Eyes of Youth

HUGH AUSTIN

The Astronomers Prayer

 
Night. O Thou God! who rulest Heaven and earth,
The terraced atmospheres, the bounded seas;
Who knowest equally both death and birth,
Frail human men, strong divine mysteries,
Whose unencumbered thought sways all the spheres,
In all their turning, snake-like, perfect ways;
Now that the season of my labour nears,
Grant me an insight to Thy larger days!
 
 
To Thee all things create and unborn yield,
Being of Thee, the secret of their souls—
The traversed elements, the azure field
Whereo'er eternal each huge star-world rolls.
There is no tiny insect but does know
Itself within Thy Presence visual:
From us too swiftly years and seasons go,
To Thee all change is a thing gradual.
 
 
E'en as at nightfall, when the lights come in,
The moth attracted woos and meets her death,
So do I seek Thy light to wander in,
Though fearfully and with half-bated breath.
So do I seek all knowledge of Thy stars,
Which move in and without my vision's reach;
Maybe yet burning with internal wars,
Or shaking as this world with human speech.
 
 
Stars which perhaps ten thousand years ago
Waned and grew cold at Thy almighty word
Waft their light hitherward. I do not know—
Thy recreating voice I have not heard.
Maybe, e'en at this hour Thine accents shake
Some chaos into order, into life;
Perchance some great creation now doth break
Into new form beneath Thy wisdom's knife.
 
 
Ah, Lord! The night appals me. Give me strength
Within myself to search this planet's dome:
O Supreme Architect, give me at length
Some clearer knowledge of Thy spaceless home!
My spirit seethes within me; in the sky
Thy constellations shine; for me begin
My labours until night-time passes by—
And before dawn I must or fail or win.
 

The Moon

 
Cirqued with dim stars and delicate moonflowers,
Silent she moves among the silent hours—
Watching the spheres that glow with golden heat
                Under her feet.
 
 
Then, when the sunrise tints the east with light,
She fades to westward, with the dreamy night
And all her starry train—in faint disguise
                Of twilight skies.
 

To Yvonne

 
Such things have been, Yvonne; but you and I,
Can we touch lips again across the years?
Re-order what is past? Forget—or try
Not to remember what through mists of tears
Is still too memorable? Dare we two
Start both our lives again, as we were young
And happy, in such love as falls to few?
Nay, for our violins are all unstrung.
 
 
Yet it is well that memory should hold
Some few pale rose-leaves plucked in bygone days,
That still are sweet, despite those pains untold
Which throng the marges of life's winding ways.
Yea, these will stay when nearer things are gone;
I shall keep mine. Will you keep yours, Yvonne?
 

The Burial of Scald

 
A long, low wail of harps across the snow,
Falling and rising with the whistling wind;
A shifting glare of lights that come and go,
As if men searched for what they could not find.
And then the music thrilled out loud and well
Over the waste and barren dunes of sand—
Solemn and stately as a passing bell
Heard dimly in some weary twilight land.
 
 
Then slipped the moon behind a dusky cloud,
And each bright star its silver visage hid;
Mystery 'gan the darkness to enshroud;
Across the sky a blood-red message slid.
 
 
Sudden the ship blazed up, the dark was light;
Lo! Scald is dead! his pyre was lit to-night.
 

JUDITH LYTTON

A Day Remembered

 
Oh, Love, what fate is ours? No summer morning
Shall give us joy, no sunrise bring relief;
No end—no end is there unto our sorrow,
No measure to our grief.
 
 
You looked at me, and all your living beauty
Swept to my heart in flame a moment's space,
A sudden mist of tears in darkness veiling
The glory of your face.
 
 
You spoke: I seemed to hear the wild doves cooing—
The rain upon the hills, sweet falling rain;
And all my soul was filled with joy and anguish,
In ecstasy of pain.
 
 
I saw as in a mist celestial visions
Beyond the bitter seas whence hope has fled,
Heard the wind blow among the trees in summer,
But knew not what you said.
 
 
It matters not what words the lips have spoken
When heart shall speak to heart, for love can hear
Unspoken words, and see as in reflection
His own thoughts mirrored there.
 
 
You came to me, the sun arose in splendour;
I saw the roses spread their petals sweet,
And thought that all the world must see in wonder
The wings upon our feet.
 
 
You touched me, and a wave of passionate longing
Flooded my soul until it swooned away,
And knew no more the sunlight from the shadow—
If it were night or day.
 
 
We wandered in the shadow of the woodland,
Mute while we looked into each other's eyes,
And saw as in still pools of darkened water
The wonder of the skies.
 
 
No word we spoke. We knew that love had silenced
All that we wished to speak yet left unsaid;
The bees were humming in the wild-rose blossoms
Which clustered overhead.
 
 
And all that summer day we were together,
Alone with love, yet with a sword between—
The flaming sword that stands between us ever,
And all that might have been.
 
 
Mist gathered white at evening in the valleys,
And slowly grew the dusk from gold to grey,
While rain-clouds gathered on the low horizon
Dark at the close of day.
 
 
And softly rose a wind from out the darkness,
With scent of flower and fern and herb and tree,
And in its breath there came a sound of thunder,
Storm-laden from the sea.
 
 
And thus we reached the wicket of the garden;
The wood was full of sound, the sound of wings;
The scent of lavender brought back remembrance
Of long-forgotten things.
 
 
Though heaven and earth and sky should be forgotten,
Yet of that hour my soul should bear the trace:
For night fell fast, and in the deepening shadow
You turned and kissed my face.