Under the dawn :: :: University of Virginia Library

Thou could'st not watch with me, my lady fair!
The winds are sharp, and bitter is the night,
And thou art all too weak to wait the light
That, like a lion springing from his lair,
Shall presently be with us in red might:
But thou art binding dilatory hair,
And sending shafts of singing through the air.

II

Thou could'st not watch with me, my lady sweet!
The past is pleasant, and the future sad;
The past is easy, but new roads are bad,
And flints are merciless to tender feet,
Demanding many a soft flower for a pad:

Stay, tarry quiet in thy soft retreat,
Nor tempt the new day's labour and its heat.

III

Thou could'st not watch with me, my lady white!
Thine are the roses and the pleasant meads,
And the good simple crowns of former creeds;
But not the ecstatic rapture of the fight,
And the endless garland of the soul that bleeds:
I would not change my part with thine to-night,
Though thy rich kisses led my coward's flight.

IV

Thou could'st not watch with me, my lady pale!
Thine are the quiet valleys, and the rivers
Where the long brown reed suns itself and shivers;
But not the mixing of red swords and mail,
And noise of broken spears and sundered quivers:
Which, in the end, shall tell a loftier tale,
And one of kinglier more proud avail?

V

Thou could'st not watch with me, my lady slow!
Thine are the faces hollow with despair;
But mine, new hopes, where a new moon is fair,
Casting across wide seas a flood of snow,
Impearling all the ocean from her lair:
'Tis dark with thee, sweet; but it is not so
Under this crescent and her pearly glow.

VI

Thou could'st not watch with me, my lady sad!
Where are the hopes and thoughts that soared together
In the old amazing, reckless, foam-winged weather,
And soft prognostications we have had,
Trying fortune at a dandelion feather?
Thou hast left me, thou art feeble, thou art bad—
And I am but a broken-hearted lad!

VII

Thou could'st not watch with me, my lady, whom
I would have followed, even unto death

And far beyond, if so thy rose-bud breath
And all thy wonderful rose-scented bloom
Were mine, in such a manner as Love saith:
For then there were no terror in the tomb,
And every sin that bounty should consume.