*

VIOLA MEYNELL

_THE RUIN_

I led thy thoughts, having them for my own,
To where my God His head to thee did bend.
I bore thee in my bosom to His throne.
O, the blest labour, and the treasured end!

Now like a ruined aqueduct I go
Unburdened; thou by more fleet ways hast been
With Him. Since thou thine own swift road dost know,
Thou canst not brook such slow and devious mean.

_THE DREAM_

I slept, and thought a letter came from you--
You did not love me any more, it said.
What breathless grief!--my love not true, not true ...
I was afraid of people, and afraid
Of things inanimate--the wind that blew,
The clock, the wooden chair; and so I strayed
From home, but could not stray from grief, I knew.
And then at dawn I woke, and wept, and prayed,
And knew my blessed love was still the same;--
And yet I sit and moan upon the bed
For that dream-creature's loss. For when I came
(I came, perhaps, to comfort her) she fled.
I would be with her where she wanders now,
Fleeing the earth, with pain upon her brow.

_THE WANDERER_

All night my thoughts have rested in God's fold;
They lay beside me here upon the bed.
At dawn I woke: the air beat sad and cold.
I told them o'er--Ah, God, one thought had fled.

Into what dark, deep chasm this wayward one
Has sunk, I scarcely know; I will not chide.
O Shepherd, leave me! Seek this lamb alone.
The ninety-nine are here. They will abide.

"_NATURE IS THE LIVING MANTLE OF GOD_"--_GOETHE_

O for the time when some impetuous breeze
Will catch Thy garment, and, like autumn trees,
Toss it and rend it till Thou standest free,
And end Thy long secluded reverie!

Still now its beauty folds Thee, and--as she
Who kissed Thy garment and had health from Thee--
I feel the sun, or hear some bird in bliss,
And Thou hast then my sudden, humble kiss.

_SECRET PRAYER_

Since that with lips which moved in one we prayed,
So that God ceased to hear us speak apart,
What law irrevocable have we made?
How shall He hear a solitary heart

When He did need that we, to have His ear,
Should go aside and pray together there
With urgent breath? Ah, now I pause and fear--
How shall uprise my lonely, separate prayer?

_THE UNHEEDED_

Upon one hand your kisses chanced to rest:
I smiled upon the other hand and said
"Poor thing," when you had gone: and then in quest
Of pity rose a clamour from the dead--
Some way of mine, some word, some l