Poems (Van Rensselaer)/Cherokee Roses
CHEROKEE ROSES
(Two Voices.)
If we could see how from the mould
These miracles of white unfold,
Chill were the world that ignorance
Now warms with flamings of romance;
The world were bleak that now we see
Through opaline clouds of mystery.
God's grace it is we cannot guess
The alchemies of loveliness,
Or know how from the voiceless dark
Springs to its birth the vital spark.
If we could see how from the mould
These miracles of white unfold,
Chill were the world that ignorance
Now warms with flamings of romance;
The world were bleak that now we see
Through opaline clouds of mystery.
God's grace it is we cannot guess
The alchemies of loveliness,
Or know how from the voiceless dark
Springs to its birth the vital spark.
Dullard, oh, dullard, to deny
The permanence of poesy!
What has the mortal learned that took
One letter of charm from Nature's book?
Each mastery of far space hath lent
New splendors to the firmament,
And could we win from mother-earth
Insight into her ways of birth,
Our dazzled eyes might scarcely bear
The streams of beauty pulsing there.
The permanence of poesy!
What has the mortal learned that took
One letter of charm from Nature's book?
Each mastery of far space hath lent
New splendors to the firmament,
And could we win from mother-earth
Insight into her ways of birth,
Our dazzled eyes might scarcely bear
The streams of beauty pulsing there.
If we could know why perish must
These perfect petals, dust to dust,
Our ears unstopped, our eyes unsealed,
Would find the Secret then revealed;
Sparrow and moth and moon would tell
What now the grave-grass hideth well.
God's grace it is we cannot pry
Where the long generations lie:
So dreams of heaven shine unalloyed
If heaven there be, if but the void.
These perfect petals, dust to dust,
Our ears unstopped, our eyes unsealed,
Would find the Secret then revealed;
Sparrow and moth and moon would tell
What now the grave-grass hideth well.
God's grace it is we cannot pry
Where the long generations lie:
So dreams of heaven shine unalloyed
If heaven there be, if but the void.
Coward, oh, coward, to be glad
No tortured soul has ever had
From past mortality a sign.
Are there no graves thou callest thine
Where thou hast couched thy head to weep
Lest silence mean an endless sleep?
Or comes no hour when thy tired soul
Longs that a sleep may be the whole?
Coward, to fear a signal shown,
Should heaven it pledge or peace alone.
No tortured soul has ever had
From past mortality a sign.
Are there no graves thou callest thine
Where thou hast couched thy head to weep
Lest silence mean an endless sleep?
Or comes no hour when thy tired soul
Longs that a sleep may be the whole?
Coward, to fear a signal shown,
Should heaven it pledge or peace alone.