Why Wilt Thou Chide?

    Why wilt thou chide,
Who hast attained to be denied?
    Oh learn, above
All price is my refusal, Love.
    My sacred Nay
Was never cheapened by the way.
Thy single sorrow crowns thee lord
Of an unpurchasable word.

    Oh strong, Oh pure!
As Yea makes happier loves secure,
    I vow thee this
Unique rejection of a kiss.
    I guard for thee
This jealous sad monopoly.
I seal this honour thine. None dare
Hope for a part in thy despair.

Alice Christiana Thompson Meynell

Alice Christiana Thompson Meynell was an English writer, editor, critic, and suffragist, now remembered mainly as a poet. She was born in London, and wrote her first poetry collection, "Preludes" (1875). In addition to her literary works, Meynell was a committed supporter of women's suffrage and worked as an editor for various publications. Her poetry often explored themes of spirituality, nature, and love.

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English

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Why Wilt Thou Chide?

    Why wilt thou chide,
Who hast attained to be denied?
    Oh learn, above
All price is my refusal, Love.
    My sacred Nay
Was never cheapened by the way.
Thy single sorrow crowns thee lord
Of an unpurchasable word.

    Oh strong, Oh pure!
As Yea makes happier loves secure,
    I vow thee this
Unique rejection of a kiss.
    I guard for thee
This jealous sad monopoly.
I seal this honour thine. None dare
Hope for a part in thy despair.

Alice Meynell

Free Will

    Dear are some hidden things
            My soul has sealed in silence; past delights,
    Hope unconfessed; desires with hampered wings,
            Remembered in the nights.

    But my best treasures are
            Ignoble, undelightful, abject, cold;
    Yet O! profounder hoards oracular
            No reliquaries hold.

    There lie my trespasses,
            Abjured but not disowned.    Ill not accuse
    Determinism, nor, as the Master {26} says,
            Charge even "the poor Deuce."

    Under my hand they lie,
            My very own, my proved iniquities,
    And though the glory of my life go by
            I hold and garner these.

    How else, how otherwhere.
            How otherwise, shall I discern and grope<...

Alice Meynell

Song

My Fair, no beauty of thine will last
    Save in my love's eternity.
    Thy smiles, that light thee fitfully,
Are lost for ever--their moment past--
    Except the few thou givest to me.

Thy sweet words vanish day by day,
    As all breath of mortality;
    Thy laughter, done, must cease to be,
And all thy dear tones pass away,
    Except the few that sing to me.

Hide then within my heart, oh, hide
    All thou art loth should go from thee.
    Be kinder to thyself and me.
My cupful from this river's tide
    Shall never reach the long sad sea.

Alice Christiana Thompson Meynell

Renouncement

I must not think of thee; and, tired yet strong,
    I shun the thought that lurks in all delight--
    The thought of thee--and in the blue Heaven's height,
And in the sweetest passage of a song.

Oh, just beyond the fairest thoughts that throng
    This breast, the thought of thee waits, hidden yet bright;
    But it must never, never come in sight;
I must stop short of thee the whole day long.

But when sleep comes to close each difficult day,
    When night gives pause to the long watch I keep,
            And all my bonds I needs must loose apart,

Must doff my will as raiment laid away,--
    With the first dream that comes with the first sleep
            I run, I run, I am gathered to thy heart.

Alice Christiana Thompson Meynell

After A Parting

Farewell has long been said; I have forgone thee;
    I never name thee even.
But how shall I learn virtues and yet shun thee?
    For thou art so near Heaven
That heavenward meditations pause upon thee.

Thou dost beset the path to every shrine;
    My trembling thoughts discern
Thy goodness in the good for which I pine;
    And if I turn from but one sin, I turn
Unto a smile of thine.

How shall I thrust thee apart
    Since all my growth tends to thee night and day--
To thee faith, hope, and art?
    Swift are the currents setting all one way;
They draw my life, my life, out of my heart.

Alice Christiana Thompson Meynell

The Divine Privilege

    Lord, where are Thy prerogatives?
            Why, men have more than Thou hast kept;
    The king rewards, remits, forgives,
            The poet to a throne has stept.

    And Thou, despoiled, hast given away
            Worship to men, success to strife,
    Thy glory to the heavenly day,
            And made Thy sun the lord of life.

    Is one too precious to impart,
            One property reserved to Christ?
    One, cherished, grappled to that heart?
            -To be alone the Sacrificed?

    O Thou who lovest to redeem,
            One whom I know lies sore oppressed.
    Thou wilt not suffer me to dream
            That I can bargain for her rest.

    Seven hours I swiftly sleep, while she
            Measures the ...

Alice Meynell