Scriptor Ignotus

“When I see thee as some poor song-bird

Battering its wings, against this cage we

Today,

Then would I speak comfort unto thee,

From out the heights I dwell in, when

That great sense of power is upon me

And I see my greater soul-self bending

Sibylwise with that great forty year epic

That you know of, yet unwrit

But as some child's toy‘ tween my fingers,

And see the sculptors of new ages carve me thus,

And model with the music of my couplets in their hearts:

Surely if in the end the epic

And the small kind deed are one;

If to God the child's toy and the epic are the same,

E'en so, did one make a child's toy,

He might wright it well

And cunningly, that the child might

Keep it for his children's children

And all have joy thereof.

Dear, an this dream come true,

Then shall all men say of thee

“She‘ twas that played him power at life's morn,

And at the twilight Evensong,

And God's peace dwelt in the mingled chords

She drew from out the shadows of the past,

And old world melodies that else

He had known only in his dreams

Of Iseult and of Beatrice.

Dear, an this dream come true,

I, who being poet only,

Can give thee poor words only,

Add this one poor other tribute,

This thing men call immortality.

A gift I give thee even as Ronsard gave it.

Seeing before time, one sweet face grown old,

And seeing the old eyes grow bright

From out the border of Her fire-lit wrinkles,

As she should make boast unto her maids

“Ronsard hath sung the beauty, my beauty,

Of the days that I was fair.”

So hath the boon been given, by the poets of old time

( Dante to Beatrice,— an I profane not —)

Yet with my lesser power shall I not strive

To give it thee?

All ends of things are with Him

From whom are all things in their essence.

If my power be lesser

Shall my striving be less keen?

But rather more! if I would reach the goal,

Take then the striving!

“And if,” for so the Florentine hath writ

When having put all his heart

Into his “Youth's Dear Book”

He yet strove to do more honour

To that lady dwelling in his inmost soul

He would wax yet greater

To make her earthly glory more.

Though sight of hell and heaven were price thereof,

If so it be His will, with whom

Are all things and through whom

Are all things good,

Will I make for thee and for the beauty of thy music

A new thing

As hath not heretofore been writ.

Take then my promise!