Benoni :: :: University of Virginia Library

She is not here: but where all flowering rushes
And broad marshmallows the cold sluice embalm,
O'er her white feet the sobbing water gushes,
And chills her into consciousness and calm.

Let her alone: such bath will never hurt her;
This is the place whereto she loves to come
And sit and weep,—poor sorrowful deserter,
For such a nook who wanders from her home!

Unto his rest the red sun is departed—
A brilliant brede is wrought of many dyes
Upon the level gold, where all true-hearted
And stainless spirits cleave with loving eyes;

As ebbing breakers, when the tides are failing,
Slide slowly down around a rocky spar,
Bright foamy clouds into the far west paling,
Lone in the clearness leave a central star.

202

She heeds them not, nor how the hawthorn-hedges
Unfold a richer odour to the May;
Nor o'er the woods how many golden edges
Of dark leaves flicker in the wake of day:

She watches till from that forgotten quarter,
Cloy'd with thick stars or lonely as the grave,
A risen moon shall tremble on the water,
Like new-lit sea-bird dancing on a wave:

‘There is the moon,’ she cries, ‘I love her dearly—
Apostle sweet, to weary mariners
That preaches peace: O, searching late and early,
I find no other face so fair as hers!’

And if we go to comfort and to soothe her,
Where, propp'd in reedy blooms, she doth abide
Whispering and singing softlier and smoother
Than flows the stirless current at her side,—

She from her brow sweeps back the dripping curtain
Of tangled hair, and lifting up her eyes
Scans our near faces with sad looks uncertain,
And thrills a little voice thro' many sighs—

203

‘Ah, there's no calm nor stillness in your breathing—
Dark cloudy glooms about your forehead move—
Hot thoughts and restless in your eyes are seething—
Yours is no face that I could bear to love!’

Let her alone: so beautiful a folly
Hath Reason's charm—yea, and her wisdom too:
Better some loved ideal to cherish wholly,
Than grasp a real love,—but not the true.