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Yet heated how he longs to lave
His beauty in my cooling wave!
His rounded ivory arms have met
Over locks of glossy jet:
Gracefully curls the form so fair
Now upon my yielding air;
Cleaves my laughter-flashing wave,
Delighted one so soft and suave
To gulf within her glassy grave.
Lo! many a clear aerial bubble
Tells the water-heart's sweet trouble!
He lips the ripple, pants and flushes,
Thrusts out white buoyant limbs, and pushes
With turning palm, a snowy swan
Lavishing his bosom upon
My mantling water in the sun!
Now hath he climbed beside the stone,
With filmy lichen overgrown,
Where small swift globes of water twinkle :
There among the periwinkle
Creeping, sidles with a shoulder
Pressed upon the verdured boulder,
Along a narrow ledge, to wet
His shining head within the jet
Of foam that skirts my clear cascade,
Leaning under, half-afraid.
All my close-clinging vision grew
Over him leaping forth anew:
He dives; he rises; I refrain:
He floats upon the shine again.
Luxuriant he lies afloat,
Half his form, and half his throat,
Clear from crystalline that sways
Him gently, with alluring haze
Veiling some of him from sight,
Filming less or more of white
Wrist or shoulder, as he moves
Fair on wavering water-groves,
Hearing a sweet long croon of doves.
Flying pansies, butterflies,
Moths aflame with crimson dyes,
Haunt his vague and violet eyes:
Odorous shadow of the trees,
Drowsy with a drone of bees,
Amorous nightingales enkindling
At intervals the air and dwindling,
Slim grey waterfall in plashing,
On my stone the wave in washing,
Sweetest music never ending,
Lulls him in his water-wending.
Why, boy-lover, tell me why
I was doomed to see thee lie,
I was doomed to see thee die,
Tell me why
Am singing now thy lullaby!
Hear my water sing thee now
In thy jasmine throat meander
Tender lines of dimple,
And 'tis haunted where they wander,
While the waters wimple,
With a shy blue as from veins,
Where soft throat subsiding wanes
Into billowy bosom dreaming
Faintly of the roses;
Whose dim dream a bud discloses
In the gleaming
Undulating almond skin,
Roses nascent soft therein.
Ah! the quiet music of thy beauties undulating;
Ah! to feel, to feel, thy gentle warmth of bosom
What breath from heaven was breathing behind the fairy flower,
Whose ample one white petal thy body had for dower, Blowing so unerringly to mould thee as thou art, Even so waving waist and limb, and the snow about thy heart?
And if my hands were ne'er to thrill, my beautiful, my boy,
As they filled them with thy bosom, the treasure and the joy,
Why along the ideal limit heaved thy delicate form, So, nor any otherwise, languid, white and warm?
I flung me round him,
I drew him under;
I clung, I drowned him,
My own white wonder! . . .
Father and mother,
Weeping and wild,
Came to the forest,
Calling the child,
Came from the palace,
Down to the pool,
Calling my darling,
Moving a mockery,
Scorned of the day!
Now I have taken him
All in his prime,
Saved from slow poisoning
Filled with his happiness,
One with the prime,
Saved from the cruel
Dishonour of Time.
Laid him, my beautiful,
Laid him to rest,
Softly to rest,
Here in my crystalline,
Here in my breast!
A LITTLE CHILD'S MONUMENT.
HON, RODEN NOEL.
AM lying in the tomb, love,
Lying in the tomb,
Tho' I move within the gloom, love,
Breathe within the gloom;
Men deem life not fled, dear,
Deem my life not fled,
Tho' I with thee am dead, dear,
I with thee am dead,
O my little child!
What is the grey world, darling,
What is the grey world,
Where the worm is curled, darling,
The deathworm is curled ?
They tell me of the spring, dear!
Do I want the spring?
Will she waft upon her wing, dear,
The joy-pulse of her wing,
Thy songs, thy blossoming,
O my little child!
For the hallowing of thy smile, love,
The rainbow of thy smile,
Gleaming for a while, love,
Gleaming to beguile !