“Her eyes are bluebells now”

Her eyes are bluebells now, her voice a bird,
  And the long sighing grass her elegy;
She who a woman was is now a star
  In the high heaven shining down on me.

“The dead arose”

The dead arose.  Long had they dreamed,
Deep in the grass of the still grave,
Of meeting their beloved once more. 
They knocked at each familiar door. 
They waited eagerly to see
The old loved faces at the door,
They waited for a voice to say
The same old words it said before—­
They knocked at each familiar door. 
But no one answered to the dead,
No voice of welcome, no kind word! 
Only a little flower came out,
And one small elegiac bird.

“The bloom upon the grape”

The bloom upon the grape I ask no more,
Nor pampered fragrance of the soft-lipped rose,
I only ask of Him who keeps the Door—­
To open it for one who fearless goes
Into the dark, from which, reluctant, came
His innocent heart, a little laughing flame;
I only ask that he who gave me sight,
Who gave me hearing and who gave me breath,
Give me the last gift in His flaming hand—­
The holy gift of Death.

THE FRIEND

Through the dark wood
  There came to me a friend,
Bringing in his cold hands
  Two words—­’The End.’

His face was fair
  As fading autumn flowers,
And the lost joy
  Of unforgotten hours.

His voice was sweet
  As rain upon a grave;
‘Be brave,’ he smiled. 
  And yet again—­’be brave.’

ADORATION

Ah, if you worship anything,
In deepest hush of silence bend
The lone adoring knee,
And only silence bring
Into the sanctuary. 
Trust not the fairest word
Your soul to wrong: 
Even the Rose’s bird
Hath not a song
Sweet as the silence
Round about the Rose. 
Ah, something goes,
Fails, and is lost in speech
That silence knows. 
How should I speak
The hush about my heart
That holds your name
Shrined in a burning core
Of central flame,
Like names of seraphim
Mystically writ on cloud? 
To speak your name aloud
Were to unhallow
Such a holy thing;
Therefore I bring
To your white feet
And your immortal eyes
Silence forever,
But in such a wise
Am silent as the quiet waters are,
Hiding some holy star
Amid hushed lilies
In a secret lake. 
Ah, if a ripple break
The stillness halcyon—­
The star is gone!

“At last I got A letter from the dead”

At last I got a letter from the dead,
And out of it there fell a little flower,—­
The violet of an unforgotten hour.