 | Love-Songs |  |
35
TO A LILY.
SUMMER LOVE.
37
BRUISED BLOSSOMS.
My love went—flinging from her mantle fast
Along the dusty and forsaken road
Strange flowers and fruits that bloomed and shone and glowed,
Re-lighting the pale tapers of the past,
Making the wilderness a temple vast;
And a sweet woman, slighter but as fair,
Went, gathering bruised blossoms in her hair,
And round about their stems her veil she cast.
Along the dusty and forsaken road
Strange flowers and fruits that bloomed and shone and glowed,
Re-lighting the pale tapers of the past,
Making the wilderness a temple vast;
And a sweet woman, slighter but as fair,
Went, gathering bruised blossoms in her hair,
And round about their stems her veil she cast.
And unto me she brought the flowers and fruits,
Weeping, and with soft pity in her eyes,
And laid her tender hand on severed roots;
And if a bud or any petal lies
Broken, she waileth—and the sundered shoots
To re-establish in green bloom she tries.
Weeping, and with soft pity in her eyes,
And laid her tender hand on severed roots;
And if a bud or any petal lies
Broken, she waileth—and the sundered shoots
To re-establish in green bloom she tries.
38
THE LILY AND THE ROSE.
A lily with the fragrance of my rose
Mingled strange fleeting odours passing sweet,
And in the imprint of that flower's feet
Left novel tints and subtle signs of snows;
Now in my heart a double blossom blows,
And all my soul is ravished by the heat
Of summer twice inflamed, and seems to beat
Responsive as the ascending season grows.
Mingled strange fleeting odours passing sweet,
And in the imprint of that flower's feet
Left novel tints and subtle signs of snows;
Now in my heart a double blossom blows,
And all my soul is ravished by the heat
Of summer twice inflamed, and seems to beat
Responsive as the ascending season grows.
For first the rose with crimson scent delayed
The full outpouring of the lily's breath,
And faint her presence was and pale as death,
And timidly she lingered in the shade;
But now I kiss with valour every braid,
And yearn ecstatic o'er each word she saith.
The full outpouring of the lily's breath,
And faint her presence was and pale as death,
And timidly she lingered in the shade;
But now I kiss with valour every braid,
And yearn ecstatic o'er each word she saith.
39
THE BATTLE OF FLOWERS.
Two flowers struggled hard within my soul,
The spirits of a lily and a rose—
And first on high the crimson odour grows,
And next a snow-white vapour seems to roll
The gates of sound asunder, and control
My heart till song's liquescence overflows;
So each sweet flower alternate rules and blows,
Each in a variously fragrant stole.
The spirits of a lily and a rose—
And first on high the crimson odour grows,
And next a snow-white vapour seems to roll
The gates of sound asunder, and control
My heart till song's liquescence overflows;
So each sweet flower alternate rules and blows,
Each in a variously fragrant stole.
But lo! one morning when I woke I saw
Myself adorned in smooth delicious white—
And, wondering at the unaccustomed sight
Of such a body made devoid of flaw,
Perceived myself with deep unuttered awe
Clothed in the lily's plumes from left to right.
Myself adorned in smooth delicious white—
And, wondering at the unaccustomed sight
Of such a body made devoid of flaw,
Perceived myself with deep unuttered awe
Clothed in the lily's plumes from left to right.
40
CRIMSON AND MANY FLOWERS.
“I loved another blossom,” so I said—“And she was somewhat fairer, sweet, than you;”
The maiden answered not, but closer drew
The tender-shielding bounty of her head,
And in that moment lo! one love was dead
And golden wings proclaimed a goddess new,
And as her pinions fluttered into view
The sun was risen turbulent and red—
The vehement approach of a new day
That shall surpass the former, and outshine
With a supreme unparalleled display
Those weeping misty seasons that were mine,
And round about my rugged brows shall twine
Crimson and many flowers for thorns and grey.
41
A WOMAN'S BLOOM.
“My heart hath suffered, sweet one:” But she brought
The nearer that down-bending, gracious head,
And, though no word articulate was said,
That tender token hath a marvel wrought,
A miracle of healing beyond thought—
For on a lonely grave a rose was red
That moment, and a crimson heart that bled
Was stanched and white, and ceased to suffer aught:—
The nearer that down-bending, gracious head,
And, though no word articulate was said,
That tender token hath a marvel wrought,
A miracle of healing beyond thought—
For on a lonely grave a rose was red
That moment, and a crimson heart that bled
Was stanched and white, and ceased to suffer aught:—
And over me there flowed a wealth of hair,
And that strange endless unforeseen perfume
Was subtle and abundant in the air—
The fire that scorches but doth not consume,
The sweet outpouring of a woman's bloom,
Unutterably wonderful and fair.
And that strange endless unforeseen perfume
Was subtle and abundant in the air—
The fire that scorches but doth not consume,
The sweet outpouring of a woman's bloom,
Unutterably wonderful and fair.
43
PARTING.
45
THOSE SUMMER NIGHTS.
When we were happy in those summer nights,
Making great London but a soft green wood
As each beside the other silent stood,
Breathing a mutual nosegay of delights,
We were not conscious of love's present heights—
But now, possession being cold and thin,
With no sweet golden lovers' gate to win,
We recognise and eulogise love's rights.
Making great London but a soft green wood
As each beside the other silent stood,
Breathing a mutual nosegay of delights,
We were not conscious of love's present heights—
But now, possession being cold and thin,
With no sweet golden lovers' gate to win,
We recognise and eulogise love's rights.
“Ah! that was sweet”—so each may sob and say—
“That evening when glad August in the trees
And shrubs made such a tender lovers' breeze:”
For, visible from an October grey,
The past is as a gold transfigured day,
The present as the sapless nights that freeze.
“That evening when glad August in the trees
And shrubs made such a tender lovers' breeze:”
For, visible from an October grey,
The past is as a gold transfigured day,
The present as the sapless nights that freeze.
46
SWEET FANCY'S HAND.
It is sweet fancy's hand that crowns the past—
For, when we were together, you and I,
The ground was dull and motionless and dry,
Across it a wan veil of colour cast;
Now, swept by my imagination's blast,
It glitters like a countless summer sky,
And round about our feet the flowers fly,
And wings of birds succeed each other fast.
For, when we were together, you and I,
The ground was dull and motionless and dry,
Across it a wan veil of colour cast;
Now, swept by my imagination's blast,
It glitters like a countless summer sky,
And round about our feet the flowers fly,
And wings of birds succeed each other fast.
For every step we took I see a flower
Bloom in the dreary desert of the squares,—
The arid pasture of our London airs
Is even as a sweet rose-planted bower,
And every spot we lingered in an hour
An endless flood of vegetation bears.
Bloom in the dreary desert of the squares,—
The arid pasture of our London airs
Is even as a sweet rose-planted bower,
And every spot we lingered in an hour
An endless flood of vegetation bears.
47
A FAR-OFF HILL.
Ah, sweet, now you are gone, I see the days
We spent together, colourless before,
Flame with triumphant lustre more and more,
Till every street we threaded is a blaze
Of splendour, and the sad dust-stricken ways
Shine as a moon-enamoured silver shore;
My fancy brings each tone of yours of yore,
And every smile, into my weeping gaze.
We spent together, colourless before,
Flame with triumphant lustre more and more,
Till every street we threaded is a blaze
Of splendour, and the sad dust-stricken ways
Shine as a moon-enamoured silver shore;
My fancy brings each tone of yours of yore,
And every smile, into my weeping gaze.
It always is so: as a sun-kissed hill
Shines in the distance, girt about with fear
And mystery, whose beauty could not fill
The over-daring eye when we were near,
So gleams a far-off passion,—soft and still
And awful, and unutterably clear.
Shines in the distance, girt about with fear
And mystery, whose beauty could not fill
The over-daring eye when we were near,
So gleams a far-off passion,—soft and still
And awful, and unutterably clear.
48
WITH WHITER PLUMES.
I loved a lily: The sweet flower was near,
And, bearing petals less majestic far,
Shone as a lesser individual star,
Made by a sweet proximity as dear
As the imperial rose,—and white and clear
The lily shone; but when the flower was full,
Another hand had interfered to pull
The petals,—an intruder's foot was here.
And, bearing petals less majestic far,
Shone as a lesser individual star,
Made by a sweet proximity as dear
As the imperial rose,—and white and clear
The lily shone; but when the flower was full,
Another hand had interfered to pull
The petals,—an intruder's foot was here.
And so I miss my lily and my rose,
Fated to love for ever but to find
No flower for me her tenderest depths disclose;
Yet bear I some triumphant mirth of mind,
In that the lily kissed me, and hath shined
Because of me with whiter plumes of snows.
Fated to love for ever but to find
No flower for me her tenderest depths disclose;
Yet bear I some triumphant mirth of mind,
In that the lily kissed me, and hath shined
Because of me with whiter plumes of snows.
49
LOVE AND HONOUR.
I stood before a grave,—and honour said,
“Heap loudly on the corpse that lies therein
Dust and departure—that the soul may win
The eternal halo of a passion dead,
And round about her lips for roses red
Twine lilies pale as her own life hath been;
And seize thine harp, sad singer, and begin
Some low-voiced tune to tears and yearning wed.”
“Heap loudly on the corpse that lies therein
Dust and departure—that the soul may win
The eternal halo of a passion dead,
And round about her lips for roses red
Twine lilies pale as her own life hath been;
And seize thine harp, sad singer, and begin
Some low-voiced tune to tears and yearning wed.”
But love said, “Rather let the corpse awake!
And let sweet lips for roses be the charm
To bring towards an unhesitating arm
The tender limbs and soft desires that shake
And flutter as a lily for thy sake—
Even as a lily loud in her alarm.”
And let sweet lips for roses be the charm
To bring towards an unhesitating arm
The tender limbs and soft desires that shake
And flutter as a lily for thy sake—
Even as a lily loud in her alarm.”
50
THE MAGIC OF MEMORY.
I.
When you were with me, sweet, I could not lead
Your presence through the corridors of rhyme:
But you are smitten by the snows of time,
And by swift disappointment's sword I bleed,
And, having chosen an unselfish creed,
In every flowery avenue of mind
A gracious footprint of my love's I find,
And sonnets spring by thousands out of seed!
Your presence through the corridors of rhyme:
But you are smitten by the snows of time,
And by swift disappointment's sword I bleed,
And, having chosen an unselfish creed,
In every flowery avenue of mind
A gracious footprint of my love's I find,
And sonnets spring by thousands out of seed!
Before I lost you, I was silent,—now
That I have given you into other hands,
The gardens of my brain are tuneful lands,
And linnets twitter round about my brow,
And nightingales are loud on every bough,
And thrushes chant your praise in laughing bands.
That I have given you into other hands,
The gardens of my brain are tuneful lands,
And linnets twitter round about my brow,
And nightingales are loud on every bough,
And thrushes chant your praise in laughing bands.
II.
The roads we trod together, gleam and shine,—Grey, cold, and sour, and flint-bedecked before,—
But now the moon of fancy on the shore
Of bitter absence sheds a silver line,
51
To elude our present overpowering tread,
But flame in sweet prismatic green and red
And gold and fairy lacework clean and fine
When distance has transfigured the broad field—
So every stone we touched in this dull town,
Then garbed in ordinary dust and brown,
A golden flash of colour seems to yield,
And shines like some anointed luscious shield,
Under the bitter fire of memory's frown.
53
WINTER LOVE.
55
THIS AFTERNOON.
This afternoon I go to meet my love,—
And, through the earlier moments of the day,
My pulses like swift throbbing surges play,
Mixed with the soft respiring of a dove,
And pinions beat the azure cliffs above
And frolic in and out each windy bay—
I triumph; for she hath not answered “Nay;”
I hold her written word in sign thereof.
And, through the earlier moments of the day,
My pulses like swift throbbing surges play,
Mixed with the soft respiring of a dove,
And pinions beat the azure cliffs above
And frolic in and out each windy bay—
I triumph; for she hath not answered “Nay;”
I hold her written word in sign thereof.
Ah, love! 'tis but a wintry afternoon,
Yet will we make it as a summer sleep
Winged with strange odours passing soft and deep—
A clear and passionate crimson-hooded swoon:
And though our ruddy heaven be over soon,
It leaves a rose for either heart to keep.
Yet will we make it as a summer sleep
Winged with strange odours passing soft and deep—
A clear and passionate crimson-hooded swoon:
And though our ruddy heaven be over soon,
It leaves a rose for either heart to keep.
56
A SUN-GOD.
Soon thou shalt lay thy tender hands on me
And the strong force of passion shall ignite,
Struck as a sudden comet into light
By the inviting flame of love I see
Bloom as a crimson mantle over thee—
Even as the snows below the hills are white,
But next the Alpine sun shine red and bright,
Rosy for miles upon the mountain-knee.
And the strong force of passion shall ignite,
Struck as a sudden comet into light
By the inviting flame of love I see
Bloom as a crimson mantle over thee—
Even as the snows below the hills are white,
But next the Alpine sun shine red and bright,
Rosy for miles upon the mountain-knee.
Yea, thou shalt change me from a quiet star,
Following the universal rounded road,
Desiring thee in silence from afar,
Into a sun-god,—bearing the white load
Of thy sweet misty body in a car
Of flame towards some desirable abode.
Following the universal rounded road,
Desiring thee in silence from afar,
Into a sun-god,—bearing the white load
Of thy sweet misty body in a car
Of flame towards some desirable abode.
57
A TALISMAN.
I have not seen you,—and the days have been
But as a meagre and remorseful time,
The likeness of some frozen blue-clad clime,
Some destitute abode of tears and sin;
But summer is upon us, and we win
The roses and the dreams of mute delight
That clothe the sweet limbs of a summer night,
And hem the fragrant arms of summer in.
But as a meagre and remorseful time,
The likeness of some frozen blue-clad clime,
Some destitute abode of tears and sin;
But summer is upon us, and we win
The roses and the dreams of mute delight
That clothe the sweet limbs of a summer night,
And hem the fragrant arms of summer in.
Summer is as a fragrant rose-plumed bird,
Young, and delirious with its own desire;
Winter is as a worn-out aged fire—
But somewhere of a talisman I heard
That hath the magic potency to gird
Roses about each wintry wan-built briar.
Young, and delirious with its own desire;
Winter is as a worn-out aged fire—
But somewhere of a talisman I heard
That hath the magic potency to gird
Roses about each wintry wan-built briar.
58
LOVE'S CRUELTY.
Sweet, every meeting-time may be our last!We stand upon time's beach, and, after, one
May launch a boat with cunning keel to run
Against the sidelong pressure of the blast,
With curved resistance of a reedlike mast,
Into the hollows of the western sun—
Time finished, red eternity begun,
Our love may be but as a rosebud past,
Crying in some disastrous nook of garden
After the heels of summer, who declares,
Invincible and destitute of pardon,
His lips are languid for Australian airs,—
And, with love's endless cruelty, prepares
The alternate hemisphere to inflame and harden.
59
I SEND A SONG.
This afternoon I am to meet you, sweet.
The torrents of my longing overflow,
As from white clouds descending streams of snow
Cover with feathery flakes our halting feet:
I send a song in front of me to meet
The soft advancing rosebud-lips I know
So truly, that I think I see them grow
With increase soft and odorous and fleet.
The torrents of my longing overflow,
As from white clouds descending streams of snow
Cover with feathery flakes our halting feet:
I send a song in front of me to meet
The soft advancing rosebud-lips I know
So truly, that I think I see them grow
With increase soft and odorous and fleet.
Song! lay upon her lips my panting soul
Already in advance of this slow clock,
That it may sway from side to side, and rock
Even as a flower floating in a bowl
Upon those fragrant billowy tides, the whole
Of which shall overwhelm me when I knock.
Already in advance of this slow clock,
That it may sway from side to side, and rock
Even as a flower floating in a bowl
Upon those fragrant billowy tides, the whole
Of which shall overwhelm me when I knock.
60
AND SHALL I SEE YOU?
And shall I see you, sweet, and are you stillSoft and as white and gentle as before?
And doth the moon still beam along the shore
With tender eyes and yellow rays that thrill
The pebbles and the yearning foam, and spill
Their passionate effulgence more and more?
Sweet, thou shalt lay thine hand upon the sore
Heart-spot of parting, and thine eyes shall fill
The cup of my strong being till it yearns
And trembles into air and overflows:
Even as the sun's imperious mandate turns
The bending face and body of a rose
Upward—till every petal doth unclose,
Blushing, and every vein and fibre burns.
61
WHERE THOU ART, SWEET.
Where thou art, sweet, it matters not to knowWhether sweet summer's sceptre reigns supreme,
For thou art girded with a luscious dream
That darts a rosy radiance over snow,
As thou dost tread triumphant to and fro,—
The light wherewith thy winged feet do teem;
Where they have trodden, the amorous grasses seem
To blossom into flame and overflow,
As at the advent of twin goddesses;
And, when thy hand is laid upon my neck,
It is even as a shower divine to bless
The solemn marble, cleansed from every fleck
By the descending silvery flames that check
The thunders of sin's turbulent distress.
62
EVEN AS THE DOVE.
Even as the dove went, errant from the ark,
Speeding with hopeful pinions through the deep
To analyse the awful void, and peep
If anywhere a green and living spark
Her eyes of bright intelligence might mark—
Fly, fragrant-winged song, towards my love,
Dividing with the white breast of a dove
The inanimate resistance of the dark.
Speeding with hopeful pinions through the deep
To analyse the awful void, and peep
If anywhere a green and living spark
Her eyes of bright intelligence might mark—
Fly, fragrant-winged song, towards my love,
Dividing with the white breast of a dove
The inanimate resistance of the dark.
Seek her, and hover over her in spite
Of the dark-panoplied adulterous storm,
And seize from off her lips a rosebud white,
Tender and irreproachable and warm,—
And hasten with that soft inviolate form
Through the wild ebbing armies of the night.
Of the dark-panoplied adulterous storm,
And seize from off her lips a rosebud white,
Tender and irreproachable and warm,—
And hasten with that soft inviolate form
Through the wild ebbing armies of the night.
1871.
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