A Prayer

LADY, in thy proud eyes

There is a weary look,

As if the spirit we know through them

Were daunted with rebuke

To think that the heart of man henceforth

Is read like a read book.

Lady, in thy lifted face

The solitude is sore;

The true solitude follows the crowd.

Will it be less or more

When the words have been spoken to thee

Which my heart is seeking for?

Lady, canst thou not guess

The words which my thoughts seek?

Perhaps thou deem'st them well to spurn

And better not to speak.

Oh thou must know my love is strong,

Hearing my voice so weak.

Lady, ah go not thus:

Lady, give ear again:

Lady, oh learn from me that yet

There may one thing remain

Which stands not in the knowledge thou hast

And in thy lore of men.

Lady, the darkness lasteth long

Ere the dawn touch the skies;

Many are the leagues of wilderness

Till ye come where the green lies;

Nay often betwixt doubt and doubt

Death whispers and makes wise.

Lady, has not my thought

Dared much? For I would be

The ending of darkness and the dawn

Of a new day to thee,

And thine oasis, and thy place of rest,

And thy time of peace, lady.