(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 call on him with all the fair I knit sea-jewels in his hair ; I weave fair coronals above The cold, sweet silver of his brow: Nor any Future more than now Shall give me back what Love once gave. Among the thick star-diamonds, Sitteth, palm-crown'd and silver-shod, 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, LOVE'S AUTUMN Yes, love, the Spring shall come again, Once more in meadow and in lane The roses that we pluck'd of old 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 sun can draw the ruddy bloom 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 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, Faith is no sun of summertide, That, when the Autumn clouds divide, A lamp, wherewith we may abide And yet, beneath its languid ray, The moorlands bare and dry And flower, far and nigh, 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, Be tender to them; they are frail : SONGS' END THE chime of a bell of gold That flutters across the air, Of a melody strange and fair, For the things that have been for me And night like a silver rain They are shut, the gates of the day; I HAVE lov'd flowers that fade, I have lov'd airs that die Die, song, die like a breath, 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 |