The Casket Of Opals

I     Deep, smoldering colors of the land and sea     Burn in these stones, that, by some mystery,     Wrap fire in sleep and never are consumed.     Scarlet of daybreak, sunset gleams half spent     In thick white cloud; pale moons that may have lent     Light to love's grieving; rose-illumined snows,     And veins of gold no mine depth ever gloomed;     All these, and green of thin-edged waves, are there.     I think a tide of feeling through them flows     With blush and pallor, as if some being of air, -     Some soul once human, - wandering, in the snare     Of passion had been caught, and henceforth doomed     In misty crystal here to lie entombed.     And so it is, indeed. Here prisoned sleep     The ardors and the moods and all the pain     That once within a man's heart throbbed. He gave     These opals to the woman whom he loved;     And now, like glinting sunbeams through the rain,     The rays of thought that through his spirit moved     Leap out from these mysterious forms again.     The colors of the jewels laugh and weep     As with his very voice. In them the wave     Of sorrow and joy that, with a changing sweep,     Bore him to misery or else made him blest     Still surges in melodious, wild unrest.     So when each gem in place I touch and take,     It murmurs what he thought or what he spake.     FIRST OPAL     My heart is like an opal     Made to lie upon your breast     In dreams of ardor, clouded o'er     By endless joy's unrest.     And forever it shall haunt you     With its mystic, changing ray:     Its light shall live when we lie dead,     With hearts at the heart of day!     SECOND OPAL     If, from a careless hold,     One gem of these should fall,     No power of art or gold     Its wholeness could recall:     The lustrous wonder dies     In gleams of irised rain,     As light fades out from the eyes     When a soul is crushed by pain.     Take heed that from your hold     My love you do not cast:     Dim, shattered, vapor-cold -     That day would be its last.     II     THIRD OPAL     He won her love; and so this opal sings     With all its tints in maze, that seem to quake     And leap in light, as if its heart would break:     Gleam of the sea,     Translucent air,     Where every leaf alive with glee     Glows in the sun without shadow of grief -     You speak of spring,     When earth takes wing     And sunlight, sunlight is everywhere!     Radiant life,     Face so fair -     Crowned with the gracious glory of wife -     Your glance lights all this happy day,     Your tender glow     And murmurs low     Make miracle, miracle, everywhere.     Earth takes wing     With birds - do I care     Whether of sorrow or joy they sing?     No; for they make not my life nor destroy!     My soul awakes     At a smile that breaks     In sun; and sunlight is everywhere!     III     Then dawned a mood of musing thoughtfulness;     As if he doubted whether he could bless     Her wayward spirit, through each fickle hour,     With love's serenity of flawless power,     Or she remain a vision, as when first     She came to soothe his fancy all athirst.     FOURTH OPAL     We were alone: the perfumed night,     Moonlighted, like a flower     Grew round us and exhaled delight     To bless that one sweet hour.     You stood where, 'mid the white and gold,     The rose-fire through the gloom     Touched hair and cheek and garment's fold     With soft, ethereal bloom.     And when the vision seemed to swerve,     'T was but the flickering shine     That gave new grace, a lovelier curve,     To every dream-like line.     O perfect vision! Form and face     Of womanhood complete!     O rare ideal to embrace     And hold, from head to feet!     Could I so hold you ever - could     Your eye still catch the glow     Of mine - it were an endless good:     Together we should grow     One perfect picture of our love!...     Alas, the embers old     Fell, and the moonlight fell, above -     Dim, shattered, vapor-cold.     IV     What ill befell these lovers? Shall I say?     What tragedy of petty care and sorrow?     Ye all know, who have lived and loved: if nay,     Then those will know who live and love tomorrow.     But here at least is what this opal said,     The fifth in number: and the next two bore     My fancy toward that dim world of the dead,     Where waiting spirits muse the past life o'er:     FIFTH OPAL     I dreamed my kisses on your hair     Turned into roses. Circling bloom     Crowned the loose-lifted tresses there.     "O Love," I cried, "forever     Dwell wreathed, and perfume-haunted     By my heart's deep honey-breath!"     But even as I bending looked, I saw     The roses were not; and, instead, there lay     Pale, feathered flakes and scentless     Ashes upon your hair!     SIXTH OPAL     The love I gave, the love I gave,     Wherewith I sought to win you -     Ah, long and close to you it clave     With life and soul and sinew!     My gentleness with scorn you cursed:     You knew not what I gave.     The strongest man may die of thirst:     My love is in its grave!     SEVENTH OPAL     You say these jewels were accurst -     With evil omen fraught.     You should have known it from the first!     This was the truth they taught:     No treasured thing in heaven or earth     Holds potency more weird     Than our hearts hold, that throb from birth     With wavering flames insphered.     And when from me the gems you took,     On that strange April day,     My nature, too, I gave, that shook     With passion's fateful play.     The mingled fate my love should give     In these mute emblems shone,     That more intensely burn and live -     While I am turned to stone.     V     Listen now to what is said     By the eighth opal, flashing red     And pale, by turns, with every breath -     The voice of the lover after death.     EIGHTH OPAL     I did not know before     That we dead could rise and walk;     That our voices, as of yore,     Would blend in gentle talk.     I did not know her eyes     Would so haunt mine after death,     Or that she could hear my sighs,     Low as the harp-string's breath.     But, ah, last night we met!     From our stilly trance we rose,     Thrilled with all the old regret -     The grieving that God knows.     She asked: "Am I forgiven?" -     "And dost thou forgive?" I said,     Ah! how long for joy we'd striven!     But now our hearts were dead.     Alas, for the lips I kissed     And the sweet hope, long ago!     On her grave chill hangs the mist;     On mine, white lies the snow.     VI     Hearkening still, I hear this strain     From the ninth opal's varied vein:     NINTH OPAL     In the mountains of Mexico,     Where the barren volcanoes throw     Their fierce peaks high to the sky,     With the strength of a tawny brute     That sees heaven but to defy,     And the soft, white hand of the snow     Touches and makes them mute, -     Firm in the clasp of the ground     The opal is found.     By the struggle of frost and fire     Created, yet caught in a spell     From which only human desire     Can free it, what passion profound     In its dim, sweet bosom may dwell!     So was it with us, I think,     Whose souls were formed on the brink     Of a crater, where rain and flame     Had mingled and crystallized.     One venturous day Love came;     Found us; and bound with a link     Of gold the jewels he prized.     The agonies old of the earth,     Its plenitude and its dearth,     The torrents of flame and of tears,     All these in our souls were inborn.     And we must endure through the years     The glory and burden of birth     That filled us with fire of the morn.     Let the diamond lie in its mine;     Let ruby and topaz shine;     The beryl sleep, and the emerald keep     Its sunned-leaf green! We know     The joy of sufferings deep     That blend with a love divine,     And the hidden warmth of the snow!     TENTH OPAL     Colors that tremble and perish,     Atoms that follow the law,     You mirror the truth which we cherish,     You mirror the spirit we saw.     Glow of the daybreak tender,     Flushed with an opaline gleam,     And passionate sunset-splendor -     Ye both but embody a dream.     Visions of cloud-hidden glory     Breaking from sources of light     Mimic the mist of life's story.     Mingled of scarlet and white.     Sunset-clouds iridescent,     Opals, and mists of the day,     Are thrilled alike with the crescent     Delight of a deathless ray     Shot through the hesitant trouble     Of particles floating in space,     And touching each wandering bubble     With tints of a rainbowed grace.     So through the veil of emotion     Trembles the light of the truth;     And so may the light of devotion     Glorify life - age and youth.     Sufferings, - pangs that seem cruel, -     These are but atoms adrift:     The light streams through, and a jewel     Is formed for us, Heaven's own gift!