 | Studies in verse (1865) |  |
72
ACIS TO GALATEA.
The lonely burthen of a purple cloud:
The peaks of Ætna tremulous between
The disunited vapour: zone on zone
The girdling vineyard: and, beyond, the blue
Of long Tyrrhenian waters with their isles
Of old Hephæstus, where the rosy space
Of ether draws to olive depth, or holds
The gate of light in violet waves of fire.
The peaks of Ætna tremulous between
The disunited vapour: zone on zone
The girdling vineyard: and, beyond, the blue
Of long Tyrrhenian waters with their isles
Of old Hephæstus, where the rosy space
Of ether draws to olive depth, or holds
The gate of light in violet waves of fire.
O let me hear thee speak, that I may feel
This mighty dream is real as the touch
Of thy sweet hand that calms me. Bend thine eyes
With all their light and spirit into my brain,
And make thy lips assurance yet once more,
Lest I should fear delusion, and awake
Hereafter weeping for a phantom joy.
This mighty dream is real as the touch
Of thy sweet hand that calms me. Bend thine eyes
With all their light and spirit into my brain,
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Lest I should fear delusion, and awake
Hereafter weeping for a phantom joy.
What have I done that thou should'st love me so,
Immortal as thou art? Unworthy I
To kneel before thy rosy feet, or touch
The cistus they have broken on our cliffs,
Or press the thymy clusters in thy track,
And feign a double fragrance from thy tread.
Immortal as thou art? Unworthy I
To kneel before thy rosy feet, or touch
The cistus they have broken on our cliffs,
Or press the thymy clusters in thy track,
And feign a double fragrance from thy tread.
Wonder of Eros, this and thus was I,
The dull mute thing whose weakness at thy face
Fell prone in adoration; nor endured
Thy glance, whose thrill brake on him like a fire
And dazed his feeble nature down in pain.
Marvel of love, how altered, late so low;
Since thou hast deigned to raise me, as a cloud
Is sucked into the glories of the sun,
Earthborn in heavenly ardours lost and veiled.
The dull mute thing whose weakness at thy face
Fell prone in adoration; nor endured
Thy glance, whose thrill brake on him like a fire
And dazed his feeble nature down in pain.
Marvel of love, how altered, late so low;
Since thou hast deigned to raise me, as a cloud
Is sucked into the glories of the sun,
Earthborn in heavenly ardours lost and veiled.
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Thy love is like a silence of warm air:
And more than all monotony of sound
To feel thy spirit brooding in serene
Completeness, deep as noon and pure as heaven.
Beyond all glory then to see thee rise
And soothe my burning forehead with thine hand:
Or, in caress, thread back thy heavy locks
Disordered; leaning in a silent care
To smile before thy lips are moved to mine,
Lest I should lose thy smile, as men have lost
From over-nearness some exceeding light:
So leaning, drink my spirit into thine,
With thy sweet arm about me, and between
A murmuring breath in whisper, like the talk
Of mated swallows when their nest is laid.
And more than all monotony of sound
To feel thy spirit brooding in serene
Completeness, deep as noon and pure as heaven.
Beyond all glory then to see thee rise
And soothe my burning forehead with thine hand:
Or, in caress, thread back thy heavy locks
Disordered; leaning in a silent care
To smile before thy lips are moved to mine,
Lest I should lose thy smile, as men have lost
From over-nearness some exceeding light:
So leaning, drink my spirit into thine,
With thy sweet arm about me, and between
A murmuring breath in whisper, like the talk
Of mated swallows when their nest is laid.
Oh, but to take thy softness in these arms,
And weave delirious kisses, like a God:
And kiss and thirst more kisses, this were wine
As never yet Silenus in his dream
Pressed at the vine of Hellas: so to dwell
Thy serious eyes upon me, so to dream
And dream, as Gods have dreamt, the stately joy
That makes our years immortal. So thy voice
Should give me sweetest breath, as asphodel
From meadows where the mighty hearts have made
Heroic calm for always. Whisper me
In living silence: thy smooth cheek on mine:
And let thy ringlet flakes efface the day,
With clustered ripples from my glowing eyes.
And so remain as radiant as of yore,
Mysterious in thy beauty; hold thine arms
About thine Acis, till this mortal heart
Dissolve to equal thine, and pulse with thine
In larger beatings, as a God's that loves,—
And take arterial ichors for the stream
Of puny life within him. Till he drain
Enormous inspiration from thy lips,
And be divine as thou, for surely they
That love are equal; and thy love shall draw
My faltering soul, invested with thy power,
Beyond the limit of our ebbing years,
To larger cons than the breed of clay
Consume, before their children bind their urn
A year or twain with garland: children's eyes
Weep nothing long, and these shall put away
The old man's thought, to reap in turn their joys,
In turn forgot as though they had not been.
And weave delirious kisses, like a God:
And kiss and thirst more kisses, this were wine
As never yet Silenus in his dream
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Thy serious eyes upon me, so to dream
And dream, as Gods have dreamt, the stately joy
That makes our years immortal. So thy voice
Should give me sweetest breath, as asphodel
From meadows where the mighty hearts have made
Heroic calm for always. Whisper me
In living silence: thy smooth cheek on mine:
And let thy ringlet flakes efface the day,
With clustered ripples from my glowing eyes.
And so remain as radiant as of yore,
Mysterious in thy beauty; hold thine arms
About thine Acis, till this mortal heart
Dissolve to equal thine, and pulse with thine
In larger beatings, as a God's that loves,—
And take arterial ichors for the stream
Of puny life within him. Till he drain
Enormous inspiration from thy lips,
And be divine as thou, for surely they
That love are equal; and thy love shall draw
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Beyond the limit of our ebbing years,
To larger cons than the breed of clay
Consume, before their children bind their urn
A year or twain with garland: children's eyes
Weep nothing long, and these shall put away
The old man's thought, to reap in turn their joys,
In turn forgot as though they had not been.
Forgive, divinest, this my mortal thought.
I question not beyond thee. Love is more
Than time: thine eyes are on me, and thy palm
Is wound with mine: thy lucid orbs resume
Old tenderness, and wean me from the thought
Beyond thine arms: thy love is more than all
Hereafter: leave me this, that I may hear
The breathings of thy bosom, hear thy sighs,
Drawn out in sweet suppression from thy soul,
To tell me more than language all thy love.
Leave this, I question not while this endure:
Enough as now to linger, so to watch
The wave, the vineyard, and the flaky heads
Of Ætna, slendered up in amber sky.
I question not beyond thee. Love is more
Than time: thine eyes are on me, and thy palm
Is wound with mine: thy lucid orbs resume
Old tenderness, and wean me from the thought
Beyond thine arms: thy love is more than all
Hereafter: leave me this, that I may hear
The breathings of thy bosom, hear thy sighs,
Drawn out in sweet suppression from thy soul,
To tell me more than language all thy love.
Leave this, I question not while this endure:
77
The wave, the vineyard, and the flaky heads
Of Ætna, slendered up in amber sky.
| Studies in verse (1865) | |