To the God of hapless beauty,
to the Lord of saddest song,
To the Guardian of that garden
where all broken hearts belong,
Of the poppy-sprinkled garden,
where for ever sets the sun,
Where lost lovers meet and mingle
all their spirit-life in one,
Where red passion strays a phantom
of the flame that flared and sped,
Where the dreamer lies a-dreaming
of the rapture that is dead,
Hear me, Lord, and dragon-watch o'er
the souls that peaceful dream,
With the walls of brass around them
and the ever-circling stream;
For my heart is torn and bleeding,
and the soul of me is fain
For a cycle of the slumber
that should ease me of my pain.
I have battled, I was beaten,
and my captive heart lies bound
By the sorrows that beset me,
by the griefs that gathered round.
I have sought the old-world shadows
for their silence that would keep,
For their sepulchres to save me
from the tossing, moaning deep:
But a voice cried: "On for ever!
Thou shalt never know the shore,
Nor thy battered galley shelter
from the storms that are in store."
So I steered in desperation
for the far-off western waves,
For the garden of my vision,
where love's phantoms find their graves,
And the chill winds of religion
howled around my lonely soul,
And the mocking voice cried:
"Onward! Thou shalt never find the goal."
But I came to thee, great Guardian
of the broken hearts that lay
Where the noontide sun of passion
fades to crimson streams away,
Where two hearts are bound together
in the poppy-purpled sleep,
And their sepulchres have saved them
from the tossing, moaning deep.
O thou guardian of the garden
where lost lovers lie and dream,
With the walls of brass around them
and the ever-circling stream,
Shall I never, never enter?
Shall my spirit never rest
In the garden that lies dreaming
in the splendour of the West?

Poems of paganism; or songs of life and love.