The Mockers and other Verses By Jane Barlow |
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A CHOSEN JOY |
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 | The Mockers and other Verses |  |
63
A CHOSEN JOY
The yew that scarce would a black arm toss
For the moonlit wind by this lonesome mere,
Signs itself with the sign of the cross,
Like a scared old monk, when my shade falls near.
For the moonlit wind by this lonesome mere,
Signs itself with the sign of the cross,
Like a scared old monk, when my shade falls near.
Nay, should I tarry to blast and blight
The withering bough and its foliage sere,
While He speeds swift through the hush of night
To tryst with his love by the silent mere?
The withering bough and its foliage sere,
While He speeds swift through the hush of night
To tryst with his love by the silent mere?
What worth holds love? with the wealth of hate
I have gained me a good I shall not lose,
Since here on a brink of joy I wait,
Leave won through its deepest my track to choose.
I have gained me a good I shall not lose,
Since here on a brink of joy I wait,
Leave won through its deepest my track to choose.
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Thus choose I: she comes first to the tryst;
Save her own quick breath she shall hear no stir,
As pale in the moonlight she stands to list.
Let be; my soul's price is not paid for her.
Save her own quick breath she shall hear no stir,
As pale in the moonlight she stands to list.
Let be; my soul's price is not paid for her.
For whom but one that three roods away
Shall be footing the heather up yon bare hill,
When down she drops in the cold clear ray,
That must lead him to her as white and still?
Shall be footing the heather up yon bare hill,
When down she drops in the cold clear ray,
That must lead him to her as white and still?
For so, when the silence loudlier saith:
By that path went Hope; follow, or bid farewell,
His life's wild leap toward the beckoning death
Must recoil at menace of horror's hell.
By that path went Hope; follow, or bid farewell,
His life's wild leap toward the beckoning death
Must recoil at menace of horror's hell.
Nor wail breaks forth o'er his world struck drear,
As he moans dry-lipped: On what vision dread
Did these blank eyes darken? What shape of fear
Flung open the gates whence the spirit fled?
As he moans dry-lipped: On what vision dread
Did these blank eyes darken? What shape of fear
Flung open the gates whence the spirit fled?
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Till despair speaks, spurning sense and thought,
As he howls a name—can it mend his case?
Then comes my joy. Is it dearly bought,
If he look toward heaven, and behold—my face?
As he howls a name—can it mend his case?
Then comes my joy. Is it dearly bought,
If he look toward heaven, and behold—my face?
| The Mockers and other Verses | |