Chapters 48
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1 01 - January, 1879 1:25
SONNETS. Sonnets by Constance Naden.
With bounding heart, with eyes and cheeks aglow, not caring how the frost may stab and sting, I haste along, where leafless branches fling their clear blue shadows o'er the sunlit snow. For though I count sad winter as my foe, within my heart I can create the spring, can hear sweet music, ere the thrushes sing, and see white flowers before the pear-buds blow.
These homely scenes, whence first my childish eye its own ideal form of beauty chose, I love forever. Leaves and blossoms die, but this ethereal image lingers yet, and if I grieved, I could but grieve for those who know not spring, or, having known, forget.
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2 02 - To a Hyacinth in January 1:25
Sonnets by Constance Naden. To a Hyacinth in January.
Sweet household hyacinth, whose dainty breath steals through my spirit like an April dream. Each day I watch another snowy gleam that dawns and brightens through thine emerald sheave. The encircling air, the water from beneath, the fireside glow, the pallid moon-day beam, arise transfigured in thy white raceme, safe from the new year's wind, whose touch were death.
The bells of spring are not so sweet and fair, for they with wind and rain and hail must cope, that all too soon their tender life destroy. But thou, warm sheltered from the frosty air, art like some delicate and hidden hope, more full and fragrant than the promised joy.
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3 03 - To the First Snowdrop 1:31
SONNETS. SONNETS by Constance Naden. To the First Snowdrop.
Fair, sunny-hearted child of many tears. Thou, while thy mother earth forsaken slept, didst gather to thyself pure hopes that crept through stormy dreams. And now the sun appears. White buds reflect each rare, faint smile that cheers the home where thine unshapen germ was kept, safe in deep midnight, while the heavens wept or hung the shuddering trees with frosty spears.
Now springs to life and light each buried joy, with broken music and with tearful glow, with drooping blossoms, winter pale and coy, for love shall soon fulfill her long desire. Her face and breast are memories of snow. Her heart, like thine, is lit with vestal fire.
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4 04 - March, 1878 1:28
Sonnets by Constance Naden. The Blackbird sits and pipes his love-notes clear in yon dark tracery of budding sprays. Shortly defined against the distant haze, but soon mid fresh green leaves to disappear. Now soft, now keen, the wind breathes hope and fear, while with unsheltered almond flowers it plays.
The skies are sad, remembering winter days, but birds and blossoms know that spring is here.
I, too, foresee her glory, and rejoice, though to my heart she comes in wintry guise, dark-robed, slow-stepping. For in eye and voice are promises of music and of light, and I can wait till smiles shall come for sighs, and golden hues for gray, and bloom for blight.
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5 05 - March, 1879 1:28
V. SONNETS.
Sonnets by Constance Naden. Section 5 March 1879.
Ye little birds that chant your love so loud, your careless hearts are not so glad as mine, for he who sings because the sun doth shine is robbed of joy by every murky cloud. And ye, sweet heralds of this summer crowd of unremembered flowers, whose tints combine to light the meadows, ye grow pale and pine when by cold winds your radiant heads are bowed. From you, from all fair creatures of the earth, I do but gain the beauty that I give. Your form, your music, in my soul have birth, and in my very life your colors live. And when the sunlight fades and ye depart, I hold your joy within my secret heart.
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6 06 - April, 1879 1:26
Sonnets by Constance Naden. Section 6. April, 1879. Clear Golden soft, the spring-tide sunshine beams, with tranquil splendor piercing grove and dingle, as though bright morning, noon, and eve could mingle in some eternal home of daylight dreams.
Even as though this radiance were not fleeting, but shone forever from the slumbering skies, calming with tender light impassioned eyes and sleepless brain, and heart too strongly beating.
Yet cold March winds prepared these breezes warm, and heralded this glow of April weather, and soon dim flakes of cloud will float together, till Earth be sad once more with rain and storm. For all fresh glory must be born of strife, and still perfection were but death in life.
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7 07 - May, 1879 1:26
7. May 1879. At last, coy spring, concede one festal day to us who yearn thy beauty to behold. These pallid leaves that peer above the mould perfume and brighten. Lanes and woods array with hawthorn that was wont to bloom in May, white-petalled, crimson anthered. Lilies cold with drooping bells that hide their central gold, and sun-bright buttercups and cowslips gay.
Long have we listened to a song of death that wild winds chant o'er living seeds entombed. Sing, thou of life, inspire us with thy breath, transfuse thy lustre e'en through clouds and showers. Our hearts shall glow like dells by thee illumined, whose shadows are but images of flowers.
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8 08 - Stratford-on-Avon, May 14th, 1880 1:25
VIII. Stratford-on-Avon. May 14, 1880.
The gray old church is solemn in the sheen of noonday, half its reverend beauty won from that blind, silent, lifeless denizen who sleeps within, whose living soul is seen in tall and arching lindens, freshly green, with light leaves golden twinkling in the sun. In all sweet Maytide joyance, new begun, that sings or blooms where frost and snow have been, And in the rippling, daisy-bordered river that flashes back the joy of God and man, and whispers to fresh hearts that wake and quiver, such melodies, as round young Shakespeare wove their spells, while near his feet the Avon ran. Changeful, yet changeless, e'en as life and love.
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9 09 - In the Lanes between Stratford and Shottery, May 14th, 1880 1:27
VONTEELE.
Sonnets by Constance Naden. In the lanes between Stratford and Schottery, May 14th, 1880.
Through dreamful meads that still his spirit keep, roamed the boy poet, when the morn was young, and listened while the skylark's mirth outrung, though his own heart was warbling strains more deep. And mid half-wakened king-cups thought of sleep more sweet than theirs, that waited till he sung, and bade it flee. Then to his eyes there sprung such gladsome tears, as waking she might weep. Here, with his love, he wandered to and fro, yet mid his utmost passion of desire, high hopes, deep thoughts, had room to live and grow. Here, while he mused of old heroic strife, his blood leapt through his veins, a fount of fire, and all his nature glowed with boundless life.
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10 10 - Sunshine 1:16
X.
Sunshine.
Come, tender sunlight of the spring, and shine through all my thoughts, my inmost being fill, teaching my heart to glow. And yet be still, with that victorious quiet which is thine. O, that my hand had cunning to combine the tints wherewith thou robest copse and hill! But I, so rich in love, and poor in skill, and praise fair truth, yet may not build her shrine.
But every spirit, worshipping aright, must glory in the gifts that others bring. So would I triumph, not as one apart. But with the kindred throng who love the light, joying in beauty that transcends my art, and mutely dreaming notes I cannot sing.
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11 11 - In the Garden 1:25
Sonnets by Constance Naden. In the Garden.
Sweet sounds and scents and colors join to woo my musing heart to love and reverence. A tender and a subtle influence comes from each graceful form, each brilliant hue.
Strange power have they, my spirit to imbue with thoughts above themselves. For e'en while sense adores the beautiful with joy intense, the soul, far-gazing, only seeks the true. And ye, fair flowers, translating to my sight, in gold or blue, the pure uncolored beams, are poets and revealers of the light. Soon is your message told, your life-work done, for all your tints are only passing dreams of the eternal splendor of the sun.
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12 12 - Yellow Roses 1:27
SONNETS. Sonnets by Constance Naden. Yellow Roses My Sweet Sun-tinted roses, faint and fair as morning twilight. Though ye soon must fade, still shall ye bloom for me. I will not braid soft leaves and fragile blossoms in my hair, but for a few bright hours, with loving care, I strive to paint the golden light and shade wherein each curling petal is arrayed, and the translucent green your leaf sprays wear.
So would I keep sweet hopes that else might die, and fragrant fancies withering too fast, all fresh delight in earth and sea and sky, and the deep joy so near akin to grief, that from the slumberous garden of the past I may not lose one sun-reflecting leaf.
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13 13 - July, 1878 1:27
SONNETS by Constance. Section 13 July 1878. Like waves that rise and fall, the morning sheen glows between quivering leaves. Which fain would fling their dust and blight to breezes, murmuring sweet maytime legends mid the sombre green. Alas, for wistful eyes that have not seen the promised loveliness! For changeful spring has quickly passed, and summer does but bring scorched buds and flowers that tell what might have been.
The trees are dark against the tender blue. A deeper shade has bronzed the purple beech, but even yet the red leaves bud anew.
And thus, mid barren splendors of July, fresh, brilliant hopes burst forth in glowing speech, and light some pensive heart before they die.
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14 14 - Sunset 1:28
Sunset.
The sun is setting. Not in colors gay, but pure as when he blazed with noonday heat. The upland path is gold before my feet, save where long, dancing poplar shadows play, or arching lindens cast a broader gray. This radiant hour, when peace and passion meet, stirs with tumultuous breezes, freshly sweet, the odorous languor of an August day.
Above is peace, below is gleeful strife, aflame was sunshine battling with the wind. The trees rejoice in plenitude of life. A sea of light is sleeping in the west, untroubled light, o'erflowing heart and mind with that imperial rapture which is rest.
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15 15 - September, 1880 1:28
Sonnets by Constance Naden Section 15 September 1880 To still September comes a dream of joy. The breath of dying roses in the calm and sultry air seems changed to hyacinth balm. Fresh beams and breezes waken, such as toy with amorous windflowers and May lilies coy. Raise, O ye birds, a wild conjubilant psalm. Autumn has reached the goal, has gained the palm, and winter comes not surely to destroy. Nay, prosperous autumn, not for thee shall ope may's blossoms, not for thy dull ear shall sing her choir of birds. Thine own winds whirl away thy golden vapors, and thy rich decay, till winter come, stern pioneer of spring, renewing earth by terror and by hope.
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16 16 - Songs before Daybreak 1:26
Sonnets by Constance Nadon. Section 16. Songs before Daybreak.
The birds are singing, though it is not morn. Though in the East no rays of glory shine, Made clear by hope, their eyes and hearts divine That in the dusky twilight day is born. Trusting, they carol, though the heavens warn Their fearless joy with many a threatening sign, Though, still and tinged with gold, the clouds combine, While moans the rain-frought wind, a voice forlorn.
Yes, wake me with your warbling happy birds, that I may feel before I see the day, that I may muse of hope, while in my heart the notes translate themselves in gladsome words. E'en plashing raindrops mingle with your lay, and in its harmony the wind has part.
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17 17 - The Seed 1:30
Sonnets by Constance Naden. Section 17. The Seed.
No light of sun or moon can reach the seed that blindly in the bosom of a flower ripens through summer till its living power breaks the frail clasp that held it and is freed.
Yet not with newfound sunshine can it feed the embryo life that, lighted but an hour, waits long in utter night its glorious dower. Cold grows the earth. And springtime shall not speed.
Not as when warm in fragrant gloom it lay, but living hopeless, tombed in frost-bound sod, now seems it poorer than the lifeless clod that lies above it, open to the day. Yet night shall keep her own, and lose not one, and every child of day shall find the sun.
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18 18 - October, 1879 1:28
Sonnets by Constance Naden Section 18 October 1879 Through all the dolorous year mine eyes have sought the ever-living loveliness that cleaves even to dim gray skies and rain-bent sheaves. Still is my garden with such beauty fraught, and bright azaleas flash me back my thought. Their sunny flowers are fallen, but the leaves flame gold and scarlet, and my heart receives delight more full than spring or summer brought.
And I can twine a rich October crown with branchlets of the golden-tressed birch, green cedar-plumes and beech-leaves ruddy-brown, and woodbine gems of pure translucent red. Even some lonely flowers may cheer my search, sweet as new joys that spring when hope is dead.
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19 19 - November, 1878 1:24
E'en the winds are dumb, save for a constant, faint, unchanging hum that seems the voice of the despairing earth.
The birds are pining in this wintry dearth, the trees that rang with carols frolicsome show dead black branches, fringed with white, whence come no whispered hopes of any future birth.
And yet to me the season still is fair, The things of joy so sad and cold become. Majestic stand the trunks and branches bare, their lace-like twigs half seen, half hid with snow. One frost-bit flower, a red chrysanthemum, tells of the hidden store of life below.
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20 20 - December, 1879 1:24
20. Sonnets by Constance Naden. Section 20. December 1879.
Now is the earth at rest from sun and storm, and stripped of all her gems and vestures gay. Give thanks to heaven while weaklings can but pray. In germs of life, uncouth of hue and form, she feels the glory of the summer swarm, and knows December not less rich than May. For she is young as on her primal day, and still beneath the snow her heart is warm. All flowers and fruits are folded in her breast, waiting but fuller radiance from above, and she lies dreaming of her destined hour, all white and still, most like a soul at rest, rich in hid wealth, and strong in secret power, silent with joy, and pure with perfect love.
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21 21 - Undiscerned Perfection 1:21
Undiscerned Perfection.
Beyond the realm of dull and slumberous night I long have wandered with unwearied feet. The land where poetry and science meet streaks the far distance with a magic light. Fair visions glide before my dazzled sight, and shine, and change, and pass with motion fleet, but never clear and steadfast, and complete in one transcendent brilliancy unite.
I know the seeming discord is but mine. The glory is too great for mortal eyes, all powerless to discover the divine and perfect harmony of earth and skies. I know that each confused and tortuous line, to fuller sight, in true perspective lies.
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22 22 - The Painter to the Musician 1:19
The Painter to the Musician.
Oh, sing once more, nor think your subtle spells are vainly woven for a nature cold. Although I kneel not at the shrine of gold wherein the spirit of your worship dwells. For when your voice in tones impassioned swells, the hosts of dreamland are by you controlled, and secrets higher than my words unfold, even to me the perfect music tells. And your devotion is akin to mine, though I give praise in color, you in song. The selfsame goddess, in another shrine, counts me among the servitors who throng her outer courts. To ploicy divine our noblest work, our deepest thoughts belong.
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23 23 - Speech and Silence 1:24
Speech and Silence.
When some sweet voice flows forth in foreign speech, the soul shines through the words and makes them clear, and all we see interprets all we hear. For smiles and frowns have wondrous power to teach, and voiceless grief our inmost heart can reach with calm, deep gaze, too sad for hope or fear. Our eyes are wet for those who shed no tear, and lips that death has silenced yet may preach.
In stillness we must win our deepest lore. Or mid the speechless chant of earth and sea. Truth is a spirit, bodiless and free. Imaged in words, tis perfect truth no more. For all our lofty visions fade and flee, and song begins when ecstasy is o'er.
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24 24 - Beauty 1:18
Beauty Eternal beauty, truth's interpreter, is bound by no austere aesthetic creed. All forms of art she uses at her need, And e'en unlovely things are slaves to her. And we, whose hearts her lightest breath can stir, must prize her flowers, whoe'er has sown the seed, and love each noble picture, song, or deed, whose soul is true, although the form should err.
She is God's servant, but the queen of man, who fondly dreams she lives for him alone, and while her power is felt through time and space, Proclaims her priestess of some petty clan, catching but transient glimpses of a face veiled in rich vestures, loved but still unknown.
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25 25 - The Mystery of Light 1:22
SONNETS by Constance Naden. SECTION 25. THE MYSTERY OF LIGHT. Light, glorious and eternal, that reveals all earthly things, itself is secret still. Love, silent king of heart and mind and will, in lustrous mystery his power conceals, and many a clouded spirit dumbly feels, but knows not, sees not yet, those truths that fill with beauty and with joy the dwelling's chill, even of life that wounds, of death that heals. Yet light and love and truth are all our own. And minister to us, who know them not. Fair hopes that look like memories will throng e'en hearts that live in darkness and alone, and seem to chant some half-remembered song, the notes recalled, the lovely words forgot.
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26 26 - Illusions 1:20
Sad human hearts that seem to love her less, even in mutiny her power confess. We speak in fables and are compassed round with poesy, distilling song from sound, color from light, and hope from happiness, subliming weakness, yearning and distress to that high faith wherewith our life is crowned. All fair deceits are prophets of the truth. In as a desert mirage tells a tale of palms and wells, real though far away, the star-bright hopes that light the world's dim youth are not too brilliant but too silvery pale to sparkle still when dawns the golden day.
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27 27 - Day-dreams 1:20
Full oft through some enchanted land I tread, Wherein can live no hatred, pain, or fear. Where all the heavens with truth's own light are clear, and love's own tints o'er all the earth are spread. Where, through illumined foliage overhead, swift, bright-winged birds will flash and disappear, while murmuring voices from the leaves I hear repeating all my heart in secret said. Not there I dwell, and yet my home is there. Those flower-grown paths I trod, a lonely child, breathing with simple joy the fragrant air, lured on by half-seeing beauty even then, with restless feet I roamed from hill to glen, by gleaming birds, by whispering leaves beguiled.
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28 28 - Morning Twilight 1:16
Sonnets by Constance Naden. Section 28. Morning Twilight. There is a time when all the heart is dumb, too tired for dread of ill or hope of good. When o'er dull brain and heavy eyelids brood shades of dead grief, endured and overcome, whose ghostly presence lingering doth benumb the constant soul that gazed with hardihood on living evil. In this twilight mood even the sun and wind are wearisome. Yet is there flickering strife but joy begun, for e'en the spectral shades grow faintly bright, like night-born mist. Half kindled by the sun. Then shut not out the breeze, nor bar the light. Full noon shall glow for him who will not shun heaven's dazzling joy-break, though tears cloud his sight.
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29 29 - Semele 1:30
Semele.
For her who loves a god, all hope must die of sweet familiar joys that daily move a woman's soul. Of gentle cares that prove her free devotion, of the answering eye where speaks the heart and hears each mute reply. Yes, these and more she lacks, yet far above that earthly home expands her heaven of love, and he she worships glows in sea and sky. She whom the sun has wooed, For whom his rays have shone but once, unclouded, Well may wait through blackest night, Her hope is one with fate.
Let me behold thee, Zeus! Dispel the hazel's shields too tenderly, my mortal sight. If life be darkness, let it cease in light.
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30 30 - The Priest's Prayer 1:19
The priest's prayer.
Have pity, Lord, let me not die alone. Though once I dared my fellow-souls to shrive, I am unclean. With pangs of death I strive. Alas, what healing balm to me was known for every heart that made its fevered moan? But now that I am sick, who shall revive my hopeless faith, or save my soul alive, since that elixir fails, which was mine own? Spirit of God, who dwellest e'en in me, who speakest even by this doubtful breath, whether for good or ill thou set me free, Withhold not truth, although its price be death. I faint, I die, and scorching plains are cursed. Let me drink hemlock, if it slake my thirst.
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31 31 - Weariness 1:32
SONNETS. Sonnets by Constance Nadine. Weariness.
Tell me no more. I must not fear to die. Ye waste your words, not death, but life I dread. Oh, to be numbered with the tranquil dead! For I am tired. I do but crave to lie under the turf. Only for rest I cry. And yet ye bid me turn my weary head, and on the scroll that hangs beside my bed read of another life, a home on high.
"'Tis strange to think I once had power to cope with those who hate the Christ and scorn his word. Sore were my wounds, my triumphs, O how few! But now, at last, my prayer for sleep is heard. Forgive me, Lord. Thy promises are true, and yet I have not strength enough to hope.
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32 32 - The Agnostic's Psalm 1:20
The Agnostic Psalm. O thou who art the life of heaven and earth, eternal substance of all things that seem, O'er but the glorious phantom of a dream that in the brain of mortal man has birth, to know that thou dost live were little worth, not knowing thee. Yet oft the heart will deem that through its inmost deeps thy light doth stream, bestowing peace for grief, calm joy for mirth. E'en thus rich music enters tuneless ears, Tuneless and all untrained by ordered notes, yet its ethereal essence inward floats, and mingling with the secret source of tears, a while induces the spirit's wistful sight with dim perceptions of unknown delight.
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33 33 - To Amy, on Receiving Her Photograph 1:26
Sonnets by Constance Naden, section 33. To Amy on receiving her photograph.
When of some lovely landscape Unforgot a shadowy sketch I see, My thought divines clear sunshine gleaming through the penciled lines, and cool green shade, where seems a shapeless blot. I know how morning pierced that sheltered grot, how noonday glowed between the tufted pines. And even so, your cold grey portrait shines with tints unseen by those who know you not. They cannot see the apple-blossom cheek. The eyes of midnight blue, the sunlit air. Grave are the lips, and will not smile or speak, and yet to me the pictured face is fair. I conned that maytide bloom when last we met, and all the eye saw then, the heart sees yet.
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34 34 - Starlight I 1:28
Starlight One.
Night works like time, hushed as the busy street. Grey are the walls, whose yet untarnished red glared in the sun. For shadows overspread all hues of earth, that wearied eyes may meet the restful heavens, that mortal hearts may greet eternal truth. While darksome paths I tread, the light of other worlds is round me shed, the glow of distant eons guides my feet. The silent stars my ecstasy control. No daring hopes, no awestruck fears intrude upon the calm rejoicing of the soul. From sun to sun, from age to age I climb, until for space I see infinitude, and feel eternity where was but time.
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35 35 - Starlight II 1:24
Sonnets by Constance Naden. Section 35. Starlight II.
Man needs no dread, unwanted avatar, the secrets of the heavenly host, to show. From waves of light their lustrous founts we know, for every gleaming band and shadowed bar is fraught with home-like tidings from afar. Each ripple, starting long decades ago, pulsing to earth its blue or golden glow, beats with the life of some immortal star.
A life to each minutest atom given, whether it find in man's own heart a place, or past the sun's an unimagined space, that earth may know herself a part of heaven, and see, wherever sun or spark is lit, one law, one life, one substance infinite.
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36 36 - Heloise I - Bride 1:26
Sonnets by Constance Naden, section 36, Eloise. One. Bride.
Come in my dreams, beloved. Though thou seem less kind, less noble than by truthful day, even in sleep my heart has strength to say, His love is changeless, this is but a dream. Yet rather come its sunrise with the beam of thought renewed, and still, when Eve is grey, inspire me, as I tread my lonely way with thine own dauntless will and hope supreme.
Ah, let me die, ere meaner moods have power to dim these glories that within me shine. Give me black night, or this unclouded sun, swift death or life immortal, in that hour when all my soul is filled and fired with thine, when thou and I are equal, being one.
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37 37 - Heloise II - Nun 1:28
Eloise.
Two.
None. This is the doom I must henceforth fulfil, to hide my heart through days and months and years. To look in anxious eyes and lull their fears, to lose all hope and strive with joyless will, to sing and pray, scarce knowing good from ill, to hear stale converse as an idiot hears, to tread the cloistered courts with burning tears forced backward to their fount, yet rising still.
Nay, there is comfort. E'en the sick may smile, knowing for pain a swift and gentle cure. I can be patient, and can wait a while, nor curse the heedless heavens with moaning breath. Though for a night my weeping may endure, joy comes with morn, that joy whose name is death.
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38 38 - Heloise III - Abbess 1:19
Sonnets by Constance Naden. Section 38. Eloise. III. Abbess.
Sweet is life's crown of quiet. Sweet is age, with tranquil days unmarred by joy or dull. Void of desire, save that with just control I may administer Christ's heritage. Long since he heard my vow, the heartless gauge not spurning, took my tear-stained, love-writ scroll and words of strength and healing for the soul wrote with his own heart's blood across the page. Passion is all forgotten, pain has fled, yet oft. Mid idle phantoms of the mind returns my earlier self with scornful eyes, saying, Thou deemest age hath made thee wise, and knowest not that thou art deaf and blind and palsied. Live in peace, for I am dead.
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39 39 - Hercules 1:23
Hercules.
This fruitage from the far Hesperides I bring to great Eurystheus, feared and hated, whom I, his slave. Nor hate nor fear. My fated, my full reward, he has no power to seize, nor is it bought with golden gauds like these. I seek supreme delights, untold, undated, of joys wherewith these kings of men are sated, right little wrecks the Jove-born Hercules.
I live content to bear my destined burden. To toil unthanked, unhonoured, void of good, and to work a tyrant's will through lonely years, that, neither shunning pain nor scorning pleasure, my strenuous soul may win Olympian leisure and dwell in peace among the gods, my peers.
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40 40 - Prometheus and Pandora 1:27
Prometheus and Pandora.
These pangs I bear through lingering centuries for slavish man in pity and in scorn. Glad, while by birds of jove my breast is torn till sunset, that I spurned his leering prize.
Yet when she came, that queen with jacinth eyes, Auguste yet changeful, like the sea at morn, I could have triumphed that mine earth had borne a creature fashioned in such glorious wise.
Nay, But my will were firm, though heaven should give a goddess pure. One only gift I seek, freedom for man. Or, this renounced, I live self-sentenced to mine own immortal hate. Better the rock, the chain, the eagle's beak, and this fulfillment of my chosen fate.
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41 41 - The Nebular Theory 1:18
The Nebular Theory.
This is the genesis of heaven and earth. In the beginning was a formless mist of atoms isolate, void of life, None wist aught of its neighbor atom, nor any mirth nor woe, save its own vibrant pang of dearth, until a cosmic motion breathed and hissed and blazed through the black silence. Atoms kissed, clinging and clustering with fierce throbs of birth and raptures of keen torment, such as stings demons who wed in Tophet. The night swarmed with ringed fiery clouds, and glowing gyres rotating. Eons passed. The encircling rings split into satellites, the central fires froze into suns, and thus the world was formed.
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42 42 - The Pessimist's Vision 1:19
by Constance Naden. The pessimist's vision.
I dreamed and saw a modern hell more dread than Dante's pageant. Not with gloom and glare, but all new forms of madness and despair filled it with complex tortures, some earth-bred, some born in hell. Eternally full-fed ghosts of all foul disease-germs thronged the air, and as with trembling feet I entered there, a demon barred the way, and mocking said, Through our dim vales and gulfs thou need'st not rove, from thine own earth and from its happiest lot, Thy lust for pain may draw full nourishment with poignant spice of passion. Knowest thou not fiends wed for hate, as mortals wed for love, yet find not much more anguish? Be content.
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43 43 - The Gift 1:20
The Gift.
From Paradise there came one May-tide morn, an almoner of love with gifts divine. To some he brought rich draughts of magic wine, to some who laboured in their fields forlorn, sweet showers and sunbeams for the springing corn. Then me he called, with gracious word and sign, but when I looked what bounty should be mine, one fire-bright drop he gave me, as in scorn. Angel, to these thou givest present mirth, to those the promise of a golden crop in autumn. Was my hope so little worth? Smiling, the angel answered, Share and prove their joy, if so thou wilt, In that one drop thou hast the life and quintessence of love.
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44 44 - Andrew Marvell's 'Definition of Love' 1:32
By Constance Naden, section 44, Andrew Marvell's Definition of Love.
My love is of a birth as rare as tis for object strange and high. It was begotten of despair upon impossibility.
Love sought me, not the blind god infantine, but love with lucent eyes and pensive brow. And as I mused with what adoring vow I should accost that visitant divine, he said, Think but a thought, and I am thine, exalting thee to heavenly heights, which thou without me canst not reach. Yet ponder now, nor rashly to my power thy life resign, for never will I grant thy full desire, but will transpierce thy heart with many a wound, and in the end will leave thee sorrowing. Then said I, though thy voice be sternly tuned, though still thou feed and ne'er assuage my fire, yet I rejoice and take thee for my king.
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45 45 - Poet and Botanist 1:16
Sonnets by Constance Naden. Section 45. Poet and Botanist.
Fair are the bells of this bright flowering weed, Nectar and pollen treasuries where grope innocent thieves. The poet lets them ope and bloom and wither, leaving fruit and seed to ripen. But the botanist will speed to win the secret of the blossom's hope, and with his cruel knife and microscope reveal the embryo life, too early freed.
Yet the mild poet can be ruthless, too, crushing the tender leaves to work a spell of love or fame. The record of the bud he will not seek, But only bids it tell his thoughts, and render up its deepest hue to tinge his verse as with his own heart's blood.
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46 46 - Science and Philosophy 1:15
Science and Philosophy.
We went a-begging for a nobler creed. We craved the living bread and wine of thought. That Eucharist which is not sold or bought, but freely given. Yet did any heed, "'twas but to offer pence, or bid us feed from empty sacramental vessels wrought of gold or brass. We spent our prayers for naught, faint and athirst with spiritual need. Then some brought grapes, and some brought corn and yeast, plenteous and good. Yet still we murmured, Give! This is scant fare when thirst and hunger cry. Teach us to change our garner to a feast, preparing food by which the mind may live, perennial loaves and flagons never dry.
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47 47 - The Double Rainbow 1:16
The Double Rainbow.
I saw the passions and desires of man blunt in a thousand-colored arc of light, a double rainbow. But so jewel-bright, the scarf of iris had been pale and wan beside it.
Not the torrent bows that span a river-fall at noon, nor birds whose flight gleams ruby and gold, nor columned chrysolite in caves enchanted. Not, since light began, could match its glories. But the inner arch, with joy and anguish, too intensely burned for eyes that love the cloudy robes of March and April and calm autumn's golden dress.
Half-blinded, to the outer bow they turned, soft with remembered grief and happiness.
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48 48 - Recompense 1:29
Recompense.
The wine-flushed monarch slept, but in his ear an angel breathed, repent or choose the flame quenchless.
In dread he woke. But not in shame, deep musing, Sin I love, yet hell I fear.
Wherefore he left his feasts, and minions dear, And justly ruled, and died a saint in name. But when his hasting spirit heavenward came, A stern voice cried, O soul, what dost thou hear?
Love I forswore, and wine, and kept my vow to live a just and joyless life, and now I crave reward. The voice came like a knell. Fool, dost thou hope to find again thy mirth, and those foul joys thou didst renounce on earth? Yea, enter in. My heaven shall be thy hell.
Thank you for listening.