 | The Poetical Works of John Payne |  |
306
MELISANDE.
I.
AH lady of the lands of gold!
Who shall lay hands on thee and hold
Thy beauty for a space as long
As pausing of a linnet's song?
Ah lady of the lays of old,
When love is life and right is wrong!
Who shall lay hands on thee and hold
Thy beauty for a space as long
As pausing of a linnet's song?
Ah lady of the lays of old,
When love is life and right is wrong!
Ah lady of the dear old dream!
We watch Love's roses on the stream
That spins its silver in the land
Where garlands glitter from thy hand:
Ah singer of the sweets that seem!
When shall the dream take shape and stand?
We watch Love's roses on the stream
That spins its silver in the land
Where garlands glitter from thy hand:
Ah singer of the sweets that seem!
When shall the dream take shape and stand?
Ah dear in dreams, lost long ago!
A sound of lutings soft and low,
A scent of roses newly prest,
Cease never from the dreamful West:
When shall a man draw near to know
The sweetness of thy perfect breast?
A sound of lutings soft and low,
A scent of roses newly prest,
Cease never from the dreamful West:
When shall a man draw near to know
The sweetness of thy perfect breast?
II.
A dream of days too far to fill:
The thin clear babble of the rill
That trickles through the fainting flowers;
A monotone of mourning hours;
The dim dawn coming sad and still;
The evening's symphony of showers.
The thin clear babble of the rill
That trickles through the fainting flowers;
A monotone of mourning hours;
The dim dawn coming sad and still;
The evening's symphony of showers.
307
A lone land under a sere sky;
And stretching tow'rd the veil on high,
My soul, a flower that seeks the sun;
The dull days dropping, one by one;
The darkness drawing ever nigh;
And still nor dream nor life is won.
And stretching tow'rd the veil on high,
My soul, a flower that seeks the sun;
The dull days dropping, one by one;
The darkness drawing ever nigh;
And still nor dream nor life is won.
III.
Ah sunflower-heart! ah Melisande!
When shall the dream take shape and stand?
When shall thy lips melt into mine?
When shall I drink thy looks like wine?
Shall earth for once turn fairyland
And all the past take shape and shine?
When shall the dream take shape and stand?
When shall thy lips melt into mine?
When shall I drink thy looks like wine?
Shall earth for once turn fairyland
And all the past take shape and shine?
Alas! such hopes were vain indeed:
The waste world knoweth not the seed
That bears the blossom of delight.
Shall one go forth to sow the night
And look to reap sun-coloured weed
And lilies of the morning light?
The waste world knoweth not the seed
That bears the blossom of delight.
Shall one go forth to sow the night
And look to reap sun-coloured weed
And lilies of the morning light?
Who would not be content to know
That at the last,—when sin and woe
Had done their worst and life had lain
Before the gates that shut out pain,—
The bitter breeze of death should blow
The mirage from the sullen plain
That at the last,—when sin and woe
Had done their worst and life had lain
Before the gates that shut out pain,—
The bitter breeze of death should blow
The mirage from the sullen plain
And for a little sun-filled space
His sight should feed on his love's face
And in her eyes his soul drink deep,—
And then upon him death should creep
And snatch him, sudden, to the place
Where all things gather to a sleep?
His sight should feed on his love's face
And in her eyes his soul drink deep,—
And then upon him death should creep
And snatch him, sudden, to the place
Where all things gather to a sleep?
308
Ah lovers, God but grant you this,
To breathe your life out in a kiss,
To sleep upon your lady's breast
The hour life lapses into rest!
For me, I ask none other bliss
Than Rudel's, deeming his the best.
To breathe your life out in a kiss,
To sleep upon your lady's breast
The hour life lapses into rest!
For me, I ask none other bliss
Than Rudel's, deeming his the best.
| The Poetical Works of John Payne | |