Florence Earle Coates

“ And the immortals to his spirit gave
⁠Their deeper knowledge and their scorn of death.
So evermore with energy and joy,
⁠He followed Truth:
Still for the message and the vision sought,
Still to the temple of her worship brought
⁠The imagination of unaging youth,
And in its largeness ever viewing life,
⁠Perceived its goal
To be beyond the bounds of space or time. ”

“ By human thought, alone, and still,
I muse on one who dying praised
The God of Being, here:
On him who welcomed with a will
The gift of life, the boon of death,—
The while he heard, deep-toned and near,
The solemn forest's organ-breath. ”

“ As that which haloes her auroral brow,
Whose puissance shall uplift the poor and weak,
Whose love shall teach, to such as wisdom seek,
That they are blest who give, they only free
Who in the strength of Law find liberty! ”

“ II
IN THE SURGICAL WARD
"He that loveth his life shall lose it."
⁠Last night a shape of fear
⁠Came in the silence drear—
⁠⁠Unlooked-for and unsought—
With stealthy, ghost-like motion drawing near. ”

“ More fitting worship the far drift of clouds
⁠O'er azure floating with a swan-like motion,
The Siren-lays faint heard amid the shrouds,
⁠The voiceless swell of the unfathomed ocean,
The silver Dian pours on the calm stream
Where pale the lotus-blossoms lie adream,—
Yet, mother of all high imaginings,
⁠In whom is neither barrenness nor dearth,
Wise guardian of the sacred springs
⁠Whose fresh primordial waters heal the earth,—
O soul of muted fire,
Of whom is born the passionate desire
⁠That gives to beauty birth ”

“ Regenerating, consecrating power,
⁠Youth am I and delight.
Astarte or Aurora, still the priest
Of mysteries beneficently bright.
The vivifying glory of the East,
The Spring, in vesture of transparent dyes
'Broidered with blossoms and with butterflies,
The door that leads from gloomy vasts of Death,—
I resurrection am!—new life! new breath! ”

“ But when soft-trailing saffron and warm rose
Half hide and half disclose
Her glowing beauty rare,—
When living things her sweet breath quaff,
And lift their heads for joy of her, and laugh,
Thou art no longer there. ”

“ How soon the trillium of the wood shall fade,—
Nor longer with its stars illume the shade,—
She knows, and harvests for a future Spring;
And though about her winds of Autumn sigh,
And though the rose—the rose, itself, must die,
And though the lordly pine that scorns to bend
Must fall at last,—she knows there is no end. ”

“ We know there is no loss—and yet—
⁠Dismayed, perplexed,—poor dupes of time—
⁠We see youth stricken ere its prime,
And in our grief forget!
But pitying Nature takes our part:
Slowly she heals the breaking heart,
And Sorrow's self procures us gain ”

“ That, all attempting, in a deathless hour
⁠Made earth-born Titans godlike, in revolt!—
Fear is the fire that melts Icarian wings:
Who fears nor Fate, nor Time, nor what Time brings,
May drive Apollo's steeds, or wield the thunderbolt! ”

“ Through what beguilement dost thou friendless roam?
⁠And goest thou—ah, whither?
Day quickly fades, Night may refuse her star,
⁠Clouds may arise, and elemental strife,—
⁠Ah, hapless bird! what wanderlust of life
Betrayed thy wings so far? ”

“ To overthrow a cause for which I would have died.
The sun may shine with naught to shroud
⁠⁠Its beam, yet show less bright
Than when from out eclipsing cloud
⁠⁠It pours its radiant light;
And Lincoln, seen amid the shows of war
Clothed in his sober black, was somehow felt the more
To be a centre and a soul of power,—
⁠⁠An influence benign
To kindle in a faithless hour
⁠⁠New trust in the divine.
Grave was his visage, but no cloud could dull
The radiance from within that made it beautiful. ”

“ IN DREAMLAND
In dreamland is a castle fair
⁠Wherein my love doth dwell:
Its turrets waver into air
⁠From fields where asphodel
And poppy keep not watch, but sleep,
⁠'Neath an enchanter's spell. ”

“ We two have been companioned long;
⁠Now straightway let us part!
Another and a dearer song,
⁠By some mysterious art,
Draws young, sweet breath while thy lips of death
⁠Yet whisper to my heart.
Ah, joy it is a timid thing,
⁠And easily 't is slain ”

“ With a rapturous shiver—
Like that that makes eager the pulse of the river
⁠When something at last tells it Winter is past—
Awoke at the sound of her voice, and replied.
⁠A libation to Spring!—ah, quickly! pour fast! ”

“ His rushing anger seemed to bring
⁠Fate nearer; then
The man-bird knew the moment's strife
Not for supremacy alone, but life!
With nerve that grows, in peril, great,
⁠He toward him drew
A thing to strengthen him with Fate;
⁠Whence instant flew
A wingéd death, and far behind
Headlong the Eagle fell, the abyss to find.
········
Thy fight was over, glorious bird!—
⁠Thy scornful strength,
Which the sky's sovereignty conferred,
⁠Subdued at length,—
An autumn leaf against the wind,
In conflict with a greater power—called Mind! ”

“ With other children like myself,
⁠A whole long summer's day!
It was n't really there, I 'm sure—
⁠That place so strange to me,
For nobody was cold or poor:
⁠It just was green, and free,
And up above there seemed of blue
⁠A million miles to be. ”

“ I lift my eyes, but I cannot see;
I stretch my arms and I cry to Thee,—
And still the darkness covers me.
Where art Thou? In the chill obscure
I wander lonely, and endure
A yearning only Thou can'st cure! ”

“ 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. ”

“ If heretofore I have done aught beyond what was just, through headiness or negligence of youth, I am ready with God's help to amend it utterly."—King Canute's letter to his English subjects.
⁠When Nature takes away the things we prize,
With all a mother's patient tenderness
She soothes us, and from treasure limitless
Brings forth new joys to gladden our grieved eyes. ”

“ Shall hold glad converse with thy spirit brave,
Nor from thy lips hear words that lift and save,
Through all the lengthening number of our days!
By the great Silence thou art set apart
From all the restless travail of the heart
⁠⁠That beats in us
⁠So passionate and strong—
Art passed beyond the evening angelus
⁠And Memnon's morning song. ·⁠·⁠·⁠·⁠·⁠·⁠·⁠·⁠·⁠·
⁠Man's life on earth—how brief!
Yet we with Nature hold the high belief,
⁠E'en when our hearts are breaking,
That death is but the vital way,
Darkness the shadow of the day,
⁠And sleep the door to waking! ”

“ In their plains the neighing of horses is heard nightly, and men are seen fighting; and those who purposely come as hearers or spectators into these plains suffer for their curiosity; but such as are accidentally witnesses of these prodigies are not injured by the anger of the dæmons. ”