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131
ADÔNIS AND APHRODÎTÊ.
I
Ah, Aphrodîtê, godlike was thy prideWhen Arês crowned thee victor,—when the choice
Of Ida's shepherd let the apple glide
In thy fair hands curled cuplike,—when the voice
That shook Olumpos took a silver tone,
Fearful lest sudden tears should stain the face
It chided trembling; and when Psuchê bowed
To thee her subject beauty and made moan,—
Meek to the peerless mother,—thou wert proud.
II
Yea, and as goddess thou hast oft grown paleWith love's dread languishment. The kingly sire
Of Ilium's foster-hope, whom thou didst quail
With quivering lightning, wrought in thee the tire
Of stifled passion. Thou didst yearn for him
And many a rose-lipped mortal. Love's sweet sigh
That sorrow touches touched thee sorrowingly,
And the deep aureate hair grew golden dim,
The blue-flower eyes drooped sunless: maidens die
Of that which is a smile's death unto thee.
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III
But never wert thou woman until now,Suppliant, caressing, tremulous, and wild
At thine own impotence to win the brow
Of thy free hunter-boy, to thee, the child
That from the chase restrains.—Adônis, haste
From the fair arms that belt thee; for blue eyes,
Blue radiant eyes, sun-lifted tearfully,
And a white bosom ruffled, wilt thou waste
The glorious manhood maidens tendril-wise
Creep to as vines;—for which she crept to thee?
IV
But thou, Bright Grace, defied and spelless, tornBy mortal pangs, to inmost godhead slain
From quiver thou wert wont to fill, what scorn
Shall make a fair corpse of thy living pain,
And shroud it as for burial? Be bold
To hide the haughty shame that ages thee,
To close with tomblike lips the sobbing breath;
Make marble the pale cheek; imperially
Bear the dread sickness and the shuddering cold—
All those immortal limbs can learn of death.
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THE SONG OF APHRODÎTÊ.
I
In his first bright slumber I paused beside him,My bosom heaved over him in his sleep,
And longing to kiss him, to clasp and keep,
I said in my pride, “Let the dark queen hide him,
Let her keep him safe from the heart he will slay.”
But still in my bosom the sweet child lay;
I felt my glad arms round his warm limbs close
In sleep that to happy dream entices;
And his breath came sweet as the clove-pink spices
To the languorous rose.
II
To the dark Queen of Hades repentant I hasted;The boy was rained o'er by her fast-raining tears;
His rich beauty lay, a dropt flower from the years
Of her girlhood amid the gay fields, ere she wasted
In the dark world Aïdōneus swayed. “As the bloom
Of the bright poppied path where I found my dread doom
Glows the radiant child thou hast bidden me nurse.
I am motherless now, and he makes me a mother;
Oh, take, if you take him from me, to another
Persephonê's curse.”
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III
I sought the Great Father; his suppliant everHe listens benignant, benignantly calms,
And I bade him unprison the boy from the arms
That held him in darkness: “Adônis will never
Be thine, save in passion of joy half-possest:
Four months in the mid underworld must he rest;
Four months, if it list him, his golden-tressed hair
Shall lie on the pillow thy heart-throb makes heaving;
Four months he shall be the lone hunter, love-leaving
For wild forest lair.”
IV
As a pale flower filmed by the darkness that faded,Looked the wan cheek, dead with the dead world's hush;
But with summer of kisses I brought the blush;
Then soft from the luminous roses I shaded
My o'er-dazzled eyes, he in turn would desire;
And their sapphire-deep dream of the dropt lids require
With the tremulous claim of his lips' wooing breath,
Till I lifted them laughing, and bade him forsake me
For forest and freedom. He sware, “None shall take me
Save she who tends Death.”
V
Yet sometimes he broke from the gladness that girt him,For he loved the wild chase, and I could not restrain,
Who trembled lest Artemis, angered, should hurt him.
Too cold for his beauty, too proud for my pain,
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I left the white lips, to drink deep of the wound,
Cold to cold, corpse to corpse, with my dead love to lie:
The doom with the deathless ones lonely to languish
Brought something like age to my heart; but, oh anguish,
The gods love, nor die!
VI
“Dost thou cry for the bitter-sweet lot of a mortal,Who heavest the heart-sigh with heavenly breath?
Go, drink, thou divine one, the deep springs of death;
Let thy broken desire faint by Hadês' dark portal,”
So doomed the dread Father, “and thou wilt learn all:—
Death is but a loss for renewal, a call
To a love beyond answer; the broad sun doth set
The earth for a while of his bright beams bereaving,
Athwart the thick darkness, past cleft and past cleaving,
The dawn to beget.
VII
“A mourner can learn all that death has for telling;Through dark days of winter thy love shall lie dead,
Then wake with the May-breeze his bright queen to wed,
And, till the grapes' purple and pomegranates' swelling,
Shall love as they only can love who must part.
Be helpless, be hopeful; the fluttering heart
The child of my thunder-bound brows may despise;
To thee, by the tremulous lip, the eyes' tender
Blue dimness of tears, I Love's kingdom surrender,
A kingdom of sighs.
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VIII
“The track of the cistus Adônis shall borrow,When thine own lily blooms thou shalt see him return;
Thy tears in anemone clusters shall burn,
The purple for passion, the pale for the sorrow.
The cyclamen fields shall be fair for his tread,
The daphne bloom fragrant to bower round his head;
Watch wistful the curve of the crocus' sheen gold
In aureate wreath round the mountain-snow creeping,
So round thine Adônis still white from death-sleeping
Thy bright arms shall fold.”
IX
So I sing of him, sing of him, sigh for him, sicken,—The swan at my passionate plaint leaves her nest;
So I clasp my soft doves to my sore-craving breast,
And breathe on the dull myrtle-buds till they quicken,
For 'mid their white blossoms once more I am bride!
And, rich in love-pity, to ransom from pride
The bosom love sways not, the hero to arm,
As sad for my tarrying lover I linger,
For joy of his beauty, I weave with bright finger
The cestus of charm.
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THE SONG OF HÊRÔ.
“Quid juvenis, magnum cui versat in ossibus ignem Durus amor?”
Georgics, lib. iii. 258.
I
I wait my love; for me he travels this waste of water,His love nor the dark, nor the sea, nor the sea-wind bars;
But to-night he swims fast through the golden stream,
The glittering path of the mid moonbeam;
And limbs as white in their lustrous snow
As the snow-white limbs of fair Lêda's daughter,
Dyed deep in the current's girding glow,
Will leap from the waves as from tangled stars.
II
I wait my lover in pride; to them great glory was given,Whom Zeus wooed in golden rain, or wrapped in his flaming breath,
But Danăē shut in her brazen wall,
Or Semêlê scorched by the lightning's fall,
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Like mine, when, the prisoning waters riven,
He drinks the kisses for which full fain
He faces death, and the rear of death.
III
I wait my lover; deep curves through the golden ripples he raises,The moon glows clear on the marble,—Selênê's wake;
On the sacred pathway why will he press,
That the chaste maid loves in her loneliness?
The ocean, hid in forest of night,
Secure for her feet as the woodland mazes
She dreamed, and made, for her own delight,
Sweet tracks that no lover should dare to take.
IV
And yet with glimpse of Leiandros the vision may smite herOf one she slew with her shaft on the ocean verge.
She loved bright Orîon, she loved his song,
As the lonely and silent love, with strong
Life-shattering passion; his sister's fall
Roused the Delian's wrath: let her aim aright her
Keen shaft where the sea was flawed; then call
The bard she had buried beneath the surge.
V
And yet did the fair huntress fall, or but alter in fashion,When her pierced breast taught her the pain of her quiver's dart?
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Who through youth immortal hath ne'er been young?
Nay, pure through noble pain she can heal,
Cleansed from lifeless pride by a sacred passion;
Grand foster-mother of human weal,
She girds, and chastens, and curbs the heart!
VI
But pure to her height, my lover, what hero so perfect hearted?Lo, a king left his sweet girl-guide to wake to her death,
And a prince for a little while found bliss,
Ere he craved the false bride, in Oinônê's kiss.
But the dye of thy faith prints deep the years
Of enrounding time; thy cheek since we parted
Hath been touched alone by impatient tears,
And only glows with my greeting breath.
VII
The gods have stooped to be mortal for love of a mortal maiden,But godlike thou in thy manhood, majestic in might;
By no fragrant curls, by no flashing sign,
Couldst thou grow to my spirit more divine:
For thee there is neither death, nor doom,
For thy heart with the life of love is laden;
From the deep, from the darkness, a double tomb,
I take thee to worship, and warmth, and light.
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VIII
My great queen guards thee, full fond is her thought of the quivering water,That rounded her bosom, that dimpled for sweet desire
The eddies in cheek and chin, with dip
Of steadier curve for the subtle lip
And drooping lids; clear the cradle bays,
And the paths through which to her longing daughter
She leads Leiandros, that lover's praise
May flush her pure altar with flowers and fire.
141
THE HALCYONS.
“And birds of calm sat brooding o'er the charmèd wave.”
I
The storm-wind has heaped cruel snow on the breaker,That sweeps in dread folds the white dead to the shore;
The hoar sea-blast no longer can wake her,
Who waited the dead she waits no more.—
A refluent wave round her bosom whitened,
A wave from the sea brought his cold corpse back;
With meeting of love bitter death-waves have brightened
Their wild track.
II
Dead love to love;—they may not be parted,The chill, pressing waves have no power to part;
And even the whirlwind, careless-hearted,
Feels, as it passes, the throb of a heart.
Death with a ring of wild surf has wed them;
Dead lips to lips they have kissed in Death's sleep;
The scattered foam-flowers and the billows that shed them
Fade and weep.
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III
The deep cold sky is rayed with the dawning;The stars unchain their orbs from the night;
Like a dark flower fading, unloved of morning,
The darkness scatters its leaves in the light.
And white day broods on the white of ocean,
As the sea-bird broods on the ocean-breast,
And the winds lay the waves with a lulling motion
To their rest.
IV
Autumn stays her hands in their woodland reaving,The cornlands stir not one brown-ripe stem;
While sleep's pale hand, still-fingered, is weaving
In the day's loose hair, night's anadem.
Her eyes take its rippling life from the river,
Her hand stills the plains of the heaving grass;
Through the air's deep calm the slight sunbeam-quiver
Dare not pass.
V
Sleep lays her touch on the curling billow,And smooths down its curves to a cradle-bed;
The love that sought love on the ocean-pillow
Can know no death, though white as the dead.
—Two fair birds rock on the waves together,
As close as the rocking blue can bring;
And the waters lift not one soft light feather
From their wing.
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VI
They sprang from their sad cold death, with the springingOf pale sweet dawn from the chill fair foam;
And the sea round their strange new life is clinging,—
The ocean must be their new love's home.
And in winter the waves to rest are charmèd,
The halycon's brood is their bosom's care;
While the wind and tempest by sleep are calmèd
Everywhere.
144
THE SONG OF THE HÊLIADAI.
I
The sun's mighty horses are idle,Fire-nostrilled and lightning-maned;
They champ for the mastering bridle
By which their fierce beauty is reined,
And their splendid power to a god's power chained—
Weep with me, daughters of Hêlios!
II
Their great golden wings are beatenAgainst the prisoning walls,
And their fiery food is uneaten
In the cloud-scooped laden stalls;
Round their bright chafed feet scorn-trampled it falls.—
Weep with me, daughters of Hêlios!
III
From their nostrils red streaks are beaming,Meteor-like and intense,
While their lustrous flanks are gleaming,
And they pant with breathings dense
For the blue steep wastelands free of fence.—
Weep with me, daughters of Hêlios!
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IV
Burnished hoofs, fire-edged, ears uplifted,They hear the chariot's sound;
The chariot, like oak-leaves drifted,
Is fulvid;—when they are bound
With blood-gold darkness it shades the ground!—
Weep with me, daughters of Hêlios!
V
Wherefore tremble the haughty creatures,And roll their blue eye-balls wild?
They see not the god's ruling features,
But his lovely mortal child,
Crownless, uncurbing, by pride beguiled.—
Weep with me, daughters of Hêlios!
VI
To the turmoil of wheels echoes waken,Sanguine glow the sky-tracts clear,
For the slight hand the reins hath taken,
And the restive chargers rear;
Their heads feel the strain of human fear.—
Weep with me, daughters of Hêlios!
VII
Then the deathless coursers fly, crashingThe clouds on their ruinous way,
Through hail and rent tempest dashing;
The heaven itself is their prey.—
Oh, dreadful, doomful, pitiless day!
Weep with me, daughters of Hêlios!
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VIII
The sky is lashed by their scathing fire,The mountains are molten heaps,
The land is one blackened funeral pyre,
The wind as the typhoon sweeps;
Yet the struggling form its wild grasp keeps.—
Weep with me, daughters of Hêlios!
IX
Then the pressed purple cloud is rivenBy the lightning's archery;
The bolt towards the boy is driven,
He falls; and the steeds are free
Through the stroke of Immortality!—
Weep with me, daughters of Hêlios!
X
He falls, and the great-breasted oceanWhelms his scorched limbs 'neath the wave,
And softly, with mother-like motion,
She heaps with white foam his grave:
No prayer can win him, no pleading save.—
Weep with me, daughters of Hêlios!
XI
Though he failed in his high endeavour,He thought great thoughts, and his name
Shall nor die, nor be buried ever,
Nor blasted by scornful blame;
A god alone could the sun-steeds tame.—
Sing with me, daughters of Hêlios!
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ERÔS AND PSUCHÊ.
I. The Wonder.
He comes to me—a bliss without a name.
Like a blind flower in the bright sun I bask
Till the warm mystery fills my inmost frame.
Like a blind flower in the bright sun I bask
Till the warm mystery fills my inmost frame.
Till I am mirrored sunlight, and the mask
Of this fair body for a while doth seem
Mastered by some diviner self. To ask
Of this fair body for a while doth seem
Mastered by some diviner self. To ask
For open vision of the heavenly dream,
For sight of this wild gladness at my heart,
For glory of the eyes whose violet beam
For sight of this wild gladness at my heart,
For glory of the eyes whose violet beam
Burns in my soul's hid treasuries, were to part
From secrets that are gifts. Oh, had I missed
The darksome wonder, had I dared to start,
From secrets that are gifts. Oh, had I missed
The darksome wonder, had I dared to start,
When, trembling, from the rubied lips that kissed,
I learnt the glowing eyes' deep amethyst!
I learnt the glowing eyes' deep amethyst!
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But mine I hid, of the great flame afraid
That breathed on me, as of the lightning's fire,
When its keen radiance round my bosom played.
That breathed on me, as of the lightning's fire,
When its keen radiance round my bosom played.
Sweeter that moment of illumed desire,
That broidered darkness, that love-limnèd guess,
Than were thy brow's clear majesty to tire
That broidered darkness, that love-limnèd guess,
Than were thy brow's clear majesty to tire
My memory with its fixèd loveliness.
Now the winged Iris in her transient grace
Gives me the fleeting image to express
Now the winged Iris in her transient grace
Gives me the fleeting image to express
The aye-illuding charm, the godlike face,
Dimly divined through dreams that grow more fair;
While down of dovelike plumes meseems I trace
Dimly divined through dreams that grow more fair;
While down of dovelike plumes meseems I trace
When my arms ply with amorous touch the air
For the rich freight that darkling it will bear.
For the rich freight that darkling it will bear.
II. The Unrest.
Sweet, I must see thee, for the dream doth fade,
My morning dream of thy lost loveliness,
When in mine arms thy living beauty laid,
My morning dream of thy lost loveliness,
When in mine arms thy living beauty laid,
Pricks my keen sense more passionate to guess
How glows the jewel sheathing night doth hide.—
Are the curls gold my wandering fingers press?
How glows the jewel sheathing night doth hide.—
Are the curls gold my wandering fingers press?
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Do the smiles break in dimples when I chide
Caressingly, and with soft touch entreat?
Thou hast enriched me with thy voice to guide
Caressingly, and with soft touch entreat?
Thou hast enriched me with thy voice to guide
My spirit to the gaze, divinely sweet,
Where Love's mute lyre makes music.—Pityingly,
Dreading a rapture for my soul unmeet,
Where Love's mute lyre makes music.—Pityingly,
Dreading a rapture for my soul unmeet,
Dost thou the bliss of thy great boon deny?
Nay, I must gaze in worship, or I die!
Nay, I must gaze in worship, or I die!
III. The Watching.
I stand beside thee, tremblingly upborne
The lamp that pales before thy lustrous brow,
Like moonbeams blanching in the fervid morn.
The lamp that pales before thy lustrous brow,
Like moonbeams blanching in the fervid morn.
Nay, thine own beauty as in awe doth bow,
Quelled by the majesty of slumbering might
Sovereign within thee. Shouldst thou waken now
Quelled by the majesty of slumbering might
Sovereign within thee. Shouldst thou waken now
Thou wouldst not need to slay me; for the light
Of those consuming eyes would be my doom;
Yet my hot tears, down-raining for delight
Of those consuming eyes would be my doom;
Yet my hot tears, down-raining for delight
Of thee, thy perfect body, bowered in bloom
Of the closed pinion's tender coverlet,
Will surely stir thee.—O my heart, make room
Of the closed pinion's tender coverlet,
Will surely stir thee.—O my heart, make room
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For great desires! He doth not chide thee yet;
In its sweet guerdon thy vast sin forget.
In its sweet guerdon thy vast sin forget.
Fairer than seemed Endymiôn in his sleep,
When Cynthia through his slumbers shot desire,
Thou seemest; her sweet state she could not keep,
When Cynthia through his slumbers shot desire,
Thou seemest; her sweet state she could not keep,
Lured to her shepherd boy.—Love lights the pyre
Of pride, then leaps to heaven; yea, at sight
Of simple girlhood, Erôs feels the fire
Of pride, then leaps to heaven; yea, at sight
Of simple girlhood, Erôs feels the fire
That frees him, captive to the prisoning white
Of Aphrodîtê's arms. Imperial child,—
Peerless among the immortals!—for delight
Of Aphrodîtê's arms. Imperial child,—
Peerless among the immortals!—for delight
Didst thou seek Psuchê's bosom? Could the wild
Young wings so close? And have I cradled thee
Who art the great gods' conqueror? Defiled
Young wings so close? And have I cradled thee
Who art the great gods' conqueror? Defiled
By the pure past's reproach, I wait to see
Thy trustful eyes wake to my treachery.
Thy trustful eyes wake to my treachery.
Not by thy mother's myrtle in the hair,
Not by the apple's scent, or lily's shine
Round opal temples, nor by wings that wear
Not by the apple's scent, or lily's shine
Round opal temples, nor by wings that wear
Eôs' faint saffron tinct, do I divine
Thine awful majesty; it brands its name
In my revealèd sin. I am not thine
Thine awful majesty; it brands its name
In my revealèd sin. I am not thine
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But for thy vengeance, that my very shame
May give proud pleasure to thy wrath; to feel
All thou wouldst have me suffer, bear the blame
May give proud pleasure to thy wrath; to feel
All thou wouldst have me suffer, bear the blame
Of lips, whose hurt no other praise can heal,
Is the one hope of my poor loyalty.
Torture me, and my patience shall reveal
Is the one hope of my poor loyalty.
Torture me, and my patience shall reveal
How my dross-mingled gold is thine to try
Till the fire slake. I will not ask to die.
Till the fire slake. I will not ask to die.
IV. The Awakening.
He stirred.—I stooped to kiss him as he lay,
To bid farewell, lest I should find him fled,
Hurled by a spurning ire, ere I could pray
To bid farewell, lest I should find him fled,
Hurled by a spurning ire, ere I could pray
That he would pour his anger on my head.
So stooping, dizzy with great love's restraint,
The lamp shook in my loosened hand, and shed
So stooping, dizzy with great love's restraint,
The lamp shook in my loosened hand, and shed
One drop on the bright shoulder. I grew faint
As the swift lids unfolded, and the clear
Sweet eyes looked straight at my soul's hidden taint,
As the swift lids unfolded, and the clear
Sweet eyes looked straight at my soul's hidden taint,
Then slowly darkened; yet I could not moan,
Awed by the still face, withering in the blast
Of a great hope's extinction. “Thou hast shown
Awed by the still face, withering in the blast
Of a great hope's extinction. “Thou hast shown
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“To me a woman's frailty, thou who hast
Strength for immortal spousals.” So he passed.
Strength for immortal spousals.” So he passed.
V. The Trial.
If he had cursed me, I had lived to drink
Even to the dregs my bitter punishment;
Being deserted merely, to the brink
Even to the dregs my bitter punishment;
Being deserted merely, to the brink
Of the sweet river's cooling waves I went
To bathe my heavy eyes, and soothe the cheek
Fresh tears were ever staining. Then I leant
To bathe my heavy eyes, and soothe the cheek
Fresh tears were ever staining. Then I leant
Over the rippling stream, and let it streak
My drooping hair, and round my bosom close.
“If I should drown myself, he would not seek
My drooping hair, and round my bosom close.
“If I should drown myself, he would not seek
Even my corpse for burial.” I uprose
And leapt in the mid current, proud to gain
The pitiless oblivion he chose
And leapt in the mid current, proud to gain
The pitiless oblivion he chose
For my poor memory, in his god's disdain
Of the slight heart he coveted in vain.
Of the slight heart he coveted in vain.
But me the heaving water safely bore,
As some strong arm were pillow to my head;
Nor loosed its chafing waves, till, on the shore,
As some strong arm were pillow to my head;
Nor loosed its chafing waves, till, on the shore,
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As softly o'er the golden sand they spread,
The creeping ripples laid me; and a dim
Gladness came o'er me that I was not dead,
The creeping ripples laid me; and a dim
Gladness came o'er me that I was not dead,
Being still beloved. And from the river's brim
Meseemed I tracked a rugged path, until
It broke among the jutting crags that rim
Meseemed I tracked a rugged path, until
It broke among the jutting crags that rim
The far-uplifted azure. I lay still,
Counting the steps to the lone summit gray
I felt my feet must traverse to fulfil
Counting the steps to the lone summit gray
I felt my feet must traverse to fulfil
Love's bidding; then I faced the stony way
As pardoned, being prompted to obey.
As pardoned, being prompted to obey.
VI. The Dream.
On the chill mountain-side I lay and wept;
(Oh bitter in the dark to weep alone!)
And to escape my loneliness I slept.
(Oh bitter in the dark to weep alone!)
And to escape my loneliness I slept.
Might I not dream the golden wings were thrown
Around me? Not illusive was the thrill
Of hope; he came to me, as erst, unknown,
Around me? Not illusive was the thrill
Of hope; he came to me, as erst, unknown,
A Presence, not a Vision. I lay still
And quieted my heart, lest it should crave,
Should beat in quick rebellion to the will
And quieted my heart, lest it should crave,
Should beat in quick rebellion to the will
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I would make wholly mine. “Thou must be slave
To Aphrodîtê; till thy beauty flit,
Till thou art marred and humbled, from the wave
To Aphrodîtê; till thy beauty flit,
Till thou art marred and humbled, from the wave
Thou must draw water for her. I have lit
The insufferable wrath with foolish fame
Of thy rare beauty, and she dreams thee smit
The insufferable wrath with foolish fame
Of thy rare beauty, and she dreams thee smit
With pride of rivalry, now thou canst name
Erôs, thine hid delight. With daylight thou
Wilt scan her palace; hie thee to thy shame;
Erôs, thine hid delight. With daylight thou
Wilt scan her palace; hie thee to thy shame;
Suffer the scorn ineffable. Not now
Forbidden, to the scathing lustre bow.”
Forbidden, to the scathing lustre bow.”
VII. The Bondage.
I am her slave, and in the noontide heat
Must bear bright water from the spring that brims
Her shadeless fountains; and the doom is sweet!
Must bear bright water from the spring that brims
Her shadeless fountains; and the doom is sweet!
Still through my weariness the vision swims
Of that unutterable grace—the hair
That sweeps the massive glory of her limbs
Of that unutterable grace—the hair
That sweeps the massive glory of her limbs
Goldening their soft-veined marble; cheeks that wear
Pink of the oleander, when it glows
Athwart the snows of Pindos; and more fair
Pink of the oleander, when it glows
Athwart the snows of Pindos; and more fair
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Than the white doves, that in its soft warmth close
Their wings and nestle, is the glancing breast
Where the Bright Child was pillowed, ere he chose
Their wings and nestle, is the glancing breast
Where the Bright Child was pillowed, ere he chose
To kindle my girl-passion, and give rest
To the desire he quickened. Sweet, more blest
To the desire he quickened. Sweet, more blest
Is Psuchê, longing, desolate, denied,
And loving on simply in love's sweet name,
Than in her untried loyalty, her pride,
And loving on simply in love's sweet name,
Than in her untried loyalty, her pride,
Self-thought, and restless wonder. With the same
Fond tendrils of desire my spirit clings
To thy unseen divineness; yet no claims
Fond tendrils of desire my spirit clings
To thy unseen divineness; yet no claims
Urges, craves no requital, simply flings
Herself in prone submission to the will
Her goal of worship. Proudest pleasure springs
Herself in prone submission to the will
Her goal of worship. Proudest pleasure springs
From the mute trust that calls her to fulfil
Command inexplicable, suffer blight
Of labour, pain, and loneliness, and still
Command inexplicable, suffer blight
Of labour, pain, and loneliness, and still
Find that the only task beyond her might
Were not to worship with a free delight.
Were not to worship with a free delight.
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VIII. The Redemption.
Was it but yesterday that I drew near
The shadeless fount, then paused a little space
To pierce its sunlit depths? The well was clear,
The shadeless fount, then paused a little space
To pierce its sunlit depths? The well was clear,
And mirrored in its surface was the face
My tears remembered, with the smile that he
Ne'er gave me for remembrance. To embrace
My tears remembered, with the smile that he
Ne'er gave me for remembrance. To embrace
That softened reflex I stooped tremblingly,
Kissing the stream, and ever downward drew
In awe of the Great Presence that must be
Kissing the stream, and ever downward drew
In awe of the Great Presence that must be
Guardian to that pale image. But he threw
Round me his wings' warm darkness, and in shade
Of those dove-feathered plumes, the voice I knew
Round me his wings' warm darkness, and in shade
Of those dove-feathered plumes, the voice I knew
Stole softly. “Sweet, thy tender trust hath made
Thee for my love immortal. I have prayed
Thee for my love immortal. I have prayed
“The inexorable Mother. She, who first
Urged me thy lovely maidenhood to wrong,
Finding me amorous of the thing she cursed,
Urged me thy lovely maidenhood to wrong,
Finding me amorous of the thing she cursed,
“Closed her for-ever-parting lips, in strong
Purpose full vengeance on my head to wreak;
But I, immortal from her bosom, young
Purpose full vengeance on my head to wreak;
But I, immortal from her bosom, young
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“And careless of her anger, sought the cheek
Of fresher flower than Hêbê's. Ah, how sweet
The child-like trust and wonder, and the weak
Of fresher flower than Hêbê's. Ah, how sweet
The child-like trust and wonder, and the weak
“Childish caprice how pitiful! Unmeet
For my great love, I mourned thee as the dead
Are mourned; then she I trembled to entreat
For my great love, I mourned thee as the dead
Are mourned; then she I trembled to entreat
“Yet fled to, parted her proud lips, and said,
‘Psuchê must be my bondmaid, ere she wed
‘Psuchê must be my bondmaid, ere she wed
“‘The boy forgetful that he is my son.
Leave her to me, through toil and punishment
Slowly to teach her the dishonour done
Leave her to me, through toil and punishment
Slowly to teach her the dishonour done
“‘Unto thy love, my beauty; till, content
With harshest usage, she shall only ask
For thee in memories; and in soul be bent
With harshest usage, she shall only ask
For thee in memories; and in soul be bent
“‘To serve my awful queenliness in task
The slave is born to.’ Sweetest bondmaid, thou
Art free. Bright Aphrodîtê bids thee bask
The slave is born to.’ Sweetest bondmaid, thou
Art free. Bright Aphrodîtê bids thee bask
“In love's mid blisses; thou canst bear them now.”
Slowly I felt the glorious wings divide;
Faced the full smile, the lustres of the brow,
Slowly I felt the glorious wings divide;
Faced the full smile, the lustres of the brow,
The amethystine fire; then to his side
I sprang, his peer and his immortal bride.
I sprang, his peer and his immortal bride.
158
APOLLO'S WRITTEN GRIEF.
“------ The blue bells
Of Hyacinth tell Apollo's written grief.”
Prometheus Unbound, Act ii. Scene I.
Of Hyacinth tell Apollo's written grief.”
Prometheus Unbound, Act ii. Scene I.
I
Is it what men call darkness that is heavingOn me its blinding surge? Darkness is lack
Of all I am,—how should I know its track,
Who leave it rearward as the swift keels cleaving
The sea-lands leave behind the severing mark?
Is it what men call death,—that deeper dark
Enwombing earth's frail offspring, that defies,
Faces, and thralls me? Are these tears that rain
Hot torturing dews upon a cheek from stain
As clear, as from the deluge-bearing skies
Scorched Afric's golden plain?
II
Yea, they are tears, hot tears that love hath taught me,Tears passionate as Cytherea's breath,
And I, like her, for dead love's sake, with Death
Will strive; the pale narcissus he hath brought me
159
And it shall be my wrong this bitter shame
Wrought on the rosy sculpture of the gods
Bright manhood's marbled limbs,—wrought on the face
Olumpos matched not.—Thou fair fallen Grace,
Say, what of thee amid the crumbling clods
Still pines for my embrace?
III
Frail aureate opening flower, thou liest faded!Men dream that thou wert smitten by the glow
Of my too perilous love, not by the blow
Of him who rivalled me, and oft upbraided
The fair boy only proud when I caressed;
My Hyakinthos of the ivory breast,
Meet offering for the sun-god the white shrine
Of thy young spirit panting for the light!
My worshipper, my lover, not too bright
Seemed I to thee; thou sufferedst the divine,
Daring the dread delight.
IV
Can none recover thee? Father of healingWas my wise child, and wellnigh conquered Fate,
Till Zeus, in fear of hell depopulate,
Murdered my boy, and bade me, ill concealing
My rebel rage, in servitude fulfil
Seven years, till I could bow me to the will
Of him who watched stark Moira's weaving thread
Awful, and trembled at man's impious hand:—
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For mortals; unassuagèd, by my dead,
I, an immortal, stand.
V
More to me than my son, or bond-slave brother,Great Heraklês, who as the swelling vine
Ripened to godhead; meet for love divine!
Well was it I beheld thee and no other,
On thee heaven's mightiest had swooped in greed,
Thou lovely boy, thou bright-cheeked Ganymede,
Had he beheld thee; but thou wert mine own,
Nor did thy young faith falter from its clear
And passionate devotion. Thy Great Seer
Sovereigned thy life, and thou didst need alone
That he should hold thee dear.
VI
I have been with my worshippers, and often,When with gay pieties the air was blithe,
With the sweet clustered girls, clear-voiced and lithe,
Mingling unseen, have felt my spirit soften:
When from their weary lips the paian fell,
The music of their motions kept the swell
And rhythmic rise of high choralic seas;
And the soothed ear was of rich sound bereft
As rose of rose-leaves, when her heart is cleft
By gentlest gale; and on the feathered breeze
The rosy scent is left.
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VII
Amid the gleaming, lovely group I lingered,Yearning to make the graces sybilline,
Yearning in maiden stronghold to enshrine
My deep prophetic life; and deftly fingered
Their fallen lutes;—with Syrinx for his reed
Pan breathed not more melodious pain, a need
More piteous,—yet I found not one of these
Whose spirit I could mould, a cup to fill
With my majestic joys, or who could still
Cravings that only utmost faith can ease,
Of meek surrendered will.
VIII
Wooer of mortal girlhood, none would wed me,Yea, by a goddess I have been denied.
Veiled Hestia, when I spake of love, replied
By the great virgin oath; frail Daphnê fled me;
The false Korônis to avenging flame
I gave; her pyre waxed pale beside the shame
Of her, my sacred godhead's sole desire,
Who passioned me to bride her with the wild
Fire of my burning lips;—recreant, reviled,
Mourned still in secret pulses of my lyre,
Lost Ilium's museful child.
IX
I saw her first, laid in my shrine for sleeping,The arched lids open in divinest dream,
162
Ruffled her pulses! Subtle serpents creeping
Probed the ears' portals; as their sapient guile
Traversed her spirit's inner haunts, a smile
Owned my gift's potency; so strangely kissed
Procnê's thrill-noted pang, the ecstasy
Of jubilant cicalas, even the sigh
Of tremulous low grasses she could list,
Silence' most dainty cry!
X
So grew she wise through years of happy listening,Still-lipped, and loving, and serenely gay,
And once again in womanhood she lay
Athwart my temple-steps; the noon was glistening,
But like a flower she drank the light; her vest
Left bare the pure young limbs, the brighter breast
Than my swans' plumes at sun-kiss, and the glow
Of the grand, restful arms—one drawn to serve
As pillow; arching with superber swerve
One, backward flung, fell o'er the hair, and low
Drooped to the finger-curve.
XI
My priestess! not like Pythia when I tore herWith devastating blast, and left her dead,
Warm from my lips the breeze prophetic spread,
Warm from my wooing lips it stole to store her
With the wide world's futurity: she woke;
Slowly the blue eyes opened, and there broke
163
Immitigable splendours! Quivering light
Leapt from the spirit's sluices, till its might
Swelled, like the gathering music of the lyre
To the full paian's height.
XII
Meek as a mortal suppliant I besought her,Gave her sweet vows, and made myself a child,
Lest the frail-fashioned girl should swoon 'neath wild
Ardours of burning godhead, and I brought her
To bow her burdened spirit to my will
In absolute surrender; to fulfil
My bidding, as a wavering ship her helm.
On my restraining strength her heart she stayed:
A nation's doom on her young lips I laid;
But I had given her soul too vast a realm,—
She trembled, disobeyed.
XIII
Then how I mocked and mightily derided,And vexed her ears with a world's maniac scorn,
Leaving her wise, prophetic, and forlorn,
Still to make plain the path and none be guided,
To warn her Ilium till its walls should ring
With groaning of the brazen horse, to cling
To cold Athênê, ravished from her feet
By impious Oileus; then to satisfy
164
On the foul stench of blood; and last—oh, sweet!—
Sing her own dirge, and die.
XIV
I as an athlete mightily have brokenAll wrestling will, and given worse than blows
To all who traitored their high selves; when rose
Oriôn from the wave, with lover's token
Flushing the white thoughts of high Artemis,
I swore the floating thing her shaft would miss
And roused her to unerring aim. Beneath
My feet I trampled all infirming power,
Sickness, and hampering pain! Nurse-fed an hour
Childhood's soft swathes I burst, as from its sheath
Bursts the exultant flower!
XV
If aught rose emulously fair I slew it;When Lêtô passioned that her twain should be
Peered with the clustered wealth of Niobê,
Straightway I swore the impious one should rue it
And bent my bow; no arrow sped in vain!
With satiate wrath by the fair heap of slain
I paused; they were a lovely wreath of dead;—
Sweet-bosomed girls, and boys of snowy limb,
Still as the dawnlight, in the dawnlight dim,
While o'er their ruined forms her sorrow spread
As streams that overbrim.
165
XVI
Did I not sway all heaven with my lyreing,And set high sunlight on the Father's brow?
Harmonia smiled; Arês, forgetful how
His white queen fondled him with love-desiring,
Glowed in the mighty music; Hêrê's pride
Flashed not from the great softened orbs; with wide
Rose-lips child Hêbê listened; the clear eyes
Of dread Athênê kept their dawn, then slow
The plumed helm o'er the aigis drooped; and lo,
Me, a mere Breath, a wanton boy defies,
Dealing the guileful blow!
XVII
Weak-armed and envious dare he so dissemble,Speeding my quoit with an impetuous breeze?
Did I not use him serf-wise, over-seas
To sweep, his swift subservient wings a-tremble,
The men I plucked from Pylos to my shrine?
Driven by his pressing plumes to be divine
Priests peopled my Parnassian clefts, the bleat
Rose of ungrazing flocks. This violet stain
Dims a world's worship; and it were but vain,
For my lost love, he was so mortal sweet,
A god's fair life to gain.
XVIII
Lost! and I lost him, I, Divine DefenderOf my most sacred things, whose wrath one day
166
By my unguarded shrine. Priests shall surrender
My fame, give room for victory to be won
In the stilled laurels, 'neath the blazing sun,
My ungripped weapons on the temple-stair,
Within, the throne of Midas, Kroisos' bowl,
The glittering lion; ere the thunder roll
Silence shall muster fearfully,—the air
Leashed to my vengeful soul.
XIX
Then, as the ravening hand is stretched for gainingOf my fair gifts, rises the sudden shock
Of winds, loosed forests, my rent Delphian rock
Dumbing the thunder-roar with chasm-straining,
Ere it can hurl its cloven crests as snow
On the pale host. No Persian bends his bow;
But all as sacrificial sheep shall die
Quivering and quiet. Then an evening breeze
Shall clear the heavens and sway the laurel trees
To swell through murmuring grove the lyric cry
Of choral minstrelsies.
XX
Nay, but mine ears are by the praise upbraidedOf Delphian throng faming my guardian might;
For him I shielded not, my sole Delight,
His dimmed blue eyes groped piteous, ere they faded,
Found me, and flashed the memory-branding fire
Of wrathful love.—It was a holy ire!—
167
About my feet, bearing the purple dye
Of his dropt blood, shall bear the charact'ry
Of my vast woe; and I will print my cries
On the dark leaves—Αιαι..
XXI
And I for him, when the young earth doth cast herFrail flowers, low-drooping in the summer glow,
Three days will consecrate to my great woe;
Yea, and for him, I, of men's lips the master,
Will teach them the corpse-stiffness; there shall come
A day ungarlanded, unfeasting, dumb,
On either side the feast's mid-day, the chief,
When men shall think of death, that mighty wrong
To youth, to sunshine, cithara, and song,
And learn how the great sun-god in his grief
Stooped the still shades among.
XXII
Shall I not gain all soul-realm, sorrow-gaining?Full near to tears must lie the heart whose reach,
Seer, sybil, sacred threnodist shall teach,
Thrilling each Muse's trembling child and paining
To speech, or mightening into prophecy,
Or melting into love. Must I not die,
Who heal, deliver, ransom, and appal?
Me, Themis-nurtured, men must own in fear,
Plague, and destruction; yet feel ever near
A god, whose lips have made the bitter call
To one who cannot hear.
168
XXIII
He hears not, he is gone, gone past returning,Him on no broidered pasture I shall meet,
Yet the rich purple fragrances my feet
Of flowers that are his life blood. Ne'er did yearning
Of the deep heart die victorless.—The field
Dêmêtêr cursed, starving great Zeus to yield
To her own terms;—the child, the gracious child,
For whom her breasts grew milky, proper food
For the maternal heart-fast. Her fell mood
Moved heaven, and Hadês of his bride beguiled
By the winged herald wooed.
XXIV
Oh, bitter pain that all men cherish passes!They chafe, nor the gods' kindly thought discern
Through transitory things to bring return.
With the fine green of the year's tender grasses
Hope comes, because they withered in the heat;
But can he come again, my mortal-sweet,
To his immortal lover? Lo, mine eyes
Have gotten tears for him, and through their gloom
Can see but dimly how the belled flowers bloom
Even where he faded:—a blue heaven lies
O'er my beloved's tomb.
XXV
For ever and for ever are they tokenOf Love immortal, wed to mortal woe;
169
In my god's breast, how human hearts are broken,
And from unfathomable pain can feed
Men's lips with eloquence, till every need,
Passion, despair, its imaged voice shall gain;
Then will I compass them with dream, and teach
That which will ravage inwardly, till speech,
Passing through strong child-labour, shall attain
To the prophetic reach.
XXVI
And I will guide men's thoughts, and bid them stumble,Build the fair tower, with earthquake rent appal,
Train the dull ear to music's ordered fall,
Then awe with surge of chaos, and make humble,
That men may learn to listen deep what breath
May never utter. Consecrate to Death
Is light, and life, and lyre, for thou didst die,
O Hyakinthos, and thy sun-god doom!
Apollo's children now must seek the tomb
To do him service, and his dark Αιαι,
Sad the sweet spring-flowers' bloom.
XXVII
Can the dark conquer thus? By the day's liftingOf cumbrous cloud; the orient crystal clear,—
By the lute's call that even the dead must hear
And wander lifewards; by the arrows, rifting
The thunder-rocks of heaven, it cannot be!
This hindering of the eyes, obscurity
170
Gives the chill odour, and the corpse-scent sweet,
Has yet his waiting conqueror to meet:
The aureate brow burns for the lustrous bay,
Blazoning dull Death's defeat.
XXVIII
The coilèd dark shall feel the unravelling splendour:—Did not a quickened slime-bed's loathly den
Foul my Parnassian clefts, and ravin men,
Ere my loosed shaft, in impotent surrender
Laid him, the master-victim of my bow?
The vile thing rotted in the scorching glow;
And men breathed freely.—My belovèd Land,
Land I have lorded with delivering might,
And compassed with divineness, as with light,
One foe remains. Your victor god shall stand
Fronting the great slain night.
171
THE WORKSHOP UNDER AETNA.
“Quotiens Cyclopum effervere in agros
Vidimus undantem ruptis fornacibus Aetnam,
Flammarumque globos liquefactaque volvere saxa!”
Vidimus undantem ruptis fornacibus Aetnam,
Flammarumque globos liquefactaque volvere saxa!”
I
They toil with their huge heaving shoulders,As massive as rock-riven boulders;
Like strings of the Mêlian's harp
Their sinews are chorded: with sharp
II
Wrench of iron their fingers are twisted;Each muscle in toil is enlisted,
And like rocks, flesh-knit, are their thighs.
The sound of the chain in their sighs
III
Reveals them fierce captives unwilling,Some strange, awful service fulfilling;
Vulcanian labour divine
'Mid the mountain-roots of their mine.
172
IV
Flames lurid or bronze-bright are lappingThe ambient dark, and are flapping
Against the stale, seasonless air,
Ensanguining night everywhere.
V
Fierce, tawny forges roar lion-like,Dull-sounding hammers the iron strike,
And beat the auriferous block,
Till earth shakes aghast at the shock;
VI
And pale man looks up to the mountain,One luminous fire-spraying fountain;
Feels the air grow pond'rous and still,
Sees the loos'ning vines on the hill.
VII
Still labour those forms, rest forbidden,In forge-stricken darkness deep hidden;
Blood-brown in the rubicund glare
Glow limbs Ethiopic and bare,
VIII
Their ruddy right hands, wide and wielding,No instant to idleness yielding;
A red sun their one-circled sight,
Their craggy brows seaming with light.
173
IX
Their bent heads, gigantic and solemn,Above the dun neck's rounded column
With locks heavy-capitalled,—locks
Aglow from the rutilant rocks.
X
They are forging the Father's lightning,With flame the dull metal brightening;
And their sweat feeds as oil the blaze,
While the levin of wrath they raise,
XI
Till the softened gold can be woven,The shafts of the lightning cloven,
Fang'd with Death, and quivered for clasp
Of the god's omnipotent grasp.
XII
Man too has a labour Titanic,'Neath Aetnean crater volcanic;
Foredoomed 'mid reverberate strife
To work for a bright higher life.
XIII
The furnace of passion must heat it,And blows of strong suffering beat it
To the form a god's hands require,
To mould of the Master's desire.
174
XIV
This life which we hate, or we cherish,Shall live, while in darkness we perish
'Neath the roots of the mountain mass,
Which that forged light alone may pass.
XV
This Stygian dark seems so hollow;Our bright work we never may follow.
If we love, we go with it too;
As the Titans their spirit threw
XVI
To the lightning-shaft. Through surrenderOf strength rose the keen, puissant splendour,
Begot in the cramped, crippled form,
The fetterless life of the storm!
175
THE FLOWER-SUN.
I
Look on me, my great god, look goldenly!Let my fired maidenhood fold to a flower
With glittering disk where thy bent face can bower
A reflex of thy purple majesty
In the unmitigated heavens: I see
And passion to repeat thy perilous blaze
Athwart my sun-dusked cirque and dazzling rays
Of pointed petal; in the swarthening heat
Of thy mid-orb that flaringly affrays
I bask, a brimming flower-sun at thy feet.
II
Look on me, my great god, look goldenly!Cool-leaved the roses' blushes: to the brink
Of my sun-seething cup I crave to drink
Thy flame of life; no fruit so radiantly
Ripens in thy caress, though scarlet be
The pomegranate's sun-buried seeds, and grand
The gourd's globed glory; none like me is tanned
To Ethiop dusk by thy continuous glare.
I am dark with thee, dreading not to stand
Blazoning thy beams, when the mid heaven is bare.
176
III
Look on me, my great god, look goldenly!Once, oh, how golden-gentle was thy face,
When thy right hand reined back thy steeds for grace
Of my half-lifted brow; the other, free,
Thou didst bend over me, and tenderly
Didst round it cupwise to uplift my chin,
And clasp my cheeks my trembling mouth to win
For imprint of thy spirit-piercing kiss:
Then did thy mighty rule in me begin
Straitening to senseless loyalty my bliss.
IV
Look on me, my great god, look goldenlyThough thou beat on me with a bitter scorn,
With strokes that if my frail rose-flesh were worn
Would blast it, I can bear thy cruelty,
Bear anything, so like Leucothoê
I lie not a corpse-exile from thy light:
My petals close not from thee for the night;
Patient in starry solitude, in wide
Weariless golden watch, they wait the bright
Heave of the heavens in the morning-tide.
V
Look on me, my great god, look goldenlyOn thy clear-mirrored self: men think I pine,
Who mellow, burnish, revel in thy shine;
While thou, sad Wooer, looking down must see
Thy white dead Bride, and water fragrantly
177
Ravish deserted Klútĭa with thy glow,
Turn thy dimmed gaze where thy Leucothoê lies;
She was warm-breathing when they laid her low
In virginal close chamber from thine eyes.
VI
Look on me, thou great god, look goldenly!Oh, joy to think she feels thee not, nor sees!
I knew not they would bury her: to ease
My heart, where passion blazed funereally
Over dead rapture, “Shall Leucothoê be,
Father,” I urged, “by Phoibos' love beguiled?”
Then fled from memory of the tender child
As I last saw her shrinking from thy kiss
In a soft timorous bashfulness: they piled
Rough earth on that young cheek, nor wrought amiss!
VII
Look on me, my great god, look goldenly!Blur not thy beams; thou must not sport with death
Or touch the sweet dead creature with thy breath,
She may still pleasure thee—a balmy tree
Yield precious frankincense perpetually
As incense for thine altars: that fair doom
I envy not; so only I may bloom
The image of the heaven's throbbing flower,
Drop thou sweet odours on Leucothoê's tomb
On Klútĭa thy consuming lustre shower.
178
ERÔS AND ANTERÔS.
Erôs in pity smiled across the tearsUnloved Ianthê shed upon a breast
Their limpid dew in laving did not stain;
And comforted the child with vow to wound
With his keen arrow the unriven heart
Of Glaukos, who had robbed her of the grace
Of careless maidenhood—the cloudless hours
By fount, by distaff, 'mid the busy troop
Of washers by the stream, or gayer throng
Of those who wrought the peplos for their own
Athênê, and bore joyous to her shrine:
The youth should feel how love doth inly hurt;
Ianthê's woes be lightened. By the god's
Own darts was message brought of her desire
And love-consuming languishment for him
Who ne'er had wooed her: he, implacable,
Took her love coldly as the gods take gifts
Of fore-rejected suppliants; and the girl,
Flushed with love-gendered hate and agony
Of infamous refusal, turned to him
Whom Erebos by Nux had gotten, blind,
Dull-winged, a bearer of the leaden dart,
179
'Mid those who had despised the clean hearth-flame
Of Hestia, or on Aphrodîtê's son
Heaped the insufferable scorn. “Avenge
Me of my wrongs; bring from thine own dark land
All ills that thou canst summon: let him feel
From love is bitterer banishment than light.
Make his life upper Hadês: as the thirst
Of ghostly lips for the forbidden blood
That shall give pulse and passion, be his need
Of the bright joys that impious he hath scorned.
So will I give thee honour, Anterôs,
Scorning thy brother's impotence.” He heard
Who couched in Erebos, and summoned all
The ills of that dark kingdom to his aid:
But the proud heart, unconquerably cold,
Could not be moved; more stubborn to resist
Hatred's mad fury than essay of love.
Ianthê rested unavenged. One day
Flashed bright upon her the effulgent god
Whose perfect puissance she had dared to doubt
Since Glaukos still was pitiless. A kiss
His mother gave him from the pouted lips
Warmer to wake Adônis; and serene
In lustrous loveliness he passed to her
Who thought him vanquished. “I alone can harm,
Thou faithless, thou mistrusting maiden; see,
With smiling face I go to thy revenge;
It shall be mortal.” Glaukos spied the boy
And to his cold cheek rushed the glow: “Of me,
180
Dost thou make double trial; I am proof.
Though thy keen dart hath scarred Zeus' ivory breast,
And drawn from Hêrê's bosom other pain
Than angered her when Heraklês too hard
Pressed for the milky sweets, and being loosed
Let fall the drops brimming his baby lips
On heaven's floor, a lovely lacteate stream!”
“Rubied with clearest ichor, Erôs' shaft
Will never dip in dye of Glaukos' blood.”
So boasted the vain-glorious boy, and urged
His heart to strong contention, emulous
To gain a second victory o'er one
Whose terrors shook Olumpos: but unmoved
Erôs passed by him in a bright disdain,
And of the god's indifference he died.
181
“WHEN THE ROSES WERE ALL WHITE.”
I
Once, his feet amid the roses,When the roses were all white,
Erôs wreathed the faint wan posies
Round Zeus' goblet; but, ere sipping,
'Mid the buds his ankle tripping,
Lavished half the vintage bright
On the roses, that, fresh-dripping,
Flushed the cup for heaven's lipping;
And the god's eyes felt delight
That the roses were not white.
II
But the sweetest of the roses,By that fiery rain unfed,
Coyly still her bosom closes,
Still the crimson vesture misses;
Pale 'mid all the purple this is;
Love, thy burning wine-drops shed!
When her blushes make my blisses,
Glowing answers to my kisses,
In thy triumph be it said
That the roses are all red.
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