Poems Real and Ideal :: :: University of Virginia Library

“When visiting the sea, he takes his microscope,
And all his passion of soul is centred in the hope
That he may find a prize
Amid the pallid weeds and slimy shelly things:
In butterflies he loves the scales upon their wings,—
He never sees the skies.

“He never sees the waves whose shining squadrons break
On moonlit shining shores; blue ripples of the lake
Are nothing unto him:

205

Here am I, woman-ripe and splendid (am I fair?
Oh answer me, soft eyes of mirror over there?)—
But still his eyes are dim!

“Not all men's eyes are dim! Not every man is blind:
Am I (I wonder much?) a sinner if I find
Man's gracious homage sweet?
Am I (I question much?) a sinner if I pour
What he will never seek some other soul before,—
Yea, at another's feet?

“Through all these weary years my soul hath lived alone:
Sometimes it hath endured,—and sometimes made its moan
To stars and midnight breeze:—
He never thinks me fair,—he never thinks me sweet,—
(Slide off, thou foolish gown—so—rustle to my feet!
What is't the mirror sees?

206

“Ah! . . . Lo! before the glass unclothed, a woman white,
I stand: ah, now I know:—but never till this night
Deemed I that I was fair.
How the strange scent from that just-gathered dewy rose
Like fragrance in a dream all round about me goes,—
Like love's own fatal air!

“Ah! some one said to-night . . . what was it? . . . that my hair
Was beautiful: rush round my shining shoulder bare,—
Twine serpent-like—ah! so:
And if my lover's face shone fair within the glass,
Red lips you'd forward lean? Or would you let it pass?—
Tongue,—would you whisper, ‘No!’)

“Hark! on the stairs a step—Gown, hasten on again;
If he should find you thus, how he would stare amain
This white soft shape to see.

207

To him it would mean less—a whole world less indeed—
Than snowy plume of some tide-tangled gummy weed
Or sea-anemone!

“He'd think I was bewitched: I've half a mind—but no!
Only the eyes that love must ever see me so;
Only those eyes of grey!
And the dear mirror's eyes,—now, mirror, be discreet!
Remember that you saw just nothing but my feet!
Rose, thou wilt not betray?

“His feet upon the stairs,—his hand upon the door;
This brooch,—and all is then just as it was before:
Remember, mirror and rose!”—
“Quick, Maggie! run and fetch the table and the lamp;
This seaweed must be searched while still the fronds are damp;—
How bright that pier-glass glows!”

March, 1882.