There is no Deed I would not dare

There is no deed I would not dare,
Unloving, but to gain your smile,
No shame or sorrow I would not share
(Though withering in a wintry while)
If I could win your friendship’s grace
While Time’s slow pace is lagging still
Though my lost heart should leave no trace
Of Love on Heaven’s immortal will.

There is no death I would not crave
If thus I’d save your heart from tears;
To snatch your glory from the grave
I’d brave all fates and feel no fears
Although my heart be calm and cold
And feel no flame nor mirth of Love,
Nor buoyed with hope be overbold
To seize and hold the shining Dove.

But I do love you and I know
Nor any deed nor difficult quest
To try to compass, that would show
The fire that bums within my breast;
I cannot draw the dazzling blade
My body sheathes. Love’s splendid sword,
Lest you be blinded—and dismayed
To silence fall my wounded word.

If I would do each desperate thing
Only to bring you ease or mirth
What pinnacle for Love’s strong wing
Towers above the heights of Earth?
I cannot give your soul belief
In the great visions of my heart,
I cannot, and it is my grief
Do aught to please you—but depart.

New Love

The day I knew you loved me we had lain
Deep in Coill Doraca down by Gleann na Scath
Unknown to each till suddenly I saw
You in the shadow, knew oppressive pain
Stopping my heart, and there you did remain
In dreadful beauty fair without a flaw,
Blinding the eyes that yet could not withdraw
Till wild between us drove the wind and rain.

Breathless we reached the brugh before the west
Burst in full fury—then with lightning stroke
The tempest in my heart roared up and broke
Its barriers, and I swore I would not rest
Till that mad heart was worthy of your breast
Or dead for you—and then this love awoke.

Before the Glory of your Love

Before the glory of your love
The beauty of the world is bowed
In adoration, and to prove
Your praises every Truth is proud:

Each silent witness testifies
Your wonder by its native worth
And dumbly its delight denies
That your wild music may have birth:

Only this madman cannot keep
Your peace, but flings his bursting heart
Forth to red battle,—while they weep
Your music who have held apart.

To Grace

On the morning of her christening, April 7th, 1916

The powerful words that from my heart
Alive and throbbing leap and sing
Shall bind the dragon’s jaws apart
Or bring you back a vanished spring;
They shall unseal and seal again
The fount of wisdom’s awful flow,
So this one guerdon they shall gain
That your wild beauty still they show.

The joy of Spring leaps from your eyes,
The strength of dragons in your hair,
In your young soul we still surprise
The secret wisdom flowing there;
But never word shall speak or sing
Inadequate music where above
Your burning heart now spreads its wing
In the wild beauty of your Love.

Prothalamion

Now a gentle dusk shall fall
Slowly on the world, and all
The singing voices softly cease
And a silence and great peace
Cover all the blushing earth
Free from sadness as from mirth
While with willing feet but shy
She shall tremble and draw nigh
To the bridal chamber decked
With darkness by the architect
Of the seven starry spheres
And the pit’s eternal fires
Of the nine angelic choirs
And her happy hopes and fears.
Then this magic dusk of even
Shall give way before the night—
Close the curtains of delight!
Silence is the only song
That can speak such mysteries
As the earth and heaven belong
When one flesh has compassed these.

See the Crocus’ Golden Cup

See the crocus’ golden cup
Like a warrior leaping up
At the summons of the spring,
“Guard turn out!” for welcoming
Of the new elected year.
The blackbird now with psalter clear
Sings the ritual of the day
And the lark with bugle gay
Blows reveille to the morn,
Earth and heaven’s latest born.

Signs and Wonders

The bread is mine
Unmixed with leaven
And the purple wine
Of the Vines of Heaven;
I have asked to see
If my love shall be
At the Throne of Three
With the splendid Seven.

To a blinding car
Four living creatures
Enhamessed are,
Whence One whose features
Outshone the skies
At noon, replies
With her burning eyes—
The eternal teachers—

“Thy love is a sword
In the heart of slaughter,
Thy love is a word
Of the high-king’s daughter,
A song that is sung
In a mystic tongue,
A fountain sprung
From the Living Water.

“And thy love shall stand
In the courts of splendour
At the King’s left hand,
Where she shall render
The gifts of Love
To the throne above,
And a shining dove
Shall there attend her.

“For thy love is a sign
In the Book of Wonder,
A mark divine
On the seals of thunder
That Spirit’s light
And the Water’s might
And the Blood, red-bright
Have witnessed under.”