ON A PIECE OF SILVER

So! the fierce acid licks the silver clean,
Unwonted plain the superscription’s seen
Round the cleared head; the metal, virgin-bright,
Shines a mild Moon to the Sun candle-light. 
And in these floating stains, this evil murk,
All your change-crowded, moment-histories lurk,
Voluble Silverling!  Dost yield me now
Your chance-illumined record, and allow
Prying of idle eyes?... you came a boon
To men as weary as any the weak moon
Shines on but cheers not; you were life in death;
Almost a God to give the prize of breath,
Almost a God to give the prize of joy,
Almost a God—­but God! the veriest toy
Child’s fingers break, from death to buy back life,
Turn the keen trouble of grief’s eager knife,
Or sense-confounded hearts heal of the ancient strife. 
O Coin that men have toiled for, lacked and mourned,
Sold life for and sold honour, won and scorned;
O Coin that oft hast been a spinning Fate,
Yet impotent her bitterness to abate;
O Coin that Love contemns, reckoning nought
(But with you, ah, Love’s best is sold and bought)—­
Heart of the harlot, you; the Judas blood
Hell’s devils leech on; you the Price of God!

THE ESCAPE

Like one who runs
Fearful at night, he knows not why,
Dreading the loneliness, yet shuns
The highway’s casual company;

Wherefore he hastes,
The friendly gloom of ancient trees
Unheeding, and the shining wastes
Lying broad and quiet as the seas;

The beauty of night
Hating for very fear, until
Beyond the bend a lowly light
Beams single from a lowly sill;

And the poor fool,
Flying the sacred, solemn dark,
Leaves gladly the large, cool
Night for that serviceable spark;

And thankful then
To have ’scaped the peril of the way,
Turns not his timid steps again
That night, but waits the common day;—­

So I, as weak,
Have fled the great hills of Thy love,
Too faint to hear what Thou dost speak,
Too feeble with fear to look above,

And hasten to win
Some flickering, brief security,
In sinful sleep or waking sin,
From the enfolding thought of Thee!

WONDER

Following upon the faint wind’s fickle courses
  A feather drifts and strays. 
  My thought after her thought
  Floated—­how many ways and days!

She swayed me as the wind swayeth a feather. 
  I was a leaf upon
  Her breath, a dream within
  Her dream.  The dream how soon was done!

For now all’s changed, not Time’s change more wondrous,
  I am her sun, and she
  (Herself doth swear) the moon;
  Or she the ship upon my sea.

How should this be?  I know not; I so grossly
  Mastering her spirit pure. 
  O, how can her bird’s breast
  My nervous and harsh hand endure?