Puslapio vaizdai
PDF
„ePub“
[blocks in formation]

(Can it be true?) Our souls drank deep For me, he treads the windless ways

Together of Love's wonder-wine : We saw the golden days go by, Unheeding, for we were divine;

Love had advanced us to the sky.

And of that time no traces bin,

Save the still shape that once did hold My lover's soul, that shone therein,

As wine laughs in a vase of gold.

Cold, cold he lies, and answers not

Unto my speech; his mouth is cold Whose kiss to mine was sweet and hot As sunshine to a marigold.

And yet his pallid lips I press;

I fold his neck in my embrace;
I rain down kisses none the less
Upon his unresponsive face :

I call on him with all the fair
Flower-names that blossom out of love;

I knit sea-jewels in his hair ;

I weave fair coronals above

The cold, sweet silver of his brow:
For this is all of him I have;

Nor any Future more than now

Shall give me back what Love once gave.

Among the thick star-diamonds,
Where in the middle æther blaze
The Golden City's pearl gate-fronds ;

Sitteth, palm-crown'd and silver-shod,
Where in strange dwellings of the skies
The Christians to their Woman-God
Cease nevermore from psalmodies.

And I, I wait, with haggard eyes

And face grown awful for desire, The coming of that fierce day's rise When from the cities of the fire

The Wolf shall come with blazing crest,
And many a giant arm'd for war;
When from the sanguine-streaming West,
Hell-flaming, speedeth Naglfar.

LOVE'S AUTUMN

Yes, love, the Spring shall come again,
But not as once it came :

Once more in meadow and in lane
The daffodils shall flame,
The cowslips blow, but all in vain ;
Alike, yet not the same.

The roses that we pluck'd of old
Were dew'd with heart's delight;

Our gladness steep'd the primrose-gold In half its lovely light :

The hopes are long since dead and cold That flush'd the wind-flowers' white.

Oh, who shall give us back our Spring?
What spell can fill the air
With all the birds of painted wing
That sang for us whilere?
What charm reclothe with blossoming
Our lives, grown blank and bare?

What sun can draw the ruddy bloom
Back to hope's faded rose?
What stir of summer re-illume

Our hearts' wreck'd garden-close? What flowers can fill the empty room Where now the nightshade grows?

'Tis but the Autumn's chilly sun
That mocks the glow of May;
'Tis but the pallid bindweeds run
Across our garden way,
Pale orchids, scentless every one,
Ghosts of the summer day.

Yet, if it must be so, 't is well :

What part have we in June? Our hearts have all forgot the spell That held the summer noon; We echo back the cuckoo's knell, And not the linnet's tune.

What shall we do with roses now, Whose cheeks no more are red? What violets should deck our brow, Whose hopes long since are fled ? Recalling many a wasted vow

And many a faith struck dead.

Bring heath and pimpernel and rue,
The Autumn's sober flowers:
At least their scent will not renew
The thought of happy hours,
Nor drag sad memory back unto
That lost sweet time of ours.

Faith is no sun of summertide,
Only the pale, calm light

That, when the Autumn clouds divide,
Hangs in the watchet height,

A lamp, wherewith we may abide
The coming of the night.

And yet, beneath its languid ray,

The moorlands bare and dry
Bethink them of the summer day

And flower, far and nigh,
With fragile memories of the May,
Blue as the August sky.

These are our flowers: they have no

scent

To mock our waste desire, No hint of bygone ravishment To stir the faded fire: The very soul of sad content

Dwells in each azure spire.

I have no violets: you laid

Your blight upon them all : It was your hand, alas! that made My roses fade and fall,

Your breath my lilies that forbade To come at Summer's call.

Yet take these scentless flowers and pale,
The last of all my year:

Be tender to them; they are frail :
But if thou hold them dear,
I'll not their brighter kin bewail,
That now lie cold and sere.

SONGS' END

THE chime of a bell of gold

That flutters across the air,
The sound of a singing of old,
The end of a tale that is told,

Of a melody strange and fair,
Of a joy that has grown despair :

For the things that have been for me
I shall never have them again;
The skies and the purple sea,
And day like a melody,

And night like a silver rain
Of stars on forest and plain.

They are shut, the gates of the day;
The night has fallen on me :
My life is a lightless way;
I sing yet, while as I may !
Some day I shall cease, maybe:
I shall live on yet, you will see.

[blocks in formation]
[blocks in formation]
[blocks in formation]

I HAVE lov'd flowers that fade,
Within whose magic tents
Rich hues have marriage made
With sweet unmemoried scents:
A honeymoon delight,
A joy of love at sight,
That ages in an hour:
My song be like a flower!

I have lov'd airs that die
Before their charm is writ
Along a liquid sky
Trembling to welcome it.
Notes, that with pulse of fire
Proclaim the spirit's desire,
Then die, and are nowhere:
My song be like an air!

Die, song, die like a breath,
And wither as a bloom :
Fear not a flowery death,
Dread not an airy tomb!
Fly with delight, fly hence!
"T was thine love's tender sense
To feast; now on thy bier
Beauty shall shed a tear.

THOU DIDST DELIGHT MY

EYES

THOU didst delight my eyes: Yet who am I? nor first Nor last nor best, that durst Once dream of thee for prize; Nor this the only time Thou shalt set love to rhyme.

Thou didst delight my ear: Ah! little praise; thy voice Makes other hearts rejoice

[merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][ocr errors][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small]
« AnkstesnisTęsti »