How does a woman love? Once, no more,
Though life forever its loss deplore;
Deep in sorrow or deep in sin,
One king reigneth her heart within,
One alone, by night and day,
Moves her spirit to curse or pray.
One voice only can call her soul
Back from the grasp of death's control;
Though loves beset her, or friends deride,
Yea, when she smileth another's bride,
Still for her master her life makes moan,
Once is forever, and once alone.
How does a man love? Once for all.
The sweetest voices of life may call,
Sorrow daunted him, or death dismay,
Joy's red roses bedeck his way;
Fortune smile, or jest, or frown,
The cruel thumb of the world turn down,
Loss betray him, or love delight,
Through storm or sunshine, by day or night,
Wandering, toiling, asleep, awake,
Though souls may madden, or weak hearts break,
Better than wife, or child, or pelf,
Once and forever, he loves-himself.
The Iconoclast
A thousand years shall come and go,
A thousand years of night and day,
And man, through all their changing show,
His tragic drama still shall play.
Ruled by some fond ideal's power,
Cheated by passion or despair,
Still shall he waste life's trembling hour,
In worship vain, and useless prayer.
Ah! where are they who rose in might,
Who fired the temple and the shrine,
And hurled, through earth's chaotic night,
The helpless gods it deemed divine?
Cease, longing soul, thy vain desire!
What idol, in its stainless prime,
But falls, untouched of axe or fire,
Before the steady eyes of Time.
He looks, and lo! our altars fall,
The shrine reveals its gilded clay,
With decent hands we spread the pall,
And, cold with wisdom, glide away.
Oh! where were courage, faith, and truth,
If man went wandering all his day
In golden clouds of love and youth,
Nor knew that both his steps betray?
Come, Time, while here we sit and wait,
Be faithful, spoiler, to thy trust!
No death can further desolate
The soul that knows its god was dust.
