 | The works of Francis Thompson |  |
73
A NARROW VESSEL BEING A LITTLE DRAMATIC SEQUENCE ON THE ASPECT OF PRIMITIVE GIRL-NATURE TOWARDS A LOVE BEYOND ITS CAPACITIES
75
A GIRL'S SIN
1.—IN HER EYES
Cross child! red, and frowning so?
‘I, the day just over,
Gave a lock of hair to—no!
How dare you say, my lover?’
‘I, the day just over,
Gave a lock of hair to—no!
How dare you say, my lover?’
He asked you?—Let me understand;
Come, child, let me sound it!
‘Of course, he would have asked it, and—
And so—somehow—he—found it.
Come, child, let me sound it!
‘Of course, he would have asked it, and—
And so—somehow—he—found it.
‘He told it out with great loud eyes—
Men have such little wit!
His sin I ever will chastise
Because I gave him it.
Men have such little wit!
His sin I ever will chastise
Because I gave him it.
‘Shameless in me the gift, alas!
In him his open bliss:
But for the privilege he has
A thousand he shall miss!
In him his open bliss:
But for the privilege he has
A thousand he shall miss!
‘His eyes, where once I dreadless laughed,
Call up a burning blot:
I hate him, for his shameful craft
That asked by asking not!’
Call up a burning blot:
I hate him, for his shameful craft
That asked by asking not!’
76
Luckless boy! and all for hair
He never asked, you said?
‘Not just—but then he gazed—I swear
He gazed it from my head!
He never asked, you said?
‘Not just—but then he gazed—I swear
He gazed it from my head!
‘His silence on my cheek like breath
I felt in subtle way;
More sweet than aught another saith
Was what he did not say.
I felt in subtle way;
More sweet than aught another saith
Was what he did not say.
‘He'll think me vanquished, for this lapse,
Who should be above him;
Perhaps he'll think me light; perhaps—
Perhaps he'll think I—love him!
Who should be above him;
Perhaps he'll think me light; perhaps—
Perhaps he'll think I—love him!
‘Are his eyes conscious and elate,
I hate him that I blush;
Or are they innocent, still I hate—
They mean a thing's to hush.
I hate him that I blush;
Or are they innocent, still I hate—
They mean a thing's to hush.
‘Before he naught amiss could do,
Now all things show amiss;
'Twas all my fault, I know that true,
But all my fault was his.
Now all things show amiss;
'Twas all my fault, I know that true,
But all my fault was his.
‘I hate him for his mute distress,
'Tis insult he should care!
Because my heart's all humbleness,
All pride is in my air.
'Tis insult he should care!
Because my heart's all humbleness,
All pride is in my air.
77
‘With him, each favour that I do
Is bold suit's hallowing text;
Each gift a bastion levelled to
The next one and the next.
Is bold suit's hallowing text;
Each gift a bastion levelled to
The next one and the next.
‘Each wish whose grant may him befall
Is clogged by those withstood;
He trembles, hoping one means all,
And I, lest perhaps it should.
Is clogged by those withstood;
He trembles, hoping one means all,
And I, lest perhaps it should.
‘Behind me piecemeal gifts I cast,
My fleeing self to save;
And that's the thing must go at last,
For that's the thing he'd have.
My fleeing self to save;
And that's the thing must go at last,
For that's the thing he'd have.
‘My lock the enforcèd steel did grate
To cut; its root-thrills came
Down to my bosom. It might sate
His lust for my poor shame!
To cut; its root-thrills came
Down to my bosom. It might sate
His lust for my poor shame!
‘His sifted dainty this should be
For a score ambrosial years!
But his too much humility
Alarums me with fears.
For a score ambrosial years!
But his too much humility
Alarums me with fears.
‘My gracious grace a breach he counts
For graceless escalade;
And, though he's silent ere he mounts,
My watch is not betrayed.
For graceless escalade;
And, though he's silent ere he mounts,
My watch is not betrayed.
78
‘My heart hides from my soul he's sweet:
Ah dread, if he divine!
One touch, I might fall at his feet,
And he might rise from mine.
Ah dread, if he divine!
One touch, I might fall at his feet,
And he might rise from mine.
‘To hear him praise my eyes' brown gleams
Was native, safe delight;
But now it usurpation seems,
Because I've given him right.
Was native, safe delight;
But now it usurpation seems,
Because I've given him right.
‘Before, I'd have him not remove;
Now, would not have him near;
With sacrifice I called on Love,
And the apparition's Fear.’
Now, would not have him near;
With sacrifice I called on Love,
And the apparition's Fear.’
Foolish to give it!—‘'Twas my whim,
When he might parted be,
To think that I should stay by him
In a little piece of me.
When he might parted be,
To think that I should stay by him
In a little piece of me.
‘He always said my hair was soft—
What touches he will steal!
Each touch and look (and he'll look oft)
I almost thought I'd feel.
What touches he will steal!
Each touch and look (and he'll look oft)
I almost thought I'd feel.
‘And then, when first he saw the hair,
To think his dear amazement!
As if he wished from skies a star,
And found it in his casement.
To think his dear amazement!
As if he wished from skies a star,
And found it in his casement.
79
‘He'd kiss the lock—and I had toyed
With dreamed delight of this:
But ah, in proof, delight was void—
I could not see his kiss!’
With dreamed delight of this:
But ah, in proof, delight was void—
I could not see his kiss!’
So, fond one, half this agony
Were spared, which my hand hushes,
Could you have played, Sweet, the sweet spy,
And blushed not for your blushes!
Were spared, which my hand hushes,
Could you have played, Sweet, the sweet spy,
And blushed not for your blushes!
80
A GIRL'S SIN
II.—IN HIS EYES
Can I forget her crueltyWho, brown miracle, gave you me?
Or with unmoisted eyes think on
The proud surrender overgone
(Lowlihead in haughty dress)
Of the tender tyranness?
And ere thou for my joy wast given,
How rough the road to that blest heaven!
With what pangs I fore-expiated
Thy cold outlawry from her head;
How was I trampled and brought low,
Because her virgin neck was so;
How thralled beneath the jealous state
She stood at point to abdicate;
How sacrificed, before to me
She sacrificed her pride and thee;
How did she, struggling to abase
Herself to do me strange, sweet grace,
Enforce unwitting me to share
Her throes and abjectness with her;
Thence heightening that hour when her lover
Her grace, with trembling, should discover,
And in adoring trouble be
Humbled at her humility!
And with what pitilessness was I
After slain, to pacify
The uneasy manes of her shame,
81
What fair injustice did I rue
For what I—did not tempt her to!
Nor aught the judging maid might win
Me to assoil from her sweet sin.
But naught were extreme punishment
For that beyond-divine content,
When my with-thee-first-giddied eyes
Stooped ere their due on Paradise!
O hour of consternating bliss
When I heavened me in thy kiss;
Thy softness (daring overmuch!)
Profanèd with my licensed touch;
Worshipped, with tears, on happy knee,
Her doubt, her trust, her shyness free,
Her timorous audacity!
82
LOVE DECLARED
I looked, she drooped, and neither spake, and cold
We stood, how unlike all forecasted thought
Of that desirèd minute! Then I leaned
Doubting; whereat she lifted—oh, brave eyes
Unfrighted:—forward like a wind-blown flame
Came bosom and mouth to mine!
That falling kiss
Touching long-laid expectance, all went up
Suddenly into passion; yea, the night
Caught, blazed, and wrapt us round in vibrant fire.
We stood, how unlike all forecasted thought
Of that desirèd minute! Then I leaned
Doubting; whereat she lifted—oh, brave eyes
Unfrighted:—forward like a wind-blown flame
Came bosom and mouth to mine!
That falling kiss
Touching long-laid expectance, all went up
Suddenly into passion; yea, the night
Caught, blazed, and wrapt us round in vibrant fire.
Time's beating wing subsided, and the winds
Caught up their breathing, and the world's great pulse
Stayed in mid-throb, and the wild train of life
Reeled by, and left us stranded on a hush.
This moment is a statue unto Love
Carved from a fair white silence.
Lo, he stands
Within us—are we not one now, one, one roof,
His roof, and the partition of weak flesh
Gone down before him, and no more for ever?—
Stands like a bird new-lit, and as he lit,
Poised in our quiet being; only, only
Within our shaken hearts the air of passion,
Cleft by his sudden coming, eddies still
And whirs round his enchanted movelessness.
A film of trance between two stirrings! Lo,
It bursts; yet dream's snapped links cling round the limbs
Of waking: like a running evening stream
Which no man hears, or sees, or knows to run,
(Glazed with dim quiet,) save that there the moon
Is shattered to a creamy flicker of flame,
Our eyes' sweet trouble were hid, save that the love
Trembles a little on their impassioned calms.
Caught up their breathing, and the world's great pulse
Stayed in mid-throb, and the wild train of life
Reeled by, and left us stranded on a hush.
This moment is a statue unto Love
Carved from a fair white silence.
Lo, he stands
Within us—are we not one now, one, one roof,
His roof, and the partition of weak flesh
Gone down before him, and no more for ever?—
Stands like a bird new-lit, and as he lit,
Poised in our quiet being; only, only
Within our shaken hearts the air of passion,
Cleft by his sudden coming, eddies still
And whirs round his enchanted movelessness.
83
It bursts; yet dream's snapped links cling round the limbs
Of waking: like a running evening stream
Which no man hears, or sees, or knows to run,
(Glazed with dim quiet,) save that there the moon
Is shattered to a creamy flicker of flame,
Our eyes' sweet trouble were hid, save that the love
Trembles a little on their impassioned calms.
84
THE WAY OF A MAID
The lover whose soul shaken is
In some decuman billow of bliss,
Who feels his gradual-wading feet
Sink in some sudden hollow of sweet,
And 'mid love's usèd converse comes
Sharp on a mood which all joy sums,
An instant's fine compendium of
The liberal-leavèd writ of love—
His abashed pulses beating thick
At the exigent joy and quick,
Is dumbed, by aiming utterance great
Up to the miracle of his fate.
In some decuman billow of bliss,
Who feels his gradual-wading feet
Sink in some sudden hollow of sweet,
And 'mid love's usèd converse comes
Sharp on a mood which all joy sums,
An instant's fine compendium of
The liberal-leavèd writ of love—
His abashed pulses beating thick
At the exigent joy and quick,
Is dumbed, by aiming utterance great
Up to the miracle of his fate.
The wise girl, such Icarian fall
Saved by her confidence that she's small,—
As what no kindred word will fit
Is uttered best by opposite,
Love in the tongue of hate exprest,
And deepest anguish in a jest,—
Feeling the infinite must be
Best said by triviality,
Speaks, where expression bates its wings,
Just happy, alien, little things;
What of all words is in excess
Implies in a sweet nothingness;
With dailiest babble shows her sense
That full speech were full impotence;
And, while she feels the heavens lie bare,
She only talks about her hair.
Saved by her confidence that she's small,—
As what no kindred word will fit
Is uttered best by opposite,
Love in the tongue of hate exprest,
And deepest anguish in a jest,—
Feeling the infinite must be
Best said by triviality,
Speaks, where expression bates its wings,
Just happy, alien, little things;
What of all words is in excess
Implies in a sweet nothingness;
With dailiest babble shows her sense
That full speech were full impotence;
And, while she feels the heavens lie bare,
She only talks about her hair.
85
BEGINNING OF END
She was aweary of the hoveringOf Love's incessant and tumultuous wing;
Her lover's tokens she would answer not—
'Twere well she should be strange with him somewhat:
A pretty babe, this Love,—but fie on it,
That would not suffer her lay it down a whit!
Appointed tryst defiantly she balked,
And with her lightest comrade lightly walked,
Who scared the chidden Love to hide apart,
And peep from some unnoticed corner of her heart.
She thought not of her lover, deem it not
(There yonder, in the hollow, that's his cot),
But she forgot not that he was forgot.
She saw him at his gate, yet stilled her tongue—
So weak she felt her, that she would feel strong,
And she must punish him for doing him wrong:
Passed, unoblivious of oblivion still;
And, if she turned upon the brow o' the hill,
It was so openly, so lightly done,
You saw she thought he was not thought upon.
He through the gate went back in bitterness;
She that night woke and stirred, with no distress,
Glad of her doing,—sedulous to be glad,
Lest perhaps her foolish heart suspect that it was sad.
86
PENELOPE
Love, like a wind, shook wide your blossomy eyes,
You trembled, and your breath came sobbing-wise
For that you loved me.
You trembled, and your breath came sobbing-wise
For that you loved me.
You were so kind, so sweet, none could withhold
To adore, but that you were so strange, so cold,
For that you loved me.
To adore, but that you were so strange, so cold,
For that you loved me.
Like to a box of spikenard did you break
Your heart about my feet. What words you spake!
For that you loved me.
Your heart about my feet. What words you spake!
For that you loved me.
Life fell to dust without me; so you tried
All carefullest ways to drive me from your side,
For that you loved me.
All carefullest ways to drive me from your side,
For that you loved me.
You gave yourself as children give, that weep
And snatch back, with—‘I meant you not to keep!’
For that you loved me.
And snatch back, with—‘I meant you not to keep!’
For that you loved me.
I am no woman, girl, nor ever knew
That love could teach all ways that hate could do
To her that loved me.
That love could teach all ways that hate could do
To her that loved me.
Have less of love, or less of woman in
Your love, or loss may even from this begin—
That you so love me.
Your love, or loss may even from this begin—
That you so love me.
87
For, wild Penelope, the web you wove
You still unweave, unloving all your love.
Is this to love me,
You still unweave, unloving all your love.
Is this to love me,
Or what rights have I that scorn could deny?
Even of your love, alas, poor Love must die,
If so you love me!
Even of your love, alas, poor Love must die,
If so you love me!
88
THE END OF IT
She did not love to love, but hated himFor making her to love; and so her whim
From passion taught misprision to begin.
And all this sin
Was because love to cast out had no skill
Self, which was regent still.
Her own self-will made void her own self's will.
89
EPILOGUE
If I have studied here in part
A tale as old as maiden's heart,
'Tis that I do see herein
Shadow of more piteous sin.
A tale as old as maiden's heart,
'Tis that I do see herein
Shadow of more piteous sin.
She, that but giving part, not whole,
Took even the part back, is the Soul:
And that so disdainèd Lover—
Best unthought, since Love is over.
Took even the part back, is the Soul:
And that so disdainèd Lover—
Best unthought, since Love is over.
To give the pledge, and yet be pined
That a pledge should have force to bind,
This, O Soul, too often still
Is the recreance of thy will!
That a pledge should have force to bind,
This, O Soul, too often still
Is the recreance of thy will!
Out of Love's arms to make fond chain,
And, because struggle bringeth pain,
Hate Love for Love's sweet constraint,
Is the way of Souls that faint.
And, because struggle bringeth pain,
Hate Love for Love's sweet constraint,
Is the way of Souls that faint.
Such a Soul, for saddest end,
Finds Love the foe in Love the friend;
And—ah, grief incredible!—
Treads the way of Heaven, to Hell.
Finds Love the foe in Love the friend;
And—ah, grief incredible!—
Treads the way of Heaven, to Hell.
| The works of Francis Thompson | |