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165
SONNETS.
167
BETROTHAL.
My life, till these rich hours of precious gage,
Was like that drowsy palace, vine-o'ergrown,
Where down long shadowy corridors lay strown
The slumbering shapes of seneschal or page,
Where griffon-crested oriels, dim with age,
Viewed briery terraces and lawns unmown,
And where from solemn towers of massive stone
Drooped the dull silks of mouldering bannerage.
Was like that drowsy palace, vine-o'ergrown,
Where down long shadowy corridors lay strown
The slumbering shapes of seneschal or page,
Where griffon-crested oriels, dim with age,
Viewed briery terraces and lawns unmown,
And where from solemn towers of massive stone
Drooped the dull silks of mouldering bannerage.
But now the enchanted halls break sleep's control,
With murmurous change, at fate's predestined stroke,
And while my fluttering pulses throb or fail,
I feel, in some deep silence of my soul,
New strange delight awakening, as awoke
The princess in the immortal fairy-tale!
With murmurous change, at fate's predestined stroke,
And while my fluttering pulses throb or fail,
I feel, in some deep silence of my soul,
New strange delight awakening, as awoke
The princess in the immortal fairy-tale!
168
CROWNS.
It chanced that in the dubious dusk of sleep
I seemed to attain that realm where mortals throw
All gross mortality earthward ere they go
Forth as frail spirits amid death's hollow deep.
All folly and sin was here that life may reap,
All desperate fear and hope, all joy or woe;
And here all precious crowns the exalted know,
Lay gathered in superb tumultuous heap!
I seemed to attain that realm where mortals throw
All gross mortality earthward ere they go
Forth as frail spirits amid death's hollow deep.
All folly and sin was here that life may reap,
All desperate fear and hope, all joy or woe;
And here all precious crowns the exalted know,
Lay gathered in superb tumultuous heap!
Stooping toward these, I marked with silent awe
Their ponderous gold, or gems that beamed like day,
Or lovelier laurel that grand brows had worn;
But hid below the beauty of each, I saw
Continually, in grim recurrent way,
The poignance of one small red-rusted thorn!
Their ponderous gold, or gems that beamed like day,
Or lovelier laurel that grand brows had worn;
But hid below the beauty of each, I saw
Continually, in grim recurrent way,
The poignance of one small red-rusted thorn!
169
SATIETY.
As when among dense-clustering vines we sit,
Low-hidden from breezes round us, birds above,
Even so they bowered themselves with fervid love,
And scorned life's busy murmurs infinite.
Then silently, as though by stealth should flit
The expanded wings of some departing dove,
Did gradual time to either spirit prove
That passion had eternally flown from it.
Low-hidden from breezes round us, birds above,
Even so they bowered themselves with fervid love,
And scorned life's busy murmurs infinite.
Then silently, as though by stealth should flit
The expanded wings of some departing dove,
Did gradual time to either spirit prove
That passion had eternally flown from it.
Shocked by the ruin of their radiant dream,
With shuddering hearts that vaguely can divine
To what strange bourne their fated feet are drawn,
They stare in dumb fear each at each, and seem
Like two pale revellers on whose fruits and wine
Flares the white merciless irony of dawn.
With shuddering hearts that vaguely can divine
To what strange bourne their fated feet are drawn,
They stare in dumb fear each at each, and seem
Like two pale revellers on whose fruits and wine
Flares the white merciless irony of dawn.
170
THE HOURS.
Once amid sleep I saw the twelve sweet Hours
Go lightly along, gay sisters, hand in hand,
Some with gold flexuous hair and faces bland,
Some dusky as night and wearing stars like flowers.
“Ah, lovely!” I murmured,—but the secret powers
Of slumber, issuing an occult command,
Changed these fair wanderers to a mournful band
That moved with earthward brows through leafless bowers.
Go lightly along, gay sisters, hand in hand,
Some with gold flexuous hair and faces bland,
Some dusky as night and wearing stars like flowers.
“Ah, lovely!” I murmured,—but the secret powers
Of slumber, issuing an occult command,
Changed these fair wanderers to a mournful band
That moved with earthward brows through leafless bowers.
Then faintly across my dream a voice was borne ...
“The forms you first beheld, so blithe of mien,
Look thus to eyes that hope's warm glory cheers;
While they that walk funereal and forlorn,
Though still the same, by differing eyes are seen
Through shadow of anguish and cold mist of tears.”
“The forms you first beheld, so blithe of mien,
Look thus to eyes that hope's warm glory cheers;
While they that walk funereal and forlorn,
Though still the same, by differing eyes are seen
Through shadow of anguish and cold mist of tears.”
171
INTERREGNUM.
When fevered piteously with deep unrest,
My heart through days of yearning drearier feels
Than though in lands whence faded summer steals
It shivered among sere boughs, an empty nest,
Then, following her capricious mood's behest,
She at whose haughty feet my sad life kneels,
With rosy sorcery for one day reveals
The illusive smile that is her loveliest!
My heart through days of yearning drearier feels
Than though in lands whence faded summer steals
It shivered among sere boughs, an empty nest,
Then, following her capricious mood's behest,
She at whose haughty feet my sad life kneels,
With rosy sorcery for one day reveals
The illusive smile that is her loveliest!
Ah, then with happier change, I know not how,
This nest, my heart, whose vacant silence grieves,
Young carolling bird-throats charm, in sweet control;
But soon the inconstant smile grows dim ... and now
It is once more with me as though dead leaves
Were falling amid the autumn of my soul!
This nest, my heart, whose vacant silence grieves,
Young carolling bird-throats charm, in sweet control;
But soon the inconstant smile grows dim ... and now
It is once more with me as though dead leaves
Were falling amid the autumn of my soul!
172
THE DIAMOND.
To shape my luminous life great ages went;
For slowly its vivid fire had noiseless birth
Amid blank darkness of the old solemn earth,
Where long I abode in rayless discontent.
Then came at last discovery's dear event,
That showed the world my rarity and rich worth,
And made the light of my strange peerless mirth
Leap out to the loving sun, magnificent.
For slowly its vivid fire had noiseless birth
Amid blank darkness of the old solemn earth,
Where long I abode in rayless discontent.
Then came at last discovery's dear event,
That showed the world my rarity and rich worth,
And made the light of my strange peerless mirth
Leap out to the loving sun, magnificent.
But now my cruel fate afflicts me sore;
I, daughter of starshine, moonbeams, rain and dew,
I, that in kingliest keeping should endure,
I, that majestic centuries labored o'er,
Am tossed one evening by an amorous Jew
In the lap of his luxurious paramour!
I, daughter of starshine, moonbeams, rain and dew,
I, that in kingliest keeping should endure,
I, that majestic centuries labored o'er,
Am tossed one evening by an amorous Jew
In the lap of his luxurious paramour!
173
AMOUR TERRESTRE.
When, grieving that your loveless heart relents
By no compassionate sign, however shown,
I lull to quietude despair's chill tone
With tender dreams of Heavenly recompense,
Hope brings me, at these hours, no joy intense
That you, in habitations yet unknown,
Hereafter may at last become mine own,
To adore among divine encompassments!
By no compassionate sign, however shown,
I lull to quietude despair's chill tone
With tender dreams of Heavenly recompense,
Hope brings me, at these hours, no joy intense
That you, in habitations yet unknown,
Hereafter may at last become mine own,
To adore among divine encompassments!
For should we meet where such far splendor lies,
I could not reverence in rapture warm
You dowered with chaste wings or the aureole's wreath;
But I should yearn to tear, like dark disguise,
The shining immortality from your form,
And find its earthlier womanhood beneath!
I could not reverence in rapture warm
You dowered with chaste wings or the aureole's wreath;
But I should yearn to tear, like dark disguise,
The shining immortality from your form,
And find its earthlier womanhood beneath!
174
INDIAN SUMMER.
Dulled to a drowsy fire, one hardly sees
The sun in heaven, where this broad smoky round
Lies ever brooding at the horizon's bound;
And through the gaunt knolls, on monotonous leas,
Or through the damp wood's troops of naked trees,
Rustling the brittle ruin along their ground,
Like sighs from souls of perished hours, resound
The melancholy melodies of the breeze!
The sun in heaven, where this broad smoky round
Lies ever brooding at the horizon's bound;
And through the gaunt knolls, on monotonous leas,
Or through the damp wood's troops of naked trees,
Rustling the brittle ruin along their ground,
Like sighs from souls of perished hours, resound
The melancholy melodies of the breeze!
So ghostly and strange a look the blurred world wears,
Viewed from this flowerless garden's dreary squares,
That now, while these weird vaporous days exist,
It would not seem a marvel if where we walk,
We met, dim-glimmering on its thorny stalk,
Some pale intangible rose with leaves of mist!
Viewed from this flowerless garden's dreary squares,
That now, while these weird vaporous days exist,
It would not seem a marvel if where we walk,
We met, dim-glimmering on its thorny stalk,
Some pale intangible rose with leaves of mist!
175
BEES.
Tradition's favoring verdict would express
In you all duteous thrift and toil extreme,
Against gray wintry dearth, while summers beam,
Hoarding with zeal your honeyed bounteousness.
And yet in drowsy reverie I confess
That booming now where flowery vistas gleam,
Among these jubilant garden-paths you seem
The murmurous incarnations of idlesse!
In you all duteous thrift and toil extreme,
Against gray wintry dearth, while summers beam,
Hoarding with zeal your honeyed bounteousness.
And yet in drowsy reverie I confess
That booming now where flowery vistas gleam,
Among these jubilant garden-paths you seem
The murmurous incarnations of idlesse!
Nay, more, you are like those pages, clad of old
By pampering lords in velvet and in gold,
Who bore sweet amorous words, with cautious airs,
To delicate ladies in rich robes aglow,
Strolling down glades of shadowy Fontainebleau,
Or loitering at Versailles on marble stairs!
By pampering lords in velvet and in gold,
Who bore sweet amorous words, with cautious airs,
To delicate ladies in rich robes aglow,
Strolling down glades of shadowy Fontainebleau,
Or loitering at Versailles on marble stairs!
176
A TIGER-LILY.
Strange that in your dark-dappled sanguine flower
The sculpturesque repose can still endure
Of that celestial lily, wrought so pure
It lives as chastity's white type this hour!
By what mysterious art, what baleful power,
Did you, Diana of all blooms, allure
From Nature's mood this Mænad vestiture,
And mock with gaudy tints your taintless dower?
The sculpturesque repose can still endure
Of that celestial lily, wrought so pure
It lives as chastity's white type this hour!
By what mysterious art, what baleful power,
Did you, Diana of all blooms, allure
From Nature's mood this Mænad vestiture,
And mock with gaudy tints your taintless dower?
Nay, long ago, I dream, through some warm dell
Of Asian lands a wearied tiger stole
Where you, in pale bud, felt your first dews cling;
And while he slept beneath you, it befell
That all his deadly beauty pierced your soul
And made you this fantastic sultry thing!
Of Asian lands a wearied tiger stole
Where you, in pale bud, felt your first dews cling;
And while he slept beneath you, it befell
That all his deadly beauty pierced your soul
And made you this fantastic sultry thing!
177
SLEEP'S THRESHOLD.
What footstep but has wandered free and far
Amid that Castle of Sleep whose walls were planned
By no terrestrial craft, no human hand,
With towers that point to no recorded star?
Here sorrows, memories and remorses are,
Roaming the long dim rooms or galleries grand;
Here the lost friends our spirits yet demand
Gleam through mysterious doorways left ajar.
Amid that Castle of Sleep whose walls were planned
By no terrestrial craft, no human hand,
With towers that point to no recorded star?
Here sorrows, memories and remorses are,
Roaming the long dim rooms or galleries grand;
Here the lost friends our spirits yet demand
Gleam through mysterious doorways left ajar.
But of the uncounted throngs that ever win
The halls where slumber's dusky witcheries rule,
Who, after wakening, may reveal aright
By what phantasmal means he entered in?—
What porch of cloud, what vapory vestibule,
What stairway quarried from the mines of night?
The halls where slumber's dusky witcheries rule,
Who, after wakening, may reveal aright
By what phantasmal means he entered in?—
What porch of cloud, what vapory vestibule,
What stairway quarried from the mines of night?
178
THE SPHINX OF ICE.
With dark, with frost, with silence for her shrine,
Girt by her ghastly realms of dearth, despair,
She reigns in solitude, contented there,
A goddess beautiful and saturnine.
Round her vast huddling bergs of frozen brine
Jut spectral from the bitter North's gray air;
Above her, weird auroras leap and flare,
And like swords' points the acute stars ever shine.
Girt by her ghastly realms of dearth, despair,
She reigns in solitude, contented there,
A goddess beautiful and saturnine.
Round her vast huddling bergs of frozen brine
Jut spectral from the bitter North's gray air;
Above her, weird auroras leap and flare,
And like swords' points the acute stars ever shine.
And venturous mariners, through weary years,
Push up their bold barks, eager to discern
Her great pale shape, her secret to entice,
Till wrecked, numb, doomed, with half insensate ears
They hear long terrible laughter pealing stern
In arctic mockery from the Sphinx of Ice!
Push up their bold barks, eager to discern
Her great pale shape, her secret to entice,
Till wrecked, numb, doomed, with half insensate ears
They hear long terrible laughter pealing stern
In arctic mockery from the Sphinx of Ice!
179
ON THE NEWPORT CLIFFS.
At either hand, as far as eye can trace,
Lined with palatial dwellings, loom these heights,
Having old ocean's glory of tints and lights
To murmur mellow rhythms against their base;
Or yet from many a porch of stately grace
Clear down to where the extreme cliff's verge affrights,
Having, through golden days and balmy nights,
Lawn after lawn to outroll its velvet space!
Lined with palatial dwellings, loom these heights,
Having old ocean's glory of tints and lights
To murmur mellow rhythms against their base;
Or yet from many a porch of stately grace
Clear down to where the extreme cliff's verge affrights,
Having, through golden days and balmy nights,
Lawn after lawn to outroll its velvet space!
Ah, cruelty of luxury! ... Dark for me,
Remembering, musing, all your splendor frowns,
Even here below this brilliant dome of sky!
For pierced with untold pity, I can but see
Wan mothers, pent in rooms of torrid towns,
Lean over gasping babes and watch them die!
Remembering, musing, all your splendor frowns,
Even here below this brilliant dome of sky!
For pierced with untold pity, I can but see
Wan mothers, pent in rooms of torrid towns,
Lean over gasping babes and watch them die!
Newport, July, 1882.
180
TO MAURICE THOMPSON,
ON READING HIS “SONGS OF FAIR WEATHER.”
Lyrist of woods and waters, loving best
Pure Nature's alterant charms, thou art to me
A new Theocritus, whose gaze can see
New joys in that wide Sicily of thy West!
Yet now no longer thou companionest
Meek flocks on dewy lawns, but wieldest free
The bow of dead Diana, fallen to thee
By some divine and beautiful bequest!
Pure Nature's alterant charms, thou art to me
A new Theocritus, whose gaze can see
New joys in that wide Sicily of thy West!
Yet now no longer thou companionest
Meek flocks on dewy lawns, but wieldest free
The bow of dead Diana, fallen to thee
By some divine and beautiful bequest!
Thy words, that often are leafage to the sense,
Have strength like bark and grain of sturdy boughs,
And rhythm as of a wind that sweeps and veers,
Till by the sorcery of their influence
We steal down fragrant glooms where shy fawns browse,
Or crouch where slim birds float from reedy meres!
Have strength like bark and grain of sturdy boughs,
And rhythm as of a wind that sweeps and veers,
Till by the sorcery of their influence
We steal down fragrant glooms where shy fawns browse,
Or crouch where slim birds float from reedy meres!
181
TO OSCAR WILDE,
ON RECEIVING FROM HIM A BOOK OF HIS POEMS.
Your volume like a Provence lute antique
Wed with a classic lyre were fitlier wrought,
So richly opposite its theme and thought,
Its art so Gothic and its aim so Greek.
Till now we had deemed that one alone might seek
From poetry what you with victory sought,—
To blend those pure strains the Sicilian taught
With Spenser's line, luxurious and unique.
Wed with a classic lyre were fitlier wrought,
So richly opposite its theme and thought,
Its art so Gothic and its aim so Greek.
Till now we had deemed that one alone might seek
From poetry what you with victory sought,—
To blend those pure strains the Sicilian taught
With Spenser's line, luxurious and unique.
Nay, since your reverenced master dwells afar,
It has been given your spirit, I am sure,
To pass, deep-tranced by slumber's opiate sweets,
High up some white stair sheer to some white star,
And meet in its immortal vestiture
The splendor that men mean when they name Keats!
It has been given your spirit, I am sure,
To pass, deep-tranced by slumber's opiate sweets,
High up some white stair sheer to some white star,
And meet in its immortal vestiture
The splendor that men mean when they name Keats!
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