 | Along the trail |  |
19
II
21
DEAD
Ah God! how strange the rattling in the street
Comes to me where I lie and the hours pass.
I watch a beetle crawling up the sheet
That covers me, and curiously note
The green and yellow back like mouldy brass,
And cannot even shudder at the thought
How soon the loathsome thing will reach my face.
Comes to me where I lie and the hours pass.
I watch a beetle crawling up the sheet
That covers me, and curiously note
The green and yellow back like mouldy brass,
And cannot even shudder at the thought
How soon the loathsome thing will reach my face.
And by such things alone I measure out
The slow drip of the minutes from Time's eaves.
For if I think of when I lived, I doubt
It was but yesterday I brushed the flowers;
But when I think of what I am, thought leaves
The weak mind dizzy in a waste of hours.
O God, how happy is the man that grieves!
The slow drip of the minutes from Time's eaves.
For if I think of when I lived, I doubt
It was but yesterday I brushed the flowers;
But when I think of what I am, thought leaves
The weak mind dizzy in a waste of hours.
O God, how happy is the man that grieves!
Life? It was life to look upon her face,
And it was life to rage when she was gone;
But this new horror!—In the market-place
A form, in all things like me as I moved
Of old, is marked or hailed of many an one
That takes it for his friend that lived and loved,—
And I laugh voicelessly, a laugh of stone.
And it was life to rage when she was gone;
But this new horror!—In the market-place
A form, in all things like me as I moved
Of old, is marked or hailed of many an one
That takes it for his friend that lived and loved,—
And I laugh voicelessly, a laugh of stone.
For here I lie and neither move nor feel,
And watch that Other pacing up and down
The room, or pausing at his potter's wheel
To turn out cunning vessels from the clay,
Vessels that he will hawk about the town,
And then return to work another day
Frowning; but I,—I neither smile nor frown.
And watch that Other pacing up and down
The room, or pausing at his potter's wheel
22
Vessels that he will hawk about the town,
And then return to work another day
Frowning; but I,—I neither smile nor frown.
I see him take his coat down from the peg
And put it on, and open the white door,
And brush some bit of cobweb from his leg,
And look about the room before he goes;
And then the clock goes ticking as before,
And I am with him and know all he does,
And I am here and tell each clock-tick o'er.
And put it on, and open the white door,
And brush some bit of cobweb from his leg,
And look about the room before he goes;
And then the clock goes ticking as before,
And I am with him and know all he does,
And I am here and tell each clock-tick o'er.
And men are praising him for subtle skill;
And women love him—God alone knows why!
He can have all the world holds at his will—
But this, to be a living soul, and this
No man but I can give him; and I lie
And make no sign, and care not what he is,
And hardly know if this indeed be I.
And women love him—God alone knows why!
He can have all the world holds at his will—
But this, to be a living soul, and this
No man but I can give him; and I lie
And make no sign, and care not what he is,
And hardly know if this indeed be I.
Ah, if she came and bent above me here,
Who lie with straight bands bound about my chin!
Ah, if she came and stood beside this bier
With aureoles as of old upon her hair
To light the darkness of this burial bin!
Should I not rise again and breathe the air
And feel the veins warm that the blood beats in?
Who lie with straight bands bound about my chin!
Ah, if she came and stood beside this bier
With aureoles as of old upon her hair
To light the darkness of this burial bin!
Should I not rise again and breathe the air
And feel the veins warm that the blood beats in?
23
Or should I lie with sinews fixed and shriek
As dead men shriek and make no sound? Should I
See her gray eyes look love and hear her speak,
And be all impotent to burst my shroud?
Will the dead never rise from where they lie?
Or will they never cease to think so loud?
Or is to know and not to be, to die?
As dead men shriek and make no sound? Should I
See her gray eyes look love and hear her speak,
And be all impotent to burst my shroud?
Will the dead never rise from where they lie?
Or will they never cease to think so loud?
Or is to know and not to be, to die?
1890
FORGIVEN
“Despise me if you will. I have done you wrong,—Most grievous wrong,—but not the wrong you think.
You deemed me strongest where I was not strong,
And martyr where a scratch would make me shrink.
Nor, false for truth's sake though I wrest my role,
Am I one half so false as I am true;
And mine own truth has throttled my proud soul
And cast it prostrate at the feet of you.
I am most humble; but my heart cries out
For one last grace from you before we part;
—Though it give pain, to hear my tale throughout
And—not forgive—but understand my heart.
Therefore I bare my soul to you and tell
The utter truth, though speaking so I seem
But a reiterate anguish to compel,
That in condemning you may not condemn
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I told then, act and impulse; I kept not
Aught back that might reveal me to her soul:
And she forgave,—but understood no jot.
1893
LOVE AND CHANGE
One Lover
Forever? Ah, too vain to hope, my sweet,
That love should linger when all else must die!
No prayer can stay his wings, if he will fly,
Nor longing lure him back to find our feet,
Weeping for old disloyalties. The heat
That glows in the uplifting of thine eye,
Dims and grows cold ere yet the day pass by;
Nor ever will the dusk of love repeat
The dawn's pearl-rapture. Ay, it is the doom
Of love that it must watch its own decay.
Petal by petal from the voluptuous bloom
Drops withering, till the last is blown away.
The night mists rise and shroud the bier of day,
And we are left lamenting in the gloom.
That love should linger when all else must die!
No prayer can stay his wings, if he will fly,
Nor longing lure him back to find our feet,
Weeping for old disloyalties. The heat
That glows in the uplifting of thine eye,
Dims and grows cold ere yet the day pass by;
Nor ever will the dusk of love repeat
The dawn's pearl-rapture. Ay, it is the doom
Of love that it must watch its own decay.
Petal by petal from the voluptuous bloom
Drops withering, till the last is blown away.
The night mists rise and shroud the bier of day,
And we are left lamenting in the gloom.
Another Lover
“Love is eternal,” sang I long ago
Of some light love that lasted for a day;
But when that whim of hearts was puffed away,
And other loves that following made as though
They were the very deathless, lost the glow
Youth mimics the divine with, and grew gray,
I said, “It is a dream,—no love will stay.”
Angels have taught me wisdom; now I know,
Though lesser loves, and greater loves, may cease,
Love still endures, knocking at myriad gates
Of beauty,—dawns and call of woodland birds,
Stars, winds, and waters, lilt of luted words
And worshipped women,—till it finds its peace
In the abyss where Godhead loves and waits.
Of some light love that lasted for a day;
But when that whim of hearts was puffed away,
And other loves that following made as though
25
Youth mimics the divine with, and grew gray,
I said, “It is a dream,—no love will stay.”
Angels have taught me wisdom; now I know,
Though lesser loves, and greater loves, may cease,
Love still endures, knocking at myriad gates
Of beauty,—dawns and call of woodland birds,
Stars, winds, and waters, lilt of luted words
And worshipped women,—till it finds its peace
In the abyss where Godhead loves and waits.
A Third Lover
My love for you dies many times a year,
And a new love is monarch in his place.
Love must grow weary of the fairest face;
The fondest heart must fail to hold him near.
For love is born of wonder, kin to fear—
Things grown familiar lose the sweet amaze;
Grown to their measure, love must turn his gaze
To some new splendor, some diviner sphere.
But in the blue night of your endless soul
New stars globe ever as the old are scanned;
Goal where love will, you reach a farther goal,
And the new love is ever love of you.
Love needs a thousand loves, forever new,
And finds them—in the hollow of your hand.
And a new love is monarch in his place.
Love must grow weary of the fairest face;
The fondest heart must fail to hold him near.
For love is born of wonder, kin to fear—
Things grown familiar lose the sweet amaze;
Grown to their measure, love must turn his gaze
To some new splendor, some diviner sphere.
But in the blue night of your endless soul
New stars globe ever as the old are scanned;
Goal where love will, you reach a farther goal,
And the new love is ever love of you.
Love needs a thousand loves, forever new,
And finds them—in the hollow of your hand.
1897
26
LAUNCELOT AND GAWAINE
Two women loved a poet. One was dark,Luxuriant with the beauty of the south,
A heart of fire—and this one he forsook.
The other slender, tall, with wide gray eyes,
Who loved him with a still intensity
That made her heart a shrine—to her he clave,
And he was faithful to her to the end.
And when the poet died, a song was found
Which he had writ, of Launcelot and Gawaine;
And when the women read it, one cried out:
“Where got he Launcelot? Gawaine I know—
He drew that picture from a looking-glass—
Sleek, lying, treacherous, golden-tongued Gawaine!”
The other, smiling, murmured “Launcelot!”
1888
MY LADY'S SOUL
Like some enchanted dweller in the deep,I swim among the grottoes of your soul.
Far, far away the cliffs rise rough and steep;
Far, far above the ruffling billows roll.
Here a new world, unseen of any eye
But mine, unfolds its unfamiliar blooms
In opal calms unuttered to the sky
And tremulous light of phosphorescent glooms.
27
For joy of all that secret beauty blind,
I, merman-like, have little care to stay
In the thin air, but plunge again to find
Those deeps unvisited from which I came,
Whose simplest wonders have not yet a name.
1895
AFTER BUSINESS HOURS
When I sit down with thee at last alone,Shut out the wrangle of the clashing day,
The scrape of petty jars that fret and fray,
The snarl and yelp of brute beasts for a bone;
When thou and I sit down at last alone,
And through the dusk of rooms divinely gray
Spirit to spirit finds its voiceless way,
As tone melts meeting in accordant tone,—
Oh, then our souls, far in the vast of sky,
Look from a tower, too high for sound of strife
Or any violation of the town,
Where the great vacant winds of God go by,
And over the huge misshapen city of life
Love pours his silence and his moonlight down.
1898
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THE THOUGHT OF HER
My love for thee doth take me unaware,When most with lesser things my brain is wrought,
As in some nimble interchange of thought
The silence enters, and the talkers stare.
Suddenly I am still and thou art there,
A viewless visitant and unbesought,
And all my thinking trembles into nought
And all my being opens like a prayer.
Thou art the lifted Chalice in my soul,
And I a dim church at the thought of thee;
Brief be the moment, but the mass is said,
The benediction like an aureole
Is on my spirit, and shuddering through me
A rapture like the rapture of the dead.
1898
LOVE IN THE WINDS
When I am standing on a mountain crest,Or hold the tiller in the dashing spray,
My love of you leaps foaming in my breast,
Shouts with the winds and sweeps to their foray;
My heart bounds with the horses of the sea,
And plunges in the wild ride of the night,
Flaunts in the teeth of tempest the large glee
That rides out Fate and welcomes gods to fight.
Ho, love, I laugh aloud for love of you,
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No fretful orchid hothoused from the dew,
But hale and hardy as the highland heather,
Rejoicing in the wind that stings and thrills,
Comrade of ocean, playmate of the hills.
1898
TWO AND FATE
The ship we ride the world in sniffs the storm,And throws its head up to the hurricane,
Quivering like a war-horse when ranks form
With scream of bugles and the shout of men,
Neighs to the challenge of the thunderbolt,
And charges in the squadrons of the surge,
Sabring its way with fury of revolt
And lashed with exaltation as a scourge!
Who would not rather founder in the fight
Than not have known the glory of the fray?
Ay, to go down in armor and in might,
With our last breath to dominate dismay,
To sink amid the mad sea's clashing spears
And with the cry of bugles in our ears!
1898
FAITH AND FATE
To horse, my dear, and out into the night!Stirrup and saddle and away, away!
Into the darkness, into the affright,
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Past bridge and town missiled with flying feet,
Into the wilderness our riding thrills;
The gallop echoes through the startled street,
And shrieks like laughter in the demoned hills;
Things come to meet us with fantastic frown,
And hurry past with maniac despair;
Death from the stars looks ominously down—
Ho, ho, the dauntless riding that we dare!
East, to the dawn, or west or south or north!
Loose rein upon the neck of Fate—and forth!
1898
CHANSONS DE ROSEMONDE
I
The dawn is lonely for the sun,
And chill and drear;
The one lone star is pale and wan
As one in fear.
But when day strides across the hills,
The warm blood rushes through
The bared soft bosom of the blue
And all the glad east thrills.
And chill and drear;
The one lone star is pale and wan
As one in fear.
But when day strides across the hills,
The warm blood rushes through
The bared soft bosom of the blue
And all the glad east thrills.
Oh, come, my King! The hounds of joy
Are waiting for thy horn
To chase the doe of heart's desire
Across the heights of morn.
Oh, come, my Sun, and let me know
The rapture of the day!
Oh, come, my love! Oh, come, my love!
Thou art so long away!
Are waiting for thy horn
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Across the heights of morn.
Oh, come, my Sun, and let me know
The rapture of the day!
Oh, come, my love! Oh, come, my love!
Thou art so long away!
II
Love, hold me close to thee—
And kiss me—so—
Dear! ... The green leaves above
Blur in the blue;
The ground reels like a sea! ...
I know, I know
There is but now for love
Between us two.
And kiss me—so—
Dear! ... The green leaves above
Blur in the blue;
The ground reels like a sea! ...
I know, I know
There is but now for love
Between us two.
Death like a wizard holds
Me with his eye;
I cannot strive nor start,
To break the spell! ...
Night smothers in her folds
My passing cry! ...
But hold me to thy heart
And all is well.
Me with his eye;
I cannot strive nor start,
To break the spell! ...
Night smothers in her folds
My passing cry! ...
But hold me to thy heart
And all is well.
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Ah, what if heaven should be
A dream like this,
—Too glad to move,
Too still to laugh or weep,
So thou stand over me,
Bend down and kiss
My lips once—love—
And let me fall asleep!
A dream like this,
—Too glad to move,
Too still to laugh or weep,
So thou stand over me,
Bend down and kiss
My lips once—love—
And let me fall asleep!
1894
A WANDERER
(Reminiscence of an old Scotch song)
East and west and north and south
I range o'er land and sea;
And I bear dead kisses on my mouth,
And dead love wearies me.
I am caught up as a feather
That the winds toss to and fro.
Since we dwell not together,
What care I where I go?
I range o'er land and sea;
And I bear dead kisses on my mouth,
And dead love wearies me.
I am caught up as a feather
That the winds toss to and fro.
Since we dwell not together,
What care I where I go?
North and south and east and west
I drift on alien tides;
The one place where I may not rest
Is that where she abides.
So on through wind and weather!
Afar o'er land and sea!
If we be not together
What matter where we be?
I drift on alien tides;
The one place where I may not rest
Is that where she abides.
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Afar o'er land and sea!
If we be not together
What matter where we be?
1890
THE LOVE OF A BOY—YESTERDAY
No lips nor lutes can let thee know
The joy that lightens through my woe,—
But look in thine own heart, and so
I shall not need to tell thee, love.
Lady of the winsome smile!
Lovesome lady! Gentle lady!
If my heart had any guile,
Thou wouldst make me truthful, love.
The joy that lightens through my woe,—
But look in thine own heart, and so
I shall not need to tell thee, love.
Lady of the winsome smile!
Lovesome lady! Gentle lady!
If my heart had any guile,
Thou wouldst make me truthful, love.
Though bitter be our luckless lot,
It were more sad if love were not—
And all the rest may be forgot,
But thou wilt not forget me, love—
Lady of the faithful heart!
Loving lady! Loyal lady!
Were I noble as thou art,
No king's sword need knight me, love.
It were more sad if love were not—
And all the rest may be forgot,
But thou wilt not forget me, love—
Lady of the faithful heart!
Loving lady! Loyal lady!
Were I noble as thou art,
No king's sword need knight me, love.
Were I myself a mighty king
With thousands at my beckoning,
My power were but a little thing
To do thee worthy honor, love.
Lady in whose life I live!
Fearless lady! Peerless lady!
If the stars were mine to give
They should be thy necklace, love.
With thousands at my beckoning,
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To do thee worthy honor, love.
Lady in whose life I live!
Fearless lady! Peerless lady!
If the stars were mine to give
They should be thy necklace, love.
1889
THE LOVE OF A BOY—TO-DAY
Heigh-ho! my thoughts are far away;
For wine or books I have no care;
I like to think upon the way
She has of looking very fair.
Oh, work is nought, and play is nought,
And all the livelong day is nought,
There 's nothing much I care to learn
But what her lovely lips have taught.
For wine or books I have no care;
I like to think upon the way
She has of looking very fair.
Oh, work is nought, and play is nought,
And all the livelong day is nought,
There 's nothing much I care to learn
But what her lovely lips have taught.
The campus cannot tempt me out,
The classics cannot keep me in;
The only place I care about
Is where perchance she may have been.
Oh, work is nought, and play is nought,
And all the livelong day is nought;
There 's nothing much I care to find
Except the way she would be sought.
The classics cannot keep me in;
The only place I care about
Is where perchance she may have been.
Oh, work is nought, and play is nought,
And all the livelong day is nought;
There 's nothing much I care to find
Except the way she would be sought.
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The train across the valley screams,
And like a hawk sweeps out of sight;
It bears me to her in my dreams
By day and night, by day and night.
Oh, work is nought, and play is nought,
And all the livelong day is nought;
There 's nothing much I care to be,
If I be only in her thought.
And like a hawk sweeps out of sight;
It bears me to her in my dreams
By day and night, by day and night.
Oh, work is nought, and play is nought,
And all the livelong day is nought;
There 's nothing much I care to be,
If I be only in her thought.
1897
AN OFF-SHORE VILLANELLE
Over the dun depths where the white shark swims,
Waiting his fated prey with hungry eyes,
Swiftly the light skiff skims.
Waiting his fated prey with hungry eyes,
Swiftly the light skiff skims.
The laughing skipper trims
Seaward his course. What recks he that it lies
Over the dun depths where the white shark swims?
Seaward his course. What recks he that it lies
Over the dun depths where the white shark swims?
He shouts for glee in the mad wind's teeth. Fast dims
The land to a low long cloud-line in the skies.
Swiftly the light skiff skims,
The land to a low long cloud-line in the skies.
Swiftly the light skiff skims,
Brushing the foaming brims
Of the wave-beakers as in mirth it flies
Over the dun depths where the white shark swims.
Of the wave-beakers as in mirth it flies
Over the dun depths where the white shark swims.
What brings the white girl there, about whose limbs
The wet skirts cling, as stormward, petrel-wise,
Swiftly the light skiff skims?
The wet skirts cling, as stormward, petrel-wise,
Swiftly the light skiff skims?
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The strong sea-devils wreak their cruel whims
In vain. Who heeds the hatred of their cries?
Swiftly the light skiff skims
Over the dun depths where the white shark swims.
In vain. Who heeds the hatred of their cries?
Swiftly the light skiff skims
Over the dun depths where the white shark swims.
1888
TO LESBIA
(From the Latin of Catullus)
Live we, Lesbia, and love!
What though the greybeards disapprove!
Let them wag their toothless jaws!
Who cares a copper for their saws?
What though the greybeards disapprove!
Let them wag their toothless jaws!
Who cares a copper for their saws?
Suns may set and suns may rise,
But when the light of life once dies,
Night that knows not any dawn
Brings eternal slumber on.
But when the light of life once dies,
Night that knows not any dawn
Brings eternal slumber on.
Kisses, kisses, I implore—
A hundred more! a thousand more!
Another thousand—ah, too fleet!—
A hundred!—thousand!—hundred, sweet!
A hundred more! a thousand more!
Another thousand—ah, too fleet!—
A hundred!—thousand!—hundred, sweet!
Let the thousands throng and cumber!
Crush them, crowd them past all number,
Lest some enchanter blight our blisses,
Knowing the number of our kisses.
Crush them, crowd them past all number,
Lest some enchanter blight our blisses,
Knowing the number of our kisses.
1888
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NOCTURNE
White, white I remember her—
White from her forehead to her feet.
The moonlight falling through the pane
Was not so white, was not so sweet.
White from her forehead to her feet.
The moonlight falling through the pane
Was not so white, was not so sweet.
She was a pool of moonlight there
Between the window and the wall,
And the slow minutes bathed in her
And went away beyond recall.
Between the window and the wall,
And the slow minutes bathed in her
And went away beyond recall.
1898
THE TWO LOVERS
The lover of her body said:
“She is more beautiful than night,—
But like the kisses of the dead
Is my despair, and my delight.”
“She is more beautiful than night,—
But like the kisses of the dead
Is my despair, and my delight.”
The lover of her soul replied:
“She is more wonderful than death,—
But bitter as the aching tide
Is all the speech of love she saith.”
“She is more wonderful than death,—
But bitter as the aching tide
Is all the speech of love she saith.”
The lover of her body said:
“To know one secret of her heart,
For all the joy that I have had,
Is past the reach of all my art.”
“To know one secret of her heart,
For all the joy that I have had,
Is past the reach of all my art.”
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The lover of her soul replied:
“The secrets of her heart are mine,—
Save how she lives, a riven bride,
Between the dust and the divine.”
“The secrets of her heart are mine,—
Save how she lives, a riven bride,
Between the dust and the divine.”
The lover of her body sware:
“Though she should hate me, wit you well,
Rather than yield one kiss of her
I give my soul to burn in hell.”
“Though she should hate me, wit you well,
Rather than yield one kiss of her
I give my soul to burn in hell.”
The lover of her soul cried out:
“Rather than leave her to your greed,
I would that I were walled about
With death,—and death were death indeed!”
“Rather than leave her to your greed,
I would that I were walled about
With death,—and death were death indeed!”
The lover of her body wept,
And got no good of all his gain,
Knowing that in her heart she kept
The penance of the other's pain.
And got no good of all his gain,
Knowing that in her heart she kept
The penance of the other's pain.
The lover of her soul went mad,
But when he did himself to death,
Despite of all the woe he had,
He smiled as one who vanquisheth.
But when he did himself to death,
Despite of all the woe he had,
He smiled as one who vanquisheth.
1898
APPARITION
(From the French of Mallarmé)
The moon grew sad in heaven. In tears the seraphim,A-dream with bow in fingers, in the calm of dim
39
The glide of white sobs over the corollas blue
—It was the day thy first kiss hallowed and made dumb.
My musing that delights to bring me martyrdom,
Grew wisely drunken with that sad scent of things reft
That, though without regret or aftertaste, is left,
Culling a dream, in him whose heart has culled the dream.
So strayed I on, with eyes on the worn walk a-gleam,
Where in the street and in the evening, out o' the air
Thou cam'st to me, all laughters, sunlight in thy hair.
And I believed I saw the fay with hat of gold
Who o'er spoiled childhood's slumber beautiful, of old
Passed, letting ever from her loosely closing hands
White clusters snow of stars, with odors of far lands.
1895
SUMMER SADNESS
(From the French of Mallarmé)
The sunlight on the sands, fair struggler fallen asleep,
Makes warm a bath of languors in your golden hair,
And, burning away the angry incense that you weep,
Mingles a wanton drink of longings in the air.
Makes warm a bath of languors in your golden hair,
And, burning away the angry incense that you weep,
Mingles a wanton drink of longings in the air.
Immutable in calm, the white flamboyant day
Has made you sigh (alas, my kisses full of qualms!)
“No, we shall never be one mummy, swathed for aye
Under the ancient desert and the happy palms.”
Has made you sigh (alas, my kisses full of qualms!)
“No, we shall never be one mummy, swathed for aye
Under the ancient desert and the happy palms.”
40
This incubus of soul we suffer, in the river
Of your warm hair might plunge and drown without a shiver,
And find that Nothingness that you know nothing of.
And I would taste those tears of rouge beneath your eyes,
To see if they can give the heart you smote with love
The insensibility of stones and summer skies.
Of your warm hair might plunge and drown without a shiver,
And find that Nothingness that you know nothing of.
And I would taste those tears of rouge beneath your eyes,
To see if they can give the heart you smote with love
The insensibility of stones and summer skies.
1895
SONNET
(From the French of Mallarmé)
Sprung from the vase's bulge and leap
Of fragile glass, the neck in gloom
Fades out nor decks with any bloom
The bitter vigil that I keep.
Of fragile glass, the neck in gloom
Fades out nor decks with any bloom
The bitter vigil that I keep.
Oh, I am sure that no lips e'er
(Nay not her lover's nor my mother's)
Have drunk the same dream as another's,
I,—sylph of the cold ceiling there!
(Nay not her lover's nor my mother's)
Have drunk the same dream as another's,
I,—sylph of the cold ceiling there!
The virgin chalice of no wine
But an exhaustless widowhood,—
It suffers, but is not subdued
(Oh, kiss naïve and saturnine!)
To breathe forth aught that might disclose
Within the shadows any rose.
But an exhaustless widowhood,—
It suffers, but is not subdued
(Oh, kiss naïve and saturnine!)
To breathe forth aught that might disclose
Within the shadows any rose.
1895
41
SONNET
(From the French of Mallarmé)
Balmy with years, what silken ply,
Whereo'er the fancy pines and pales,
Is worth the tangled native veils
That in your mirror I descry?
Whereo'er the fancy pines and pales,
Is worth the tangled native veils
That in your mirror I descry?
Uplifted in the avenue,
The tattered banners droop and dream;
For me your naked tresses stream,
To drown my eyes in, glad of you.
The tattered banners droop and dream;
For me your naked tresses stream,
To drown my eyes in, glad of you.
No, never will the lips be sure
Of any taste in aught they take
Unless your princely lover make,
Amid that clustered cynosure,
Die, as a diamond might die,
The Glories and their smothered cry.
Of any taste in aught they take
Unless your princely lover make,
Amid that clustered cynosure,
Die, as a diamond might die,
The Glories and their smothered cry.
1895
HERODIAS
(From the French of Mallarmé)
Herodias
Ay, for myself, myself I flower forlorn!
You amethystine gardens buried deep
In wise abysses dim and bottomless,
You understand; and you, neglected gold,
Keeping your ancient glory unprofaned
Under the dark sleep of primeval earth;
You, stones wherefrom mine eyes, like limpid gems,
Borrow their blaze melodious; and you,
Metals that give the tresses of my youth
A deadly splendor in their massive fall!
You amethystine gardens buried deep
In wise abysses dim and bottomless,
You understand; and you, neglected gold,
42
Under the dark sleep of primeval earth;
You, stones wherefrom mine eyes, like limpid gems,
Borrow their blaze melodious; and you,
Metals that give the tresses of my youth
A deadly splendor in their massive fall!
As for thee, woman born in centuries
Malign for the iniquities that lurk
In caverns Sibylline,—thou who darest to speak
Of one for whom, a mortal, shall from the cup
Of my slipped robes, aroma savage-sweet,
Rise the white shudder of my nakedness,—
Foretell that if the warm blue summer sky
That woman natively unveils before,
See me in my star-shivering shamefastness,
I die!
Malign for the iniquities that lurk
In caverns Sibylline,—thou who darest to speak
Of one for whom, a mortal, shall from the cup
Of my slipped robes, aroma savage-sweet,
Rise the white shudder of my nakedness,—
Foretell that if the warm blue summer sky
That woman natively unveils before,
See me in my star-shivering shamefastness,
I die!
The horror of virginity
Delights me; I would live, amid the fright
The touch of mine own hair can make me know,
To feel, at eve, within my couch withdrawn,
Inviolate reptile, in the useless flesh
Cold scintillation of thy pallid light,
Thou dying, thou consumed with chastity,
White night of icicles and cruel snow!
Delights me; I would live, amid the fright
The touch of mine own hair can make me know,
To feel, at eve, within my couch withdrawn,
Inviolate reptile, in the useless flesh
Cold scintillation of thy pallid light,
Thou dying, thou consumed with chastity,
White night of icicles and cruel snow!
And thy lone sister, O my sister aye,
My dream shall rise to thee; even now so clear,
So wondrous clear the heart that dreamed it so,
I seem alone in my lone native land,
With all about me in idolatry,
Before a glass whose sleeping calm reflects
Herodias, with clear look of diamond ...
Oh, last charm ... yes ... I feel it, I am alone.
My dream shall rise to thee; even now so clear,
43
I seem alone in my lone native land,
With all about me in idolatry,
Before a glass whose sleeping calm reflects
Herodias, with clear look of diamond ...
Oh, last charm ... yes ... I feel it, I am alone.
Nurse
You will die, lady?
Herodias
No, good grandam, no.
Be calm and leave me; pardon this hard heart.
First close the shutters, if you will. The sky
Smiles like a seraph in the pane's profound,
And I detest the beautiful sky.
Be calm and leave me; pardon this hard heart.
First close the shutters, if you will. The sky
Smiles like a seraph in the pane's profound,
And I detest the beautiful sky.
The waves
Cradle themselves, and, yonder, know you not
A country where the inauspicious heaven
Shows Venus' hated aspects, who to-night
Burns in the leafage? Thither will I go.
Light again—call it child's play if you will—
Those tapers where the wax at the light flame
Weeps in the idle gold an alien tear,
And. ...
Cradle themselves, and, yonder, know you not
A country where the inauspicious heaven
Shows Venus' hated aspects, who to-night
Burns in the leafage? Thither will I go.
Light again—call it child's play if you will—
Those tapers where the wax at the light flame
Weeps in the idle gold an alien tear,
And. ...
Nurse
Now?
Herodias
Farewell.
[Exit Nurse.
44
Of my lips!
I await a thing unknown!
Heedless, perhaps, of the mystery and your cries,
Though you fling out the supreme murdered sobs
Of maidenhood that feels amid its dreams
Its chill gems part at last.
1894
| Along the trail | |