun, you shine, Your radiance warms me every day Like fire or wine.
Life of my heart! in every beat This sad heart gives, It owns your sovereignty complete, By which it lives.
Heart of my soul! serene and strong, Eyes of my sight! Together we can do no wrong, Apart, no right.
Come down, my dear, from this high, wind-swept hill, Where the wild plovers scream against the sky; Down in the valley everything is still-- We also will be silent, you and I.
Come down, and hold my hand as we go down. A gleam of sun has dyed the west afar; The lights come out down in the little town, 'Neath the first glimmer of the evening star.
Did my heart forge the bitter words I said? Did your heart breed those bitterer replies-- Spoken with plovers wheeling overhead In the gray pallor of the cheerless skies?
Is it worth while to quarrel and upbraid, Life being so little and love so great a thing? The price of all life's follies has been paid When we, true lovers, fall to quarrelling.
Here is the churchyard; swing the gate and pass Where the sharp needles of the pines are shed. Tread here between the mounds of flowered grass; Tread softly over these forgotten dead.
We are alive, and here--O love! O wife! While life is ours, and we are yours and mine, How dare we crush the blossom of our life? How dare we spill love's sacramental wine?