Poems Real and Ideal By George Barlow |
 |
|
| XIV. |
| XVII. |
| XIX. |
| XXI. |
| XXII. |
| XXIII. |
| XXVII. |
| XXVIII. |
| XXIX. |
| XXX. |
| XLIV, XLV, XLVI. |
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| XLVII. |
| LI. |
| LIV. |
| LVII. |
| LIX. |
|
| IV. |
|
| II. |
| IV. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
|
| I. |
| II. |
A RUSSIAN WOMAN TO A RUSSIAN NIHILIST.
|
| XX. |
| XXI. |
|
| I. |
| II. |
| IX. |
| XII. |
| XXII. |
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
 | Poems Real and Ideal |  |
233
A RUSSIAN WOMAN TO A RUSSIAN NIHILIST.
I love thy red right hand. I love thy reckless daring:
Thine eyes with half the fire of some fierce tiger's glaring.
I love thy strength and zeal.
If thou wert quite alone, and all the world united
Against thee, thou wouldst be (I know!) the more delighted:
With lonely rapture brain and heart would reel.
Thine eyes with half the fire of some fierce tiger's glaring.
I love thy strength and zeal.
If thou wert quite alone, and all the world united
Against thee, thou wouldst be (I know!) the more delighted:
With lonely rapture brain and heart would reel.
Yes, thou art wicked, love. Thou art a malefactor.
Thine own hands do dark deeds: thou art no sluggish actor
In all this century's strife.
The hand that I have kissed upon the dagger closes
With deadly iron grip. I gather harmless roses:
But thou dost gather with red pruning-knife.
Thine own hands do dark deeds: thou art no sluggish actor
In all this century's strife.
241
With deadly iron grip. I gather harmless roses:
But thou dost gather with red pruning-knife.
Thou hast no mercy of heart nor pity of soul within thee:
Only a vast wild flame, consuming, wrathful, in thee;
Canst thou love, sweetheart, me?
Nay, I am but a river; my banks are full of flowers:
My hair is full of scent of honey-suckle bowers:
Thou art the tidal cruel desperate sea.
Only a vast wild flame, consuming, wrathful, in thee;
Canst thou love, sweetheart, me?
Nay, I am but a river; my banks are full of flowers:
My hair is full of scent of honey-suckle bowers:
Thou art the tidal cruel desperate sea.
Thou art the sea—but red: not blue or sweet or quiet.
I know thee. Through thy brain wild deeds in maddest riot
Roar on their lonely way.
Thou art the sea. I am the gentle-souled calm river
Along whose banks the reeds in their green squadrons quiver.
I meet thee,—then am tinged with blood-shot spray.
I know thee. Through thy brain wild deeds in maddest riot
Roar on their lonely way.
Thou art the sea. I am the gentle-souled calm river
Along whose banks the reeds in their green squadrons quiver.
I meet thee,—then am tinged with blood-shot spray.
242
I meet thee. Then with joy of every pulse that tingles
My calm white river-soul with thy red spirit mingles
And with thy fury of heart.
I cast for wreaths and crowns my river-flowers upon thee
And cast my whole rapt soul in love and worship on thee;
Then watch thee for some fiery deed depart.
My calm white river-soul with thy red spirit mingles
And with thy fury of heart.
I cast for wreaths and crowns my river-flowers upon thee
And cast my whole rapt soul in love and worship on thee;
Then watch thee for some fiery deed depart.
Thy vast tides crimson-stained flow half way up the river,
O sea-love, making all my bank-side poplars shiver
With awe at the strange red:—
And I,—I bring thee down a flower or two with laughter
From far-off inland meads which thou shalt wear hereafter,
Lover, when I am lost in thee and dead.
O sea-love, making all my bank-side poplars shiver
With awe at the strange red:—
And I,—I bring thee down a flower or two with laughter
From far-off inland meads which thou shalt wear hereafter,
Lover, when I am lost in thee and dead.
Thou hast made women weep. I love thee better for it.
Their lovers hast thou slain? I care not for their florid
Display of tears and woe.
Or—if their woe be real—is not my joy still plainer
That follows on their grief as watchful-eyed retainer
And dogs them with its steady footstep slow?
Their lovers hast thou slain? I care not for their florid
Display of tears and woe.
243
That follows on their grief as watchful-eyed retainer
And dogs them with its steady footstep slow?
Thou: thou wouldst battle, strong and iron-armed and fearless,
Against great hosts of stars,—and I could watch thee, tearless,
Yea revelling, O my lord,
In thy stern wrath as through the golden serried legions
Summoned by bugle of God from far blue pathless regions
Flickered the quick sheen of thy dripping sword.
Against great hosts of stars,—and I could watch thee, tearless,
Yea revelling, O my lord,
In thy stern wrath as through the golden serried legions
Summoned by bugle of God from far blue pathless regions
Flickered the quick sheen of thy dripping sword.
Thou hast no pity of heart. I know and I have said it.
Thy pitiless strong soul—I know nor do I dread it
Though it should cast off me!
What is a soft stream worth whose ripples dance and revel
Compared to the great force that fears not God or devil,—
The sea-like monstrous furious force of thee?
Thy pitiless strong soul—I know nor do I dread it
Though it should cast off me!
What is a soft stream worth whose ripples dance and revel
Compared to the great force that fears not God or devil,—
The sea-like monstrous furious force of thee?
244
I am thy river-bride. But thou art oceanic
And limitless and fierce, steel-sinewed and Titanic,—
A very god to me.
Full of the singing strength of all the white-waved water:
I am the golden sunlight's flower-engendering daughter;
Thou art the offspring of the flowerless sea.
And limitless and fierce, steel-sinewed and Titanic,—
A very god to me.
Full of the singing strength of all the white-waved water:
I am the golden sunlight's flower-engendering daughter;
Thou art the offspring of the flowerless sea.
Thou fearest hardly God. If God were king and tyrant
Thine would be the first sword, swift, eager, and aspirant
That tyrant-God to slay.
Thou hast the strength of will of God himself within thee,
And that is why my soul so longs, O love, to win thee,
And why my fingers in thy black locks play.
Thine would be the first sword, swift, eager, and aspirant
That tyrant-God to slay.
Thou hast the strength of will of God himself within thee,
And that is why my soul so longs, O love, to win thee,
And why my fingers in thy black locks play.
If God were tyrant here, thou wouldst be calm—no bragger.
But out would leap thy keen bright-polished trusty dagger
And straight to the very heart
God thou wouldst stab.—And lo! his blood would flow around thee
And it would be as if a red sunset had crowned thee
Painted in heaven by thy swift splashing dart.
But out would leap thy keen bright-polished trusty dagger
And straight to the very heart
245
And it would be as if a red sunset had crowned thee
Painted in heaven by thy swift splashing dart.
How I would love thee then!—From river-side and hollow
I'd bring thee violets then, and thy strong footstep follow
O lover, O my sea,
Soft, flower-sweet, flower-divine,—thy soft companion truly;
The one soul in the world who understands thee duly
And worships the enormous force in thee.
I'd bring thee violets then, and thy strong footstep follow
O lover, O my sea,
Soft, flower-sweet, flower-divine,—thy soft companion truly;
The one soul in the world who understands thee duly
And worships the enormous force in thee.
I pray for thee. (So strange is woman's complex passion!)
I pray for thee in true deep-yearning woman's fashion:
Yet thou art God and lord
To me,—and I would kiss in holy sacramental
Calm tearless fearless wise, with loving lips and gentle,
The blade, yet reeking, of thy yet warm sword.
I pray for thee in true deep-yearning woman's fashion:
Yet thou art God and lord
To me,—and I would kiss in holy sacramental
Calm tearless fearless wise, with loving lips and gentle,
The blade, yet reeking, of thy yet warm sword.
246
What is a woman's love but love for strength and power?
Just the strange love of some poor simple stream-side flower
For the vast power and might
That fills the sea with strength, and fills the heavens with burning
Vast quenchless ever-new, at each new dawn returning,
Unfathomable wonderful sunlight.
Just the strange love of some poor simple stream-side flower
For the vast power and might
That fills the sea with strength, and fills the heavens with burning
Vast quenchless ever-new, at each new dawn returning,
Unfathomable wonderful sunlight.
Thou art the sea and sun. I lose in thee my being,
Some far-off high divine fair consummation seeing
When thou and I made one
Shall pass along the ranks of fiery-winged immortals
And through eternal life's irrevocable portals,
For thou art God: God is the sea and sun.
Some far-off high divine fair consummation seeing
When thou and I made one
Shall pass along the ranks of fiery-winged immortals
And through eternal life's irrevocable portals,
For thou art God: God is the sea and sun.
April, 1883.
| Poems Real and Ideal | |