John Niendorff

“ But beauty's queen hath brooked no passing jest
To penetrate her deep heart's wild unrest.
But in the stilly quiet of her wrath,
Conceives dark pitfalls for the lover's path.
And she that once hath hied to amorous chase,
And grieved outstript in love's immortal race,
Now calls her white winged swans, on fleecy pinions,
To bear her down to earthly love's dominions,
For naught of love or sorrow. ”

“ To bless thee for the love that thou hast brought,
With greater life. Let tender tinkling rhimes,
Like pure white doves, lead on the lovely thought. I Deep in a woody vale, where crystal streams
Run vaguely like the threads of vanished dreams;
Where fountains tinkle to the yellow sun
Sweet rainbow-tinted hopes, and lightly run,
In joyful race unto the distant ocean;
Where greeny swards are checked with light and shade,
To make a cool retreat for fine emotion ”

“ What flow'ry meads hast found,
Of wilding pain and rapture,
In spirit births, a moment's capture?
A part of all that thou hast met,
Sweet mocking bird!
How far above, how far beyond, [Pg 47]
All dream or spirit fancy,
Each fountain burst of purest song!
To what fair region dost belong?
What roseate glory followeth after
Thy natures gladdest laughter,—
Thine infinite necromancy,
Sweet mocking bird?
Within thy song, as in thy night,
What matchless dearth of fact!
Old Art bent low in arabesque,
Transmuting life to things grotesque. ”

“ Where life and dimpling mirth, may meet and mingle,
And clear melodious plot,
To pipe sweet ditties of their lot,
Till the sad soul that did repine,
Shall wake to consciousness as sweet and wild,
As some lone promise-mother's dreaming of her child,
And as divine!
Along these paths what amorous gods have pass'd! ”

“ It is a serpent's head, green eyed and swart,
With lightning flashes of a forked tongue,
And glittering treachery on its forehead hung.
Oh! for a generous draft of that sweet moly,
To bring dear Psyche back as pure and holy,
As when a maiden in her jewel palace,
She kissed, for love, her nectar's brimming chalice,
That held serene a limned picture there,
Of wealth of beauty framed in golden hair.
But nature's shrine guides not the errant feet [Pg 17]
Of little faith. And sudden prayers all unmeet
For crippled love. Ah! ”

“ Of some sad sea-soul for his wand'ring nymph.
Thou couldst not yield to mortal love's enthralling
And Nerius calling in thy spirits coralled lymph.
O! if our hearts have sweeter balm than tears,
It is the call that kissed thy dreaming ears. ”

“ Of boundless heart, and still a tongue divine,
In lover's oracles? With holy words
Of sweet ablution when the night engirds
Each little tear? When never a smile but darkens
Its firefly gloom? When never an ear that hearkens.
But dulls a moan? And never a scene outspread
In mirror drops, but darts a serpent's head? ”

“ Her wearied eyes, and e'en her sense forsaking,
She fain would rest upon the poppied rug,
Like some pale Orient deep within a drug.
But beauty is the dream of godly sleep,
And scare her eyes have fluttered, when a peep
Of golden fragments tantalize their sense
To waking; thus to try, with soul intense,
To reconstruct some evanescent gleam
Of something they remember. Ah! what dream
So fair as Psyche sleeping in a fairy ring? ”

“ And thus the queen, unto that gruesome hag:
"In yonder dome a youth hath founden beauty
"Within a maid, and swears all foul and sooty,
"That is not there. Thou hast a serpent's eyes,
"And seeth so what dreary falsehood lies,
"In such a mirror. Go reverse the glass,
"And thine the beauty he has wasted on the lass,
"He hath not seen." The hory dame is gone. ”

“ With soothing words; "Thou seest the butterfly,
"Whose flooding beam hath drown'd dear Cupid's eye.
"The queen demands thou bring him fairest pleasure,
"Of all the joys thou holdest in thy measure.
"Sweet Psyche's story, whispered by the wind,
"In every dewy flower cup thou'lt find,
"As deeply mirrored as the starry skies.
"Fly to the fretting boy with dear surprise
"Of all thy cunning. Kiss his fevered lips,
"As Psyche then, when doubting falls and slips,
"Still left unmarred their blissful stream of life. ”

“ Fair son of Beauty's queen, whom to adorn.
Needs but to name, Great Venus Queen of Beauty— [Pg 8]
Whom to adore was but a solemn duty.
This lad whom she hath dowered with all her charms,
A voice resistless and soft amorous arms,
And named him Love, now raptured, lies,
A simple lover in a woman's eyes. ”

“ Where thou hast vanished, yet not wholly gone. [Pg 31]
And I must sing thee of a treasure dome
Of drossless gold, which thou hast filled unwitting.
Then too to wander on,
Like thee as fain to pause, as fain to roam,
Forever pausing and forever flitting. TO DEATH
Ah Death! Thou art a strange and delicate thing,
Pale hooded sister of sweet sleep!
That like a patient holy nun,
Upon a battle steep,
Hath watched from sun to sun
Each laboring breath,
That welcomes thee, sweet Death. ”

“ Thy self a world, thy thirst its history.
Ah! such a world! such wash of human waves
On human shores, where still the thirst enslaves. SONG TO DEATH
Ah Death! what a weakling art makes thee—
The art of the frighten'd to death ”

“ My singer and my star, my star!
The all of all that thou hast met,
Sweet mocking bird! THE MYSTERY
The gos'mer web that mistifies,
Lies not on any whole or part,
Or stop or start, but in the art,
Men hang upon their eyes. ”

“ How he rageth, and rendeth his organ assunder!
Now soaring, now crashing to nethermost springs—
The maddest of music but never a blunder.
For he smiteth the sea, and he teareth the land,
And never a prayer but he laugheth to scorn!
A King and a God—should he render less grand
For sake of the ghoul haunted beeches of morn?
[Pg 56]
THE BIRTH OF FANCY
I dreamed, and ah! the dream was sweeter far,
Than any dream of cloud-born poet ever;
Or love-lorn maiden praying to a star
On Agne's Eve. ”

“ Hast held to failing eyes!
Till, pregnant with the awful sight,
A spirit in them lies
That is not life.
I see thee calming strife, [Pg 32]
And age old bitterness.
The young man's mockery of the old
Hath seen thy face and trembles all acold. ”

“ Might mark the time in which her pinions brought,
Her to the drowsy rug of poppies spread,
Where drowsy Somnus nods his hoary head.
His myriad minions, like the forest leaves, [Pg 22]
When some wild gust their autumn rest upheaves,
Rush to her overwhelming. ”

“ Another as deep,
And life is a brother,
Too pleasant to weep. (The Orator)
(While a dark cloud appeareth on the horizon.)
"Sweet thought is outclassed and outbidden,
Gay summer too high on her wings! ”