The Unconquered Air, and Other Poems (1912)/In Loneliness—Iseult of Brittany
THE ORCHESTRAL LEADER
All eyes upon him centred, motionless,
Yet tensely watchful, vividly aware,
He stands an instant waiting. In the air
His mystic wand, uplifted, seems to bless
The Silence, while it calls to readiness
Forces that overwhelming Silence there,
Shall in its stead give Sound so sweet and rare
As must its every parting pang redress.
Magician and enchanter, he doth hold
In his fine hand tones, accents, manifold,
Interpreting the gods to mortal men:
His are the nerves that vitalize the rest;
The central heart of all beats in his breast;
Through him the very dead revive and speak again.
IN LONELINESS
ISEULT OF BRITTANY
They are at rest.
How still it is—and cold!
The morrow comes; the night is growing old.
They are at rest. Why then, unresting, keep
In vigil lone, a pain that will not sleep—
An anguish, only to itself confessed,
That hushed a moment lies,
Then wakes to sudden eager life, and cries?
At rest?
Ah, me! The wind wails by,
Like to a grief that would but cannot die.
How sore the heart can ache,
Yet beat and beat and beat, and never break!
Hearken!—was that a child's awaking cry?
It was the sea—the ever troubled sea!
My little ones, it was the sea,
That moans unceasingly,
One dear refrain repeating o'er and o'er:—
"Tristram returns no more—