 | Poems and Sonnets |  |
54
WELL?
I
Well? have I stirred the ancient chord at all,Brought any flower of dreamland back to view,
Moved any depth of feeling strange and new,
My lady, by my long-sustainéd call?
When, like a withered autumn leaf let fall,
My book is thrown upon your lap, can I
Discern a deeper colour in your eye,
Have I made memory's waning height more tall?
I have done my work if I have made you weep
In any place, in any made you sigh;
I meant at least one pearly tear to reap,
For very love I meant to make you cry,
You can be cruel, sweetheart, so can I,
Come, hands away from face, and let me peep;
55
II
I meant to make you laugh and weep as well,To let you know that every word you said
Hath found immortal wings, by no means dead,
For each upon a fertile fancy fell,
That on my singing fingers I can tell
Each smile as readily as when 'twas shed,
That you are throned in my creative head,
A queen within a fructifying shell;
And so you can't escape me! down they go,
Sweet looks and sour—which were most for me?
Hair loose and waving, as I loved to see
The ripples of its unimpeded flow,
Or, braided tight, as you would have, you know,
A seemlier more becoming way must be;
56
III
Lips angry, pouting, just as they are now,I thought they would be when you came to this—
No—not the fire, lady—you might miss
The mark, and then the mantelpiece, I vow!
—Sweet sober vision of a thoughtful brow,
And delicate flush I chiefly loved to see,
The rose of night that reddened soft when we
Talked talk bewitching—you remember how?
Well, shall I stop, or is it there again,
The flush I speak of? never mind, my time
Is short, and I am speechless save in rhyme,
The voice emphatic of a poet's pain,
That need be to you but the patter of rain
Outside the glass it vainly longs to climb.
| Poems and Sonnets | |