 | An Epic of Women and Other Poems |  |
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THREE FLOWERS OF MODERN GREECE.
I. IANOULA.
O sisters! fairly have ye to rejoice,Who of your weakness wed
With lordly might: yea, now I praise your choice.
As the vine clingeth with fair fingers spread
Over some dark tree-stem,
So on your goodly husbands with no dread
Ye cling, and your fair fingers hold on them.
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For godlike stature, and unchanging brow
Broad as the heaven above,
Yea, for fair mighty looks ye chose, I trow;
And prided you to see, in strivings rough,
Dauntless, their strong arms raised;
And little loth were ye to give your love
To husbands such as these whom all men praised.
Broad as the heaven above,
Yea, for fair mighty looks ye chose, I trow;
And prided you to see, in strivings rough,
Dauntless, their strong arms raised;
And little loth were ye to give your love
To husbands such as these whom all men praised.
But I, indeed, of many wooers, took
None such for boast or stay,
But a pale lover with a sweet sad look:
The smile he wed me with was like some ray
Shining on dust of death;
And Death stood near him on my wedding day,
And blanched his forehead with a fatal breath.
None such for boast or stay,
But a pale lover with a sweet sad look:
The smile he wed me with was like some ray
Shining on dust of death;
And Death stood near him on my wedding day,
And blanched his forehead with a fatal breath.
I loved to feel his weak arm lean on mine,
Yea, and to give him rest,
Bidding his pale and languid face recline
Softly upon my shoulder or my breast,—
Thinking, alas, how sweet
To hold his spirit in my arms so press'd,
That even Death's hard omens I might cheat.
Yea, and to give him rest,
Bidding his pale and languid face recline
Softly upon my shoulder or my breast,—
Thinking, alas, how sweet
To hold his spirit in my arms so press'd,
That even Death's hard omens I might cheat.
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I found his drooping hand the warmest place
Here where my warm heart is;
I said, “Dear love, what thoughts are in thy face?
Has Death as fair a bosom, then, as this?”
—O sisters, do not start !
His cold lips answered with a fainting kiss,
And his hand struck its death chill to my heart.
Here where my warm heart is;
I said, “Dear love, what thoughts are in thy face?
Has Death as fair a bosom, then, as this?”
—O sisters, do not start !
His cold lips answered with a fainting kiss,
And his hand struck its death chill to my heart.
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II. THE FAIR MAID AND THE SUN.
O sons of men, that toil, and love with tears!
Know ye, O sons of men, the maid who dwells
Between the two seas at the Dardanelles?
Her face hath charmed away the change of years,
And all the world is fillèd with her spells.
Between the two seas at the Dardanelles?
Her face hath charmed away the change of years,
And all the world is fillèd with her spells.
No task is hers for ever, but the play
Of setting forth her beauty day by day:
There in your midst, O sons of men that toil,
She laughs the long eternity away.
Of setting forth her beauty day by day:
There in your midst, O sons of men that toil,
She laughs the long eternity away.
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The chains about her neck are many-pearled,
Rare gems are those round which her hair is curled;
She hath all flesh for captive, and for spoil,
The fruit of all the labour of the world.
Rare gems are those round which her hair is curled;
She hath all flesh for captive, and for spoil,
The fruit of all the labour of the world.
She getteth up and maketh herself bare,
And letteth down the wonder of her hair
Before the sun; the heavy golden locks
Fall in the hollow of her shoulders fair.
And letteth down the wonder of her hair
Before the sun; the heavy golden locks
Fall in the hollow of her shoulders fair.
She taketh from the lands, as she may please,
All jewels, and all corals from the seas;
She layeth them in rows upon the rocks;
Laugheth, and bringeth fairer ones than these.
All jewels, and all corals from the seas;
She layeth them in rows upon the rocks;
Laugheth, and bringeth fairer ones than these.
Five are the goodly necklaces that deck
The place between her bosom and her neck;
She passeth many a bracelet o'er her hands;
And, seeing she is white without a fleck,
The place between her bosom and her neck;
She passeth many a bracelet o'er her hands;
And, seeing she is white without a fleck,
And, seeing she is fairer than the tide,
And of a beauty no man can abide—
Proudly she standeth as a goddess stands,
And mocketh at the sun and sea for pride:
And of a beauty no man can abide—
Proudly she standeth as a goddess stands,
And mocketh at the sun and sea for pride:
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And to the sea she saith: “O silver sea,
Fair art thou, but thou art not fair like me;
Open thy white-toothed dimpled mouths and try;
They laugh not the soft way I laugh at thee.”
Fair art thou, but thou art not fair like me;
Open thy white-toothed dimpled mouths and try;
They laugh not the soft way I laugh at thee.”
And to the sun she saith: “O golden sun,
Fierce is thy burning till the day is done;
But thou shalt burn mere grass and leaves, while I
Shall burn the hearts of men up everyone.”
Fierce is thy burning till the day is done;
But thou shalt burn mere grass and leaves, while I
Shall burn the hearts of men up everyone.”
O fair and dreadful is the maid who dwells
Between the two seas at the Dardanelles:
As fair and dread as in the ancient years;
And still the world is fillèd with her spells,
Between the two seas at the Dardanelles:
As fair and dread as in the ancient years;
And still the world is fillèd with her spells,
O sons of men, that toil, and love with tears!
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III. THE CYPRESS.
O ivory bird, that shakest thy wan plumes,
And dost forget the sweetness of thy throat
For a most strange and melancholy note—
That wilt forsake the summer and the blooms
And go to winter in a place remote!
And dost forget the sweetness of thy throat
For a most strange and melancholy note—
That wilt forsake the summer and the blooms
And go to winter in a place remote!
The country where thou goest, Ivory bird!
It hath no pleasant nesting-place for thee;
There are no skies nor flowers fair to see,
Nor any shade at noon—as I have heard—
But the black shadow of the Cypress tree.
It hath no pleasant nesting-place for thee;
There are no skies nor flowers fair to see,
Nor any shade at noon—as I have heard—
But the black shadow of the Cypress tree.
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The Cypress tree, it groweth on a mound;
And sickly are the flowers it hath of May,
Full of a false and subtle spell are they;
For whoso breathes the scent of them around,
He shall not see the happy Summer day.
And sickly are the flowers it hath of May,
Full of a false and subtle spell are they;
For whoso breathes the scent of them around,
He shall not see the happy Summer day.
In June, it bringeth forth, O Ivory bird!
A winter berry, bitter as the sea;
And whoso eateth of it, woe is he—
He shall fall pale, and sleep—as I have heard—
Long in the shadow of the Cypress tree.
A winter berry, bitter as the sea;
And whoso eateth of it, woe is he—
He shall fall pale, and sleep—as I have heard—
Long in the shadow of the Cypress tree.
| An Epic of Women and Other Poems | |