On Viol and Flute :: :: University of Virginia Library

Red blossom of a fruit-tree, and the sweet
Long leaves and slim of arching branches meet
Above this pleasant bower of shadowy grass,
This trysting-place of love where we entreat
Time to go by us and hoar Death to pass.

Between the green boughs rises on the sky
The pale blue sea, a wonder to the eye,
And spreading softly on its utter rim
The rich dawn-crimsons flush and pale and die,
And fade into the morning cold and dim.

This is the only place we have for love;
The nightingale, the wood-thrush and the dove
May hide from the destroyer; we alone
To desert earth and barren sky above
In vain for rest and safety make our moan.

Yet this one leafy nook is left for us,
Whose flowery walls are not yet ruinous;
Here we may hide us till the night be done,
And fly away unwounded,—even thus,—
While scarce we linger for the tell-tale sun.

Stay, love! the perfect sunrise is not yet;
Sparkles of gold and rose-colour are set
Along the waters and the shimmering sky,
But still the woodland avenues are wet,
And all our night of passion not gone by.

We will not go till over the white sea
The first rim of the gold sun peeringly
Laugh out into the air, and fiery feet
Leap over the wan waterfloods that he
May climb into the world and find it sweet.

In one last cup of amber-coloured wine
Pledge me our sacred passion, thine and mine,
Then drain the chalice into this wild rose,
For Love may know the fair oblation thine
If he should pass our lair to-day, who knows?

This scented vintage Love himself has pressed,
And this aroma with his breath caressed;
The smell of all flowers dedicate to him
In this divinest cordial is compressed,
And wild wood-flavours lurk about the brim.

How like white birds the small sails far below
Veer out into the imminent sharp snow
Of flooding dawn! like butterflies afloat,
They skim upon the waters to and fro,
A quivering life in every happy boat.

And dark upon the verge of that bright well
That floods out light, a splendid miracle,
Behold one little pinnace very far,
And whither it is going, who can tell,
And who the pilot is, and what the star!

Ah dearest! for the star of our desire
Is red and heart-shaped with a core of fire,
And evermore cloud-shadows of the night
Pursue it up the heavens ever higher,
And all the name we give it is Delight.

Ah darling! for our hollow lives are led
By one round whose ineffable crowned head
The lights of heaven flash and are not dim;
By such a spirit are we piloted,
And Love in Passion is the name of him.

O that some frail boat from the sounding shore
Might carry us, to come again no more,
To sail far out into the burnished east,
Till in some island never seen before
The terror of our hunted lives had ceased.

Shall we to-day be wise, and to win rest
Tear heart from heart and panting breast from breast,
Shall I to this way, you to that way go,
And each with some new common love be blessed,
And quite forget?—ah! kiss me and say, No!

Now till the stars are bright again, farewell!
And let your own heart's beating, like a bell,
At night-fall bring you back among the flowers
With some new thing and passionate to tell
Of dreamy longings thro' the weary hours!

And if they find and slay us, love, what then?
We shall no more be numbered among men,
But in the choir of Love's victorious
Our name and praise shall pass the fame of ten,
And Love himself be glorified in us!