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A HYMN OF WOMAN.
Is there one summer night
Wherein thou art not white,
O Woman diviner than all summer airs?
Is there one tender rose
Without thy mouth that glows
Within the central crown the rosebud bears?
Each meadow of corn thy golden beauty wears.
Wherein thou art not white,
O Woman diviner than all summer airs?
Is there one tender rose
Without thy mouth that glows
Within the central crown the rosebud bears?
Each meadow of corn thy golden beauty wears.
The dreams of youth are thine,
The buds upon the vine,
The splendour of noonday and of quiet night:
Thy sacred locks of gold
Round lovers thou dost fold,
And in the utter stars thine eyes are bright;
Radiant thou shinest upon the mountain-height.
The buds upon the vine,
The splendour of noonday and of quiet night:
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Round lovers thou dost fold,
And in the utter stars thine eyes are bright;
Radiant thou shinest upon the mountain-height.
What glory can we see
Of passion without thee
O dark-eyed queen of passion and of pure
Delight that makes all things
Thrill to the sound of wings,
Start at the gleam of some celestial lure;
Within thine hand thou dost all flowers secure.
Of passion without thee
O dark-eyed queen of passion and of pure
Delight that makes all things
Thrill to the sound of wings,
Start at the gleam of some celestial lure;
Within thine hand thou dost all flowers secure.
Thine hair is black as night
Sometimes, or golden-bright
As every shade of slowly-ripening corn;
Or English simple brown
Soft locks thou hast for crown,
And breast whose subtle sweet scents put to scorn
Blossoms whose dew-kissed petals kiss the morn.
Sometimes, or golden-bright
As every shade of slowly-ripening corn;
Or English simple brown
Soft locks thou hast for crown,
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Blossoms whose dew-kissed petals kiss the morn.
Whether in youth we dream
Or days of manhood teem
With urgent labour, lady, thou art there
In love the world to drape;
No mortal may escape
The sweet bewildering tangle of thine hair;
With the increasing years thou growest more fair.
Or days of manhood teem
With urgent labour, lady, thou art there
In love the world to drape;
No mortal may escape
The sweet bewildering tangle of thine hair;
With the increasing years thou growest more fair.
Thou art a sacred queen
To boyish rapt sixteen,
But never the flying days may fly from thee;
Thou broodest as of old
Above the tossed broad gold
Of sunset and of sundawn on the sea,
And o'er the wind-tossed grass-blades of the lea.
To boyish rapt sixteen,
But never the flying days may fly from thee;
Thou broodest as of old
Above the tossed broad gold
Of sunset and of sundawn on the sea,
And o'er the wind-tossed grass-blades of the lea.
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Ever thou art, love, there,—
The wind-wave of thine hair,
And all thy splendour of bloom, and thy white hands;
Yea, thy pure body white
Is our sweet moon of night,
Amazing and enthralling all the lands
With ever sweeter tenure of pure bands.
The wind-wave of thine hair,
And all thy splendour of bloom, and thy white hands;
Yea, thy pure body white
Is our sweet moon of night,
Amazing and enthralling all the lands
With ever sweeter tenure of pure bands.
Sweet, ardent, swift of gaze,
Upon the flower-hung ways
Of earliest youth thou treadest like a queen;
But when the soft flowers fall
Thou art still over all,
Abiding with the same old smile serene
Untouched amid the autumnal dim demesne.
Upon the flower-hung ways
Of earliest youth thou treadest like a queen;
But when the soft flowers fall
Thou art still over all,
Abiding with the same old smile serene
Untouched amid the autumnal dim demesne.
For autumn unto thee
Is but as spring; we see
No diminution in thy glory, O thou
For whom the roses wear
Their garb of fragrant air,
For whom the lilies bend imperial brow;
For whom the autumnal breezes whisper now.
Is but as spring; we see
No diminution in thy glory, O thou
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Their garb of fragrant air,
For whom the lilies bend imperial brow;
For whom the autumnal breezes whisper now.
Not ever a rosebud falls
Within grey trellised walls
But for its falling do the great gods grieve;
But thou beyond all grief,
Untouched, unsere of leaf,
Regnant, the immortal high land dost achieve,
And bloomest deathless from life's morn till eve.
Within grey trellised walls
But for its falling do the great gods grieve;
But thou beyond all grief,
Untouched, unsere of leaf,
Regnant, the immortal high land dost achieve,
And bloomest deathless from life's morn till eve.
Beyond all seas and showers,
Beyond all earthly hours,
Unconquered and immortal, sweet, thou art:
The utter dreamful skies
Thrill to thy tender eyes;
The moonbeams and the sunbeams watch thine heart;
Through the blue moonlit heavens thy swift feet dart.
Beyond all earthly hours,
Unconquered and immortal, sweet, thou art:
The utter dreamful skies
Thrill to thy tender eyes;
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Through the blue moonlit heavens thy swift feet dart.
Thou art not any flower
Of earthly passing bower,
But sweet and glorious as from God's own hand:
Thou fillest all the breeze
And the far laughing seas
And all the green recesses of the land
With rose-breath, as when countless flowers expand.
Of earthly passing bower,
But sweet and glorious as from God's own hand:
Thou fillest all the breeze
And the far laughing seas
And all the green recesses of the land
With rose-breath, as when countless flowers expand.
In history's far weird days
Thou didst thy banner raise
Unchanged; thou wast to races vanished long
The same unearthly queen
Of majesty serene,
With sceptre sweet and so with sceptre strong;
A poem in Greece or Rome, a Syrian song.
Thou didst thy banner raise
Unchanged; thou wast to races vanished long
The same unearthly queen
Of majesty serene,
With sceptre sweet and so with sceptre strong;
A poem in Greece or Rome, a Syrian song.
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By rivers echoing far
'Neath dead and broken star,
'Neath planets fallen themselves now in the void,
Thou wast a flower new-born
With all the flush of morn
Upon the cheeks whose tender flush decoyed,
And sweetness in the white hands which destroyed.
'Neath dead and broken star,
'Neath planets fallen themselves now in the void,
Thou wast a flower new-born
With all the flush of morn
Upon the cheeks whose tender flush decoyed,
And sweetness in the white hands which destroyed.
Thou ravelledst hearts of men
As even now, so then,—
Thou tangledst strong men's spirits in a snare:
Thou gavest unto them
Sweet passion's diadem,—
To kiss thy bosom and to kiss thine hair,—
To know thee longed-for and to find thee fair.
As even now, so then,—
Thou tangledst strong men's spirits in a snare:
Thou gavest unto them
Sweet passion's diadem,—
To kiss thy bosom and to kiss thine hair,—
To know thee longed-for and to find thee fair.
Through the ages thou hast been
The same white endless queen,
Filling the vales with music and the sky
With wonderful pure light,
And all our hearts with might,—
Soothing with gentle laughter every sigh,
Bringing the bounty of farthest heaven more nigh.
The same white endless queen,
Filling the vales with music and the sky
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And all our hearts with might,—
Soothing with gentle laughter every sigh,
Bringing the bounty of farthest heaven more nigh.
What thou wast in the day
When on the water-way
Flamed the bright galley of the Egyptian queen,
Thou art, white sweetheart, still;
Late ages thou dost thrill,
And thou didst gladden all the years between;
Fostering, above earth's gardens thou dost lean.
When on the water-way
Flamed the bright galley of the Egyptian queen,
Thou art, white sweetheart, still;
Late ages thou dost thrill,
And thou didst gladden all the years between;
Fostering, above earth's gardens thou dost lean.
Intenser is the rose
Of passion when it blows
In later manhood,—and the growing race,
Woman, find fairer things
Soft-gathered in thy wings
And tenderer hues of beauty in thy face
Than all thy far ancestral rumoured grace.
Of passion when it blows
In later manhood,—and the growing race,
Woman, find fairer things
Soft-gathered in thy wings
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Than all thy far ancestral rumoured grace.
So, lady, left so long
Beside the sea-waves strong,
Intenser ever is the love I bear
Unto thy dear grey eyes
Coloured as Northern skies
And all the endless garland of thine hair,
And body white and wonderful and fair.
Beside the sea-waves strong,
Intenser ever is the love I bear
Unto thy dear grey eyes
Coloured as Northern skies
And all the endless garland of thine hair,
And body white and wonderful and fair.
No day can pass but brings
Sound sweeter of thy wings,
And tenderer echo of approaching feet:
Thou canst not flee away;
Is even sombre and grey?
Flush it with sunrise of thy coming, sweet,
And at thy voice bid all the old mists retreat!
Sound sweeter of thy wings,
And tenderer echo of approaching feet:
Thou canst not flee away;
Is even sombre and grey?
Flush it with sunrise of thy coming, sweet,
And at thy voice bid all the old mists retreat!
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