New Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

LYSIDICE.
Dearest, the onyx lamp is at thy side,
The vine-surrounded casement open wide,
And on the floor's mosaic I have set
Green sprigs of rue and buds of serpolet,
And still the rain upon their leaves is wet.
Farewell, farewell, and sing thyself to sleep.

PHILENION.
I fear my dreams will scarce be long or deep.

LYSIDICE.
Ah! let me close you, burning eyes and blue!
Melt to a cloud, and film yourselves in dew,
Else must I kiss you under either brow!

PHILENION.
I ought to soothe myself to slumber now
Were kisses poppies or oblivion love!

LYSIDICE.
Yea, soon behind our dear pomegranate grove
The large slow-footed moon will glide and set,
And all the world its weariness forget.

PHILENION.
Bow down once more that little curly head,
And lay those soft arms on the saffron bed;
Among the trees, and where the shade is deep,
Who comes to-night when all the world's asleep?

LYSIDICE.
Oh, hush! he will not see me, will not know
That I can hear his footfall there below.

PHILENION.
And while thou listenest for his wandering feet,
May I not also keep my vigil, sweet?

LYSIDICE.
Thou hast no reason, dear, to lie awake;
I seek to sleep but cannot for love's sake.
Ah, who has told thee that he comes at night?
I hardly told my heart my heart's delight.
He never sees, he never hears me there,
I lie, with fluttering pulse, till unaware
His presence seems to quicken all the air.
Is he not god-like, dear Philenion?
Like Paris when the triple deity shone

Around his face and shoulders in a flame?
Like great Adonis when the Cyprian came
And flushed him with embraces? Ah! that smile!
I fain for shame must hide my face awhile!
Ah! pity me for love's sake,—since thy breast
Has no such reason for a sick unrest.

PHILENION.
Dear child, young love thinks ever it knows best,
And I seem old to thee, and past my time,
Five years, forsooth, beyond thy budding prime.

LYSIDICE.
Last morn he came, and with his arms he led
A new-washed lamb with roses round its head;
He seemed to mean the lovely gift for me,
But blushed too much my blushing face to see—
How sweet it is to tell thee all my woe.

PHILENION.
Speak on, nor heed, love, that I tremble so.

LYSIDICE.
I stole up towards him when his flocks lay down
From stress of noontide on the pastures brown;
Before him flashed a distant streak of sea,
Behind him rose a whispering tamarisk-tree.
I listened close, and, sister, ere he set
The laughing calathus his lips to wet,
His eyes were sparkling, and—it might not be—
I thought he whispered low ‘Lysidice!’

PHILENION.
Behind that tree, and where the olives throw
A silver shadow on the leaves below,
Say, hast thou been?

LYSIDICE.
Yea, where the boughs divide
And show, half nestled in the dim hill-side
A noiseless and untrampled place of tombs.
Thou weepest, sister, for the lamp illumes
The shining fringes of those sweetest eyes?

PHILENION.
Ah! child, thou knowest not what sorrow lies
In memory; thou art rich in thy to-day,
Let me go silent on a sadder way.

LYSIDICE.
A burning tear has dropped upon my hand.
Have I done ill? I cannot understand!

PHILENION.
Among the graves that fill that olive shade
I wandered once, just such a joyous maid

As thou. Within my circling hands I held
A young cicala, who, by song impelled,
Struck with his feet the cithern of his wings;
I laughed, inspired by all the amorous things
The sacred creature hinted, till I threw
Backward my head, and caught against the blue
A man's keen face that looked me through and through.

LYSIDICE.
Let me come nearer, for you whisper low.

PHILENION.
I spread my fingers, let the wild wings go,
Sprang to my feet, and would have fled, but he
Was swifter, and his arms encompassed me.
Beneath the shade he wooed my fears away,
And showed the channel where his shallop law;
He lived upon the seas. Oh! strange and sweet
To sit at Aphrodite's awful feet!

Next morn I stole, and laid across her shrine
A fillet of these wine-dark locks of mine,
An jvy wreath, a grasshopper in gold.
She rose from out the tingling foam and cold;
She rules it still, and when I heard the roar
Of distant waves I prayed to her the more,
But all in vain.

LYSIDICE.
I too—but, sister, swear,
Reveal to none at all my foolish care,—
I, too, before the dawn to-day hung up
In Aphrodite's shrine my silver cup
Engraved with massy combats of old kings.

PHILENION.
I pray the gods that with all pleasant things
Thy life at all times may be crowned and blest,

May all the sweets into thy cup be pressed
That the sad gods forgot in mixing mine.

LYSIDICE.
Tell me what end came of this love of thine?

PHILENION.
There is but one fixed goal where love may fare
And every lover that the world shall bear;
After brief space or lengthened, weal or woe,
They downward and in solitude must go
Where the Queen sits with poppies round her hair.
Brief was our time for passion, scant and rare
The hours of pleasure in my life have been.
One chill October night when airs were keen,
And I within the quiet house began
To clear the soft white spinning wool a span
Forth from my knees, and thou wert bent to hold
The oil-press slowly oozing liquid gold,

Silent, before the fire, we two alone,
There came out of the dark a wailing moan,—
His voice in vision,—and I rose, but thou
Heard'st nothing, and knew'st nothing of my woe.
I felt that far away at sea his breath
Had called on mine at the last hour of death,
And through the thundering foam and roaring tide,
My heart had heard the whisper as he died.
Yea, Aphrodite, to whom sea-wives pray,
Had heard my prayer in her own mystic way.

LYSIDICE.
Sweetest, I dare not look into thine eyes,
So pure and sad, so tender and so wise;
What shall I do to make thy heart forget
My foolish hardness? See, my cheeks are wet
With passionate falling of remorseful tears.

PHILENION.
Thou hast the spring-tide lightness of thy years,
Sister! Behold, my arms are open wide,
Those vain reproaches in this bosom hide!
Dream not that life has lost all bliss for me,
Content to love and live again in thee.
Fair throbbing head, and flowing wealth of tress,
Alive in its own glancing loveliness,
Soft neck, warm hands, and best of all, I know,
Clear virgin heart fast beating down below,
These are my loves, and till that sacred hour
When Love shall crown thee with his mother's flower,
And I into the strong hands of a man
Shall give thee, as a sister only can,
These are my care, and all my life shall be
Absorbed in conquering thy destiny;
What woes the gods may for our heads prepare
With cheerful countenance and instant prayer

I will prevail that I alone may bear.
But when that day of days at last shall dawn
When underneath the platan on the lawn
Our hands suspend the wreath of dripping buds,
Your lotos-garland, starred with multitudes
Of nuptial blossoms steeped in rich perfume,
When all the maidens throng to view the room
Along whose walls the town's best art provides
Sweet amorous stories incident to brides,
When crowned with hyacinths, a chorus loud,
The virgins chaunt thy praises in a crowd,
And only hush, when on the ground they pour
The fragrant oil, one last libation more,
Then, darling, oh! may I be there to weep
Still tears of ecstasy that downward creep,
May holy Cypris round thy body twine
The sacred girdle of her charm divine,
And then may Love, all swallowed up in thee,
Forget, yea! even in dreams, to visit me.