Poems (Greenwell)/Old Letters
For works with similar titles, see Old Letters.
OLD LETTERS.
Within an ancient Hall Where oft I love to wander, once I found An antique casket, that without a sound Flew open quick, and as a Rose will fall To pieces at a touch when overblown,So was the floor around me thickly strownWith yellow leaves, the letters of the Dead: Oh, hands that wrote these words, oh, loving eyes That brightened over them, oh, hearts whose prize And treasure once were these, by Time made Heir To this your sometime wealth, with pious care I gather in my hoards; for this is dust Of human hearts that now I hold in trust, 'And while I muse above it, spirits flown Come back and commune with me, till the fled Pale ink reveals two names that now have grown Familiar to my soul, as I had known And pitied them in Youth; in parley soft I win their secrets forth from them, and oft Make question of their Past! Did Love find rest And fold its wings where it had made its nest So warm and deep, or were these of the strong And patient souls, condemned, though wedded long, To serve for the other duteously, and wait Upon a harsher Laban,—Life, that proves With grievous, stem delays each heart that loves? O gentle spirits, all your lives on high Are written fair, but mortal historyIs traced upon the sand that may not keep The dint of wave, so quick the dash and leap That follows on—a picture on the wall—A name upon the stone—a leaf whose green Less quickly fades, because it once hath been Within the Dove's soft beak, and this is all.
I.
I write to thee in cypher, even so Doth not the heart write ever? being proud, It careth not to boast its wealth, nor show Where lie its precious things by speaking loud. And here, upon my page an uncouth sign Would say, "I love thee;" further down this mark Shows plain, "for ever," yet the sense is dark To every eye that looks on it but thine. So is it even with my heart, thine ear Can catch each broken whisper it hath used; So even with my life; thou makest clear Its meaning, oft-times to myself confused; The souls that use one mother-tongue are free To mould their rapid speech, but when from thee I turn to others, straight I have to choose My words, as one who in a foreign dress Must clothe his thought, speaks slow in fear to err, Interpreting himself;
Interpreting himself;We do but guess At one another darkly 'mid the stir That thickens round us; in this life of ours We are like players, knowing not the powers Nor compass of the instruments we vex, And by one rash, unskilful touch, perplex To straining discord, needing still the key To seek, and all our being heedfully To tune to one another's:
To tune to one another's:Ours were set Together at the first; each hand could move Like a skilled Master's, knowing well each fret And chord of the sweet viol he doth love, All up and down each other's soul, and yet, Call forth new concords,—now with softer kiss I move o'er other souls in fear to miss Their latent charm; these too, if better known, Were worthier prizing;[1] Love's great charity Hath taught this lesson, as beside her knee I stand, and child-like con it o'er and o'er, "Through loving one so much love all the more."
II.
Oft have I bent my gaze Adown our Life's steep edge with eye-balls dim And thirsting soul, a-weary of the day's Hot parching dust and glare; this Well is deep, Too seldom rise the waters to its brim, And I had nought to draw with! oft in sleep I felt them touch my very lips, and flow All o'er my forehead and my hands, but, lo! I waked and thirsted; looking down, I knew Each pebble lying at the base, that drew A glimmer from the sunbeam; round the rim I knew each flower, each forked fern that through The stone did thrust its tongue, each moss that grew Far down its cool and slippery sides—I knew All but the water's freshness.
Now I yearn No more in vain, no longer need I stoop So wistful o'er the well, for like an urn Is thy pure soul to me, wherein I scoop The waters as I list, and still return.
III.
We broke no piece of gold, We took no pledge of lock nor picture slid Within the breast, our faith was not so cold That it should ask for any sign! we date Our marriage from our meeting day, and hold These spousals of the soul inviolate As they are secret; for no friends were bid To grace our banquet, yet a guest Divine Was there Who from that hour did consecrate Life's water, turning it for us to wine.
IV.
Stern voices say, "Too much Thou givest unto one thy soul in trust; To frame such covenants with things of dust Is but idolatry, that to decay Doth quickly tend." I answer not to such, But turning from them proudly, I appeal Unto my equals,[2]none but those that feel Shall be my judges in this question; nay!I will not unto these my cause unseal,But bear it to a Court where I shall find A yet more patient hearing; far more kind The Father than the Brethren! He who made The heart doth know its need, but what are we,And whence have we our wisdom, unafraid With hands unskilled to vex a mystery We cannot disentangle?
Yet I speak Too harshly in this matter, silence best Becometh happy spirits; hearts at rest;—Love, thy gentleness hath made me meek!
V.
Upon thy lips this name Of mine so softly taken, first became That which it is in very deed, the name Most Christian and most kind, by which I claim A wide inheritance;—and I have borne This name so long, and only yester morn Have learned its sweetness! so doth life—our field Redeemed for us—but slowly, slowly yield The treasure hid within it! all our less Would grow to more, and this our Earth to Heaven, Might we but pierce unto the blessedness That lies so near us, might we but possess The things that are our own—as they were given!
VI.
I turn from things behind; They lose their savour! now that on the core Of Life content I feed, I fling the rind, That once looked fair, aside for evermore, For I have pierced beneath it. Since my eyes Have looked upon thy face, to all things wise, And pure, and noble, they have clearer grown; But careless are they to the vanities That once could hold them chained. I stood alone To watch the long procession that yestreen Moved through our city stately to the flow Of martial music; then I saw thee lean From out a balcony, and all the show Went by unmarked of me, as we had been Alone beside the river winding slow;—So doth this world's fair Pageant pass me by, I see but thee! yet do not therefore grow Unmindful of its goodly company: I tracked those glittering ranks until they stayed Within the square, and passing through the door Of the great Minster, took within its shade The sunshine after them; like One that prayed In silence, seemed that multitude, before So bright and jubilant, now only made The stiller for its vastness, as the sea Doth soothe the sense with wide monotony Of quiet waves unstirred. I saw thee kneel Afar; the organ, as it were the Soul Of many human souls, that did reveal Their secrets, sighed, as on its stormy roll It gathered them; my silent spirit drew More close to those who prayed with me; I knew That each of these still faces, where I see No charm to bid me look again, doth make The sunshine of some eye, and for its sake The heavens and earth look fairer: each that here Doth kneel, is loved of some, or hath been dear—The treasure of some heart beneath the sod. Oh, we are held unto the other near When each is dear to one—and all to God!