Complete works (1925-27) :: :: University of Virginia Library

This is the song that I sung of her
Out of my heart where she sits and smiles;
All over her face grew a soft, slow stir
As a tide-wind makes on the sea for miles.

She has more love than the first white rose
That comes to comfort the thin, weak air;
Her eyes have a smile they would not lose
Though all the world should be wroth with her.

She has more life than the swallow has
When it flickers and wheels in the sharpening morn;
Her eyes are like violets muffled in grass
When the lids draw down and dream of scorn.

She has a mouth that a flower would kiss
If she stooped with her slow smile over it.
There is no man that can call it his,
Nor say if the touch of it be sweet.

She has a head that is shapen smooth,
Carved as the marble a workman smites;
And, oh, that smile that grows up from the mouth,
I lie and dream of it long nights.

For first the lips begin to move,
And then a light to trouble the cheeks;
And then the eyes take it for their love,
And all the face is a smile that speaks.

101

And all the face is a song and sings,
And one's eyes at watch miss never a word;
And each line means so many things,
One thinks not how the first line stirred.

And this is the face that my lady has,
And I know not how she seems so fair;
For her brows are only smooth as glass,
And mere sun's gold lies over her hair.

No man has ever kissed her mouth,
Kissed her eyes 'till the lids drew down.
She sits and looks towards the south,
And her low song is never done.

If I might touch her long pale hand
That lies so straight upon her knee,
I would give all my lordly land,
And all the days that I shall see.

If I might kiss her on the eyes,
On the lids so white and long,
On the smooth brow that overlies,
I would give all my praise of song.

If I might kiss her on the mouth,
Standing with her as the June day set,
Where her chamber looks to the golden south,
I would die ere the grass were wet.

This is my lady I sing so for,
She sits in her chamber looking south;
And she looks out by window and door,
And no one comes to kiss her mouth.

102

And I can only sing of her;
And if new faces about her came,
I could strike but once for her dear gold hair,
And die there without any fame.

And my blood would glow about her feet,
Running about her warm and wet;
And she would sit in the window-seat,
And think of me as the June day set.

And then were I much happier,
For all my song is gone away;
And I cannot breathe for the thought of her
That is about me all the day.

And now am I better than I was once,
For once I did not care for her;
And once I thought that the warm June suns
Were coloured warmer than her hair.

So now I know that I was mad,
And there is nothing in me good;
And no man's praising makes me glad
As to hear him praise my lady would.

Once I sang better songs than this
You trouble with your frowning smiles;
I knew not then how the green shore's kiss
Sweetens the bitter sea for miles.

I knew not what this woman was,
Nor what the birds and summers mean;
Nor why the violets hide in grass,
Nor why the dear deep leaves are green.

103

And this was all that I had to say,
But there is somewhat left untold;
For no man knows one still green day
That any hands touched her hair's warm gold.

She was asleep on the window seat,
Both hands lay out along her knees;
Over them swept the warm hair sweet,
And the dear head bent over these.

She sat in the window looking south,
I did not mean to speak to her;
I did not mean to kiss her mouth,
Only I stooped and felt her hair.

And since that day, and every day,
I think how tenderly it stirred;
The sunbeams filled it as it lay,
Then I went out and spake no word.