Nor stop till, where the cold sea raves By Lido's wet accursed graves, They scoop mine, roll me to its brink, And... on thy breast I sink!
Some... Scatter the vision for ever! Dip your arm o'er the boat side, elbow
As of old, I am I, thou art thou!
Oh, which were best, to roam or rest? The land's lap or the water's breast? To sleep on yellow millet-sheaves, Or swim in lucid shallows, just Eluding water-lily leaves,
An inch from Death's black fingers, thrust To lock you, whom release he must ; Which life were best on Summer eves?
Lie back could thought of mine improve
From this shoulder let there spring A wing; from this, another wing; Wings, not legs and feet, shall move you!
Snow-white must they spring, to blend With your flesh, but I intend They shall deepen to the end, Broader, into burning gold,
Till both wings crescent-wise enfold Your perfect self, from 'neath your feet To o'er your head, where, lo, they meet As if a million sword-blades hurl'd Defiance from you to the world! Rescue me thou, the only real ! And scare away this mad ideal That came, nor motions to depart! Thanks! Now, stay ever as thou art!
What if the Three should catch at last Thy serenader? While there's cast Paul's cloak about my head, and fast Gian pinions me, Himself has past His stylet through my back; I reel ; And... is it thou I feel?
They trail me, these three godless knaves, Past every church that saints and saves,
Row home? must we row home? Too surely Know I where its front 's demurely Over the Guidecca pil'd; Window just with window mating, Door on door exactly waiting, All's the set face of a child : But behind it, where 's a trace Of the staidness and reserve, And formal lines without a curve, In the same child's playing-face? No two windows look one way O'er the small sea-water thread Below them. Ah, the autumn day I, passing, saw you overhead! First, out a cloud of curtain blew, Then a sweet cry, and last came you To catch your lory that must needs Escape just then, of all times then, To peck a tall plant's fleecy seeds And make me happiest of men.
I scarce could breathe to see you reach So far back o'er the balcony, To catch him ere he climb'd too high Above you in the Smyrna peach, That quick the round smooth cord of gold, This coil'd hair on your head, unroil d, Fell down you like a gorgeous snake The Roman girls were wont, of old, When Rome there was, for coolness' sake
To let lie curling o'er their bosoms. Dear lory, may his beak retain Ever its delicate rose stain,
As if the wounded lotus-blossoms Had mark'd their thief to know again. Stay longer yet, for others' sake
Than mine! What should your chamber do?
With all its rarities that ache
In silence while day lasts, but wake At night-time and their life renew, Suspended just to pleasure you
Who brought against their will together These objects, and, while day lasts, weave Around them such a magic tether That dumb they look: your harp, believe, With all the sensitive tight strings Which dare not speak, now to itself Breathes slumberously, as if some elf Went in and out the chords, his wings Make murmur, wheresoe'er they graze, As an angel may, between the maze Of midnight palace-pillars, on And on, to sow God's plagues, have gone Through guilty glorious Babylon. And while such murmurs flow, the nymph Bends o'er the harp-top from her shell As the dry limpet for the lymph Come with a tune he knows so well. And how your statues' hearts must swell! And how your pictures must descend To see each other, friend with friend! Oh, could you take them by surprise, You'd find Schidone's eager Duke Doing the quaintest courtesies
To that prim saint by Haste-thee-Luke! And, deeper into her rock den, Bold Castelfranco's Magdalen You'd find retreated from the ken Of that rob'd counsel-keeping Ser- As if the Tizian thinks of her, And is not, rather, gravely bent On seeing for himself what toys Are these his progeny invent, What litter now the board employs Whereon he sign'd a document That got him murder'd! Each enjoys Its night so well, you cannot break The sport up: so, indeed must make More stay with me, for others' sake.
To-morrow, if a harp-string, say, Is used to tie the jasmine back
I SPRANG to the stirrup, and Joris, and he; I gallop'd, Dirck gallop'd, we gallop'd all three;
"Good speed!" cried the watch, as the gate-bolts undrew ;
"Speed!" echoed the wall to us galloping through;
Behind shut the postern, the lights sank to rest,
And into the midnight we gallop'd abreast.
Not a word to each other; we kept the great pace
Neck by neck, stride by stride, never changing our place;
I turn'd in my saddle and made its girths tight,
Then shorten'd each stirrup, and set the
By Hasselt, Dirck groan'd; and cried Joris " Stay spur!
Your Roos gallop'd bravely, the fault's not in her,
We'll remember at Aix" -for one heard the quick wheeze
Of her chest, saw the stretch'd neck and staggering knees,
And sunk tail, and horrible heave of the flank,
As down on her haunches she shudder'd and sank.
So, we were left galloping, Joris and I, Past Looz and past Tongres, no cloud in the sky;
The broad sun above laugh'd a pitiless laugh,
'Neath our feet broke the brittle bright
Till over by Dalhem a dome-spire sprang white,
And "Gallop," gasped Joris, "for Aix is in sight!
Blot out his name, then, record one lost soul more,
One task more deelin'd, one more footpath untrod,
One more devil's-triumph and sorrow for angels,
One wrong more to man, one more insult to God!
Life's night begins: let him never come back to us!
There would be doubt, hesitation, and pain,
Forced praise on our part - the glimmer of twilight,
Never glad confident morning again! Best fight on well, for we taught him strike gallantly,
Menace our heart ere we master his own; Then let him receive the new knowledge and wait us,
Pardon'd in heaven, the first by the throne !
IT once might have been, once only: We lodged in a street together, You, a sparrow on the housetop lonely, I, a lone she-bird of his feather.
Your trade was with sticks and clay,
You thumb'd, thrust, patted and polish'd, Then laugh'd, "They will see, some day, Smith made, and Gibson demolish'd."
My business was song, song, song;
I chirp'd, cheep'd, trill'd and twitter'd, "Kate Brown 's on the boards ere long, And Grisi's existence embitter'd !"
I earn'd no more by a warble Than you by a sketch in plaster; You wanted a piece of marble,
I needed a music-master.
We studied hard in our styles,
Chipp'd each at a crust like Hindoos, For air, look'd out on the tiles,
For fun, watch'd each other's windows.
You lounged, like a boy of the South, Cap and blouse nay, a bit of beard too; Or you got it, rubbing your mouth With fingers the clay adher'd to.
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