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I. Erycina Ridens.

O love! O spirit of being!
O wonderful secret of breath,
Sweeter than hearing or seeing,
Sadder than sorrow or death.
Earth with its holiest flavour,
Life with its lordliest dower,
The fruit's strange essence and flavour,
Bloom and scent of the flower.
[Thus might a modern poet,
O Aphrodite, uptake
His fanciful flute and blow it,
And wail the echoes awake!]
O love, love, Aphrodite,
Cytherea divine,
I hold you fever'd and flighty,
And seek a pleasanter shrine.
Yet hither, O spirit fervent,
Just to help me along,
Forget I am not thy servant,
And blow in the sails of my song.
For lo! 'tis a situation
Caused by thyself, 'twould seem;
The old, old foolish sensation,
Two lovers lost in a dream.
O the wonder and glory,
Bright as Creation's burst!
O the ancestral story,
Old as Adam the first!
Flame, and fervour, and fever,
Flashing from morning to night,
Alliteration for ever
Of love, and longing, and light.
How should the story vary?
How the song be new?
Music and meaning marry?
'Tis love, love, love, all thro'!
As it was in the beginning,
Is, and ever shall be!
Loving, and love for the winning,
Love, and the soul set free.
[An invocation like this is
Need not be over-wise;
Who shall interpret kisses?
What is the language of eyes?]
Again a man and a woman
Feeling the old blest thing,
Better than voices human
A bird on the bough could sing.
Only a sound is wanted,
Merry, and happy, and loud,—
Such as the lark hath panted
Up in the golden cloud.
Lips, and lips to kiss them;
Eyes, and eyes to behold;
Hands, and hands to press them;
Arms, and arms to enfold.
The love that comes to the palace,
That comes to the cottage door;
The ever-abundant chalice
Brimming for rich and poor;
The love that waits for the winning,
The love that ever is free,
That was in the world's beginning,
Is, and ever shall be!
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