 | Love-Songs |  |
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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