In My Lady's Praise Being Poems, Old and New: Written to the Honour of Fanny, Lady Arnold and Now Collected for her Memory: By Sir Edwin Arnold |
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In Absence.
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 | In My Lady's Praise |  |
138
In Absence.
At home I sit without you,
And find that “home” is you;
Homeless at home, to miss you makes
The soft words sound untrue:
Not twice ten leagues divide us—
A thousand they appear,
Because to part heart's beat from heart
Leaves entry-gate for fear.
And find that “home” is you;
Homeless at home, to miss you makes
The soft words sound untrue:
Not twice ten leagues divide us—
A thousand they appear,
Because to part heart's beat from heart
Leaves entry-gate for fear.
Are you safe—well—and sleeping?
You cannot answer me!
Why should the faint electric pulse
Throb under all the Sea,
And mighty Love, past range of speech,
Be dumb and deaf and blind
Beyond such space as takes your face
Too far for eyes to find?
You cannot answer me!
Why should the faint electric pulse
Throb under all the Sea,
And mighty Love, past range of speech,
Be dumb and deaf and blind
Beyond such space as takes your face
Too far for eyes to find?
139
Dearest! I touch, with trembling,
A cup of fate and fear!
Your chair, your book, the rose you wore,
Your hat, your gloves are here,
But not what gave them charm! Lone seems
This room, and lone above
Will be—I know—when there I go
The nest of my white Dove.
A cup of fate and fear!
Your chair, your book, the rose you wore,
Your hat, your gloves are here,
But not what gave them charm! Lone seems
This room, and lone above
Will be—I know—when there I go
The nest of my white Dove.
I touch a cup of sadness;
Tasting the topmost drop
Of what—if God should bid me drink—
Would make all singing stop:
Suppose that never more you came!
As one who sets wild lips
To dark drugged bowl, so my rash soul
At that dread fancy sips;
Tasting the topmost drop
Of what—if God should bid me drink—
Would make all singing stop:
Suppose that never more you came!
As one who sets wild lips
To dark drugged bowl, so my rash soul
At that dread fancy sips;
And, then, recoils in fancy
As lips draw back in haste
From the first deadly flavouring
Of the sharp poison-taste.
Ah! Heaven be praised! To-morrow, you
Will sit in the old chair,
The leagues will change to kissing-range,
And I shall stroke your hair.
As lips draw back in haste
From the first deadly flavouring
Of the sharp poison-taste.
Ah! Heaven be praised! To-morrow, you
Will sit in the old chair,
140
And I shall stroke your hair.
Yet, since it might be, Darling!
And—being—I should need
To say a hundred hurried things
Of which Death takes no heed,
I write one word of all those words
As true as truth can be,
For you to read, come back with speed
Bright and alive to me:
And—being—I should need
To say a hundred hurried things
Of which Death takes no heed,
I write one word of all those words
As true as truth can be,
For you to read, come back with speed
Bright and alive to me:
And this it is:—I love you
For troubles, cares, and fears;
For faults and foolish angers,
And whims and tiffs and tears,
For sulks not less than sweetness, Sweet!
For faith no more than doubt;
Not counting nought those hours which brought
Fondness by fallings-out.
For troubles, cares, and fears;
For faults and foolish angers,
And whims and tiffs and tears,
For sulks not less than sweetness, Sweet!
For faith no more than doubt;
Not counting nought those hours which brought
Fondness by fallings-out.
Yes! and if—Fannie!—never
You sate by me again,
And this feigned thought of sadness
Were settled lasting pain,
I should not say, “would I had shewn
A nobler constancy!”
As you in Heaven were all forgiven
So I on Earth must be.
You sate by me again,
And this feigned thought of sadness
Were settled lasting pain,
141
A nobler constancy!”
As you in Heaven were all forgiven
So I on Earth must be.
If you were dead I should not
Wish I had loved you more,
Because heart-full is full—what failed
Was body, when souls soar:
But I should wish forgottens
Rash acts and thoughts unkind
Which chanced erewhile—that I might smile
Your soft faults out of mind.
Wish I had loved you more,
Because heart-full is full—what failed
Was body, when souls soar:
But I should wish forgottens
Rash acts and thoughts unkind
Which chanced erewhile—that I might smile
Your soft faults out of mind.
Well! one small word tells all things!
“Love,” “Love” concludes, begins,
Defines—explains—exemplifies,
Conciliates, comforts, wins;
Assoils the sins we could not'scape,
Sets right our wrong, and ends
All grief of this with one soul-kiss
Which links us lasting friends.
“Love,” “Love” concludes, begins,
Defines—explains—exemplifies,
Conciliates, comforts, wins;
Assoils the sins we could not'scape,
Sets right our wrong, and ends
All grief of this with one soul-kiss
Which links us lasting friends.
Then hear it, Wife!—This midnight
My spirit speaks to you
That word of changless meaning
By solitude made true:
For, Sweet! if planets parted us
Instead of leagues twice ten,
As I who write love you to-night,
So should I love you then.
My spirit speaks to you
142
By solitude made true:
For, Sweet! if planets parted us
Instead of leagues twice ten,
As I who write love you to-night,
So should I love you then.
June 6, 1872.
| In My Lady's Praise | |