 | Love-Songs |  |
93
TO KATHLEEN GORDON, GIRL-GENIUS.
I
O girl-soul tender,And girl-form slender,
What dreams have traversed from side to side
Thy young fair being,
Beyond our seeing—
What thoughts have smitten with wing-wafts wide
The moonlit ocean
Of hopes in motion,
Around thee surging in life's first pride.
II
Dreaming for ever,Despairing never,
How beautiful art thou, spirit divine!
A blossom in girl-shape,
Purer than pearl-shape,
Born upon earth as a rose to shine;
Born to deliver
The souls that quiver
From arrows of life as from salt sea-brine.
94
III
Born to delight usWith song-beams that smite us,
Calm, gladden us, heal us—dreaming of things
That men dream never
And reach not ever
With masculine strong stern struggle of wings;
Teacher of poet,
Thou dost not know it,
But sweet within thee our song-god sings.
IV
Sings, and he brings to usTender soft wings, to us
Showing delights new, found not of old;
In thy light fairy
Dear diction airy
The song-god speaks and his speech is of gold,
And he laughs in laughter
Of thine, and, after,
He clings to us, sings to us, gentle but bold.
V
Thou wast a flowerIn some dim bower
Of Paradise, doubt not; now thou art here
To sing for years to us,
Laughter and tears to us,
Spread forth thy pinions, and have no fear;
The airs will carry thee,
Thy genius marry thee
In thought to spirits whose songs are clear.
95
VI
Whose songs are tender,Grave, and of splendour
Divine in ages long past and dead:
Shelley shall sing to thee
And Keats' soul cling to thee;
For robe and raiment, to crown thine head,
Thou shalt have glory
Of ages hoary,
The singing of past days round thee shed.
VII
Hold to thy powerO girl, O flower,
Both firm and humble, both true and brave;
Hearts thou shalt gladden,
Some souls perhaps sadden,
But more deliver and heal and save;
Add to our pleasure
With thy sweet treasure
Of fancies bountiful, frolick or grave.
VIII
Twine for our meadowsSunbeams and shadows
Of delicate true song, as in the strain
Thou just hast given us,
Whose dart hath riven us
Wondering to find in the song-god's fane
So young a singer,
So sweet a bringer
Of gifts that only the young flowers gain.
96
IX
For only the singers,Young, sweet, are bringers
Of all that falls from the high god's hand;
Yea, such souls only,
Pure, wondrous, lonely,
Before Apollo uncrowned, crowned, stand;
Crowned not as older
Bards fiercer or colder,
But crowned with rosebuds, band upon band.
X
Not e'en with bay-leaves,Sorrow's dark stray leaves,
But only rosebuds bright as the morn,
Bright as thine own heart;
Just as thou blown art
Yesterday only, so these were born
Yesterday, sweet one,
Subtle and fleet one—
From rose-twigs for thee were plucked and torn.
XI
Thy white brow bears yetNo sign of cares, yet
Some sorrow thy song would seem to pour;
Thou hast within thee
Strange thoughts that win thee,
Lure thee and draw thee to lands before;
To seasons unseen yet,
Cloudless, serene yet,
Towards passions the years yet garner in store.
97
XII
O girl-heart dreamingOf gold hair gleaming
And anthems swelling, and dark bright eyes,
Thy young life coming,
Like far wings humming
Above the blossoms 'neath sunstruck skies,
Hints of its wonder
Breathes—in the thunder
Of night, and the light of moons that rise.
XIII
A flower thou blowest,Just that,—nor knowest
The strange lands shadowed thy feet shall tread;
Best that thou know not,
While such skies glow not,
Fierce, sultry, scorching, above thine head;
The sunrise over thee
Shields, like a lover, thee;
What knowst thou, child-heart, of sunset red?
XIV
Thou needst not lingerPale sweet girl-singer
As yet, nor ponder by death's dark streams;
Yet, in thy singing
Their ripples ringing
Surge upward slowly, and softest dreams
Pour through thy yearning
Heart bounding and burning,
And crown thy spirit with weird sad gleams.
98
XV
Dreams thou hast fashioned,Tender, impassioned,
Of death, of heaven, of things unseen;
But wings supremer
O dear girl-dreamer
Than angels' even shall o'er thee lean;
Love's plumes shall crown thee,
In sweet joy drown thee,
Ere death thou facest, soft and serene.
XVI
Ere death thou facestIn love's thou placest
Thy palm so trustful and towards love's eyes
Thou gazest upward
As heaven and hopeward,
As towards star-blazoned and spotless skies:
Not for us only
The young song lonely
On lonely wing-beats glitters and flies.
XVII
Thou shalt be flowerIn love's fair hour
To those we see not—to him we see
Not either; lady
Now 'neath the shady
Dear branches supple of youth's slim tree
Resting, and singing
The soft songs clinging
To girl-friends' spirits, to many, to me.
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XVIII
But dream thou onwardMoonward and sunward,
Starward and seaward, skyward,—and hold
Dear, dear, the flowing
Locks, golden, glowing,
Thy sweet songs tell of,—for nought but gold
Thou wilt, thou sayest;
Thy voice delayest
Never for black locks, true to the old!
XIX
Yet perhaps in agesWhich thy song-pages
Now dream not of, blue glances or brown
May flash above thee,
Wound thee, or love thee,
More than the looks which pain thee or crown
In soft white girlhood,
Jewel-hood, pearl-hood,—
Smile thee to heaven, or slay with a frown.
XX
But howso be itThou mayest not flee it,
Thy song, thy mission of music and pain:
Pain; for the poet
Must, heart-wrung, know it,
Or worthless, feeble and false, his strain:
Music; for these
Songs blown on the breeze
In the heart of the world as a gift remain.
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