LOVE AND PASSION

 "Loving is feeling the delight of another in one's self ;
  but feeling one's own delight in another, and not that
  other's delight in one's self, is not loving." 
                                 Apologies to SWEDENBORG.

    Although 1 would not tell you this
    To me as nothing is your kiss:
    Your lips so red, your lustrous eyes
    Have smiled and told too many lies.

   Though Beauty be a thing of might
   It cannot blind the soul's strong sight;
   1 do not think that love can do
   The miracle of moving you.

   Ah yes, desire in flames may leap
   And even urge your eyes to weep,
   But never may you know the joy
   Of feeling love without alloy.

   Come, take your lips from off my mouth;
   My soul grows faint beneath such drouth:
   I should become a thing like you
   If once your kisses overthrew.

                     DESPAIR

     "Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise
	        (That last infirmity of noble mind)
      To scorn delights and live laborious days."
		                     MILTON, "Lycidas".

   Lips invocate and souls aspire alway.
       When musing on the greatness toil hath won
       Those minds whose deeds illume, while ages run,
   Fame's pinnacle, at thy lone heart lay
   Great Hopelessness, and night through and the day
      Wild, dolesome voices cry:--"Thou art undone!
      Thou canst not gaze on such a blinding sun;
   Nor climb to summits so remote, so grey."

   Then humbly raise thy head and answer make:--
      "This mind infirm, and feeblerwill, decree,
   Too well, that I may never hope to slake
      My thirst for fame; yet my life e'er be
   Changeless endeavour this weak soul to wake
      Deserving proved the chrism of victory."


     THE RAMPARTS CEMETRY (LILLE GATE) YPRES

               (Night of June 4th, 1933)            

           Calm and lovely is the night,
              And the graves are lovely too:
           The moon rides high as if it rode
              With deep intent to strew
           Its beams upon the water
              Where peace is born anew.

    It is well with you, my brothers, it is well
       Sleeping in the shadows of this immortal place
    That saw your comrades pass, and pass again,
       And was the silent witness of their grace,
               And all their holy pain.

    (Printed in "The Ypres Times")