 | Poems |  |
236
TO ------
The broken moon lay in the autumn sky,
And I lay at thy feet;
You bent above me; in the silence I
Could hear my wild heart beat.
And I lay at thy feet;
You bent above me; in the silence I
Could hear my wild heart beat.
I spoke; my soul was full of trembling fears
At what my words would bring:
You raised your face, your eyes were full of tears,
As the sweet eyes of Spring.
At what my words would bring:
You raised your face, your eyes were full of tears,
As the sweet eyes of Spring.
You kissed me then, I worshipped at thy feet
Upon the shadowy sod.
Oh, fool, I loved thee! loved thee, lovely cheat!
Better than Fame or God.
Upon the shadowy sod.
Oh, fool, I loved thee! loved thee, lovely cheat!
Better than Fame or God.
237
My soul leaped up beneath thy timid kiss;
What then to me were groans,
Or pain, or death? Earth was a round of bliss,
I seemed to walk on thrones.
What then to me were groans,
Or pain, or death? Earth was a round of bliss,
I seemed to walk on thrones.
And you were with me 'mong the rushing wheels,
'Mid Trade's tumultuous jars;
And where to awe-struck wilds the Night reveals
Her hollow gulfs of stars.
'Mid Trade's tumultuous jars;
And where to awe-struck wilds the Night reveals
Her hollow gulfs of stars.
Before your window, as before a shrine,
I've knelt 'mong dew-soaked flowers,
While distant music-bells, with voices fine,
Measured the midnight hours.
I've knelt 'mong dew-soaked flowers,
While distant music-bells, with voices fine,
Measured the midnight hours.
There came a fearful moment: I was pale,
You wept, and never spoke,
But clung around me as the woodbine frail
Clings, pleading, round an oak.
You wept, and never spoke,
But clung around me as the woodbine frail
Clings, pleading, round an oak.
238
Upon my wrong I steadied up my soul,
And flung thee from myself;
I spurned thy love as 't were a rich man's dole,—
It was my only wealth.
And flung thee from myself;
I spurned thy love as 't were a rich man's dole,—
It was my only wealth.
I spurned thee! I, who loved thee, could have died,
That hoped to call thee “wife,”
And bear thee, gently-smiling at my side,
Through all the shocks of life!
That hoped to call thee “wife,”
And bear thee, gently-smiling at my side,
Through all the shocks of life!
Too late, thy fatal beauty and thy tears,
Thy vows, thy passionate breath;
I'll meet thee not in Life, nor in the spheres
Made visible by Death.
Thy vows, thy passionate breath;
I'll meet thee not in Life, nor in the spheres
Made visible by Death.
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