The coming of love Rhona Boswell's story and other poems: By Theodore Watts-Dunton |
![]() |
![]() |
![]() | I. |
![]() | II. |
I. |
II. |
III. |
IV. |
V. |
VI. |
VII. |
VIII. |
IX. |
X. |
XI. |
![]() | XII. |
XIII. |
XIV. |
XV. |
![]() | XVI. |
XVII. | XVII NATURA MALIGNA |
XVIII. |
XIX. |
XX. |
![]() |
![]() |
![]() | The coming of love | ![]() |
XVII
NATURA MALIGNA
(Percy, in the Alps, whither he has gone to escape
the haunting effect of English scenery upon his
mind, has, after living alone in a lonely chalet,
passed into a state of spiritual exaltation, and
has come to look upon Nature with the puritanical
eyes of a Hindoo Saivite, as being the
malignant foe of Man. And yet the dominant
thought drives him to go every morning to
watch for a sign at sunrise.)
The Lady of the Hills with crimes untold
Followed my feet with azure eyes of prey;
By glacier-brink she stood—by cataract-spray—
When mists were dire, or avalanche-echoes rolled.
104
And if a footprint shone at break of day,
My flesh would quail, but straight my soul would say:
“'Tis hers whose hand God's mightier hand doth hold.”
I trod her snow-bridge, for the moon was bright,
Her icicle-arch across the sheer crevasse,
When lo, she stood! . . . . God made her let me pass,
Then felled the bridge! . . . . Oh, there in sallow light,
There down the chasm, I saw her cruel, white,
And all my wondrous days as in a glass.
![]() | The coming of love | ![]() |