 | Poems and Sonnets |  |
33
THOU COULDST NOT WATCH WITH ME.
I
Thou couldst not watch with me one little hour—One little hour, sweetheart, only one,
To wait the crimson outleap of the sun,
Was it too much for thee, that icy shower,
And were the roses angry on thy bower,
And did the braids of sweet hair come undone,
And were the waves irreverent to stun
Thy tender lack of man's enduring power?
Thou couldst not watch with me—the flowers are thine
Red in the valleys, fragrant in the meads,
The purple foam-flecked scentless road that leads
Through solitude to sunrise, that is mine;
Thou couldst not watch with me—too weak to twine
Thorn-crowns, lest any dainty finger bleeds;
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II
Thou couldst not watch with me—I would have tornFrom out the raging waters of the years
That are to be, a crown of passionate tears
For a pearl-circlet—splendour of the morn
As yet beneath the ocean had been born
For thee, and round thy forehead as a star
Songs many and triumphant from afar,
The shouts of victors in the times of dawn;
Thou couldst not watch with me—the night behind
Swallows thee up, in front the great strong sea
Salt hands of welcome stretches out to me,
Alone upon a barren beach I find
Myself, eyes open that before were blind,
Thou couldst not wait and shall I wait for thee?
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III
Thou couldst not watch with me—the violets smileTo see the backward fluttering of thy feet,
A peaceful sojourn in the valley, sweet,
Be thine, a homestead in the green defile,
Soft dreams and whispers of the roses, while
I bare my lonely forehead, pale to meet
The increasing future fiery circle's heat,
That rises, red as a volcano-isle;
I laugh to hear the tumult of the breeze—
I weep to see the splendour of the day—
I weep to think that thou art far away
Still treading soberly the moonlight leas,
That toys and trifles have a charm to please
And not the wholesome savour of the spray;
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IV
Sweet spray that splashes fast across my lips—What touches yours? and was it good to choose
The sheltered sunny hill-side, and refuse
The broader rapture of a foot that dips
Deep in the foam, a rosy mouth that sips
The ocean sparkle? round my brows be twined
Fresh seaweed, flowers of green and pink combined,
Do thou the rather with fair finger-tips
Dabble amid the tufted foam of grass,
Make cowslip-balls, and pondering divide
Like Marguerite alone at eventide
The tender daisy for divining glass,
While through these misty barriers I pass
Into the future thou didst deem too wide.
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V
Thou hast chosen rather to turn backward eyesTowards the sunset, and the old sweet tales,
Asking, with smile incredulous, what avails
The fervour of a heart that towards sunrise
The rapid footstep of its pulses plies,
And latest swathings of the dark assails—
I am in love with that white cheek that pales,
I am in love with that fleet foot that flies,
I am in love with glances backward thrown,
Backward or forward they are sweet to me,
Beckons thee onward finger of the sea
In haste to win a daughter for his own,
Beckons thee backward thine untroubled throne,
And quiet creeds to which to bow the knee;
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VI
Beckon thee backward gentle palms uplifted,And amber robes and raiment of the skies,
Hasten thee onward faint awakening cries
From far-off unborn isles and oceans drifted—
Beckons thee backward some strong angel gifted
With sword to sweep the people and devour,
But forward draws thee scent of some sweet flower,
Or delicate shade of sunrise sudden shifted;
Love lies in front; behind, the golden gates,
And sound perpetual of ascending hymns,
And beatific bending of the limbs
Are thine; the wind-kissed crimson clover waits
In front, and as the turbid heaven abates,
From heavenly waves rise clear-cut, starry rims;
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VII
Behind, the moonlight and the shadows longAcross the furrows, and the dark-green trees,
In front, calm eyes of morning and the breeze
That stirs the silent meadows into song,
Behind, the lyres of a saintly throng
And stone indented deep by roughened knees
In front, stern faces and the forms of these
Who bow towards the future, and are strong;
Behind are many gardens and the fruits
That redden lighting up the autumn walls,
Green spaces where the mellow apple falls,
Brown circles shadowed by the rose-tree roots,
Paths planted either side with lilac shoots,
Broad sweeps of gravel, dim-lit cloistered halls;
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VIII
Behind, the voices of a jewelled choir,An ornamented, ring-bedizened band
Whose feet along the aisles of heaven stand,
In front, the flashing of a far-off fire,
Red embers breathed upon by hot desire,
The first announcement of an unfound land,
And here and there a grain of golden sand
The pale adventurers' hard-won glimpse of hire;
Cool seats behind, and shady arbours those,
Chosen of butterflies, beloved by bees—
My lady, what hast thou to do with these
Who art thyself the envy of the rose,
Thou that art delicate to do with snows,
And with the salt-lipped bluster of the breeze?
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IX
Abide in peace, yea, tarry, be at rest—The eventide and sunset unto thee
I leave, but as for others, as for me,
Let the blue waves upon their loftiest crest,
Shot like a sunbeam from that flaming nest,
Bear me triumphant to the further sea;
I will not tarry longer under lee
Of those tall cliffs by cowardice possessed;
Forward I hasten; and I send my song
Across the breakers to the sandy shore
Where thou art standing, and I join the roar,
The melody of giants hurled along,
The chant of many wayfarers that throng
To some fair future, to the past no more.
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