Marah :: :: University of Virginia Library

If thou art still a griefless girl or boy,
In love with life, and ignorant of love's grave,
Read not herein! For thee no gift have I,
And be thou thankful that no gift I have!

2

But if time's wayworn traveller thou art,
Hail, pilgrim! 'Tis for thee this book was writ.
The same sad pilgrimage, tho' far apart,
We two have made, and know the pain of it.

LIFE

What is life? The incessant desiring
Of a joy that is never acquired;
And, instead of that joy, the acquiring
Of enjoyments that are not desired.

SEMPER EADEM

1

The years go by. They bring no change, but only
The curse of custom, adding length to grief,
And pressure to the crowd that makes more lonely
The lone heart's changeless longing for relief.

2

Relief from wretched memories of things lost,
Relief in words that find no utterance now,
Relief from dead love's still undying ghost,
Relief in tears that long have ceased to flow!

3

O could I weep, weep, weep away this weight
Of tearless, time-worn, inarticulate pain,
Whose heavy burden no blest hopes abate!
O for release, rest, death! In vain, in vain!

FIRELIGHT

1

A feeling to-night comes o'er me
That once in this hearth's dim gleam
I was happy beyond all dreaming,
But it may have been only a dream.

2

A dream or a memory is it,
That here in the same soft glow
Two entranced ones nestled together,
And that I was one of the two?

3

I seem to remember a gladness
That haunted of old this spot.
But was it mine or another's?
Ah, that I remember not!

GHOSTS

1

We died, she and I, the same day. That I know;
Tho' we died, I remember not when;
But together we died; and I cannot guess how
We are here with the living again.

2

We ought to be both in our graves: and this much
I can tell by the shuddering thrill
That a dead corpse feels at the casual touch
Of a corpse more inanimate still.

3

But spells we obey, and are bound by their guile,
Dead and gone tho' we be, to contrive
For the sake of appearance to chatter and smile,
And pretend to be feeling alive.

4

I know, little friend, tho' defunct, you can do
With the smallest allowance of rest.
'T'was the joy of your life to be seen, and to go
About everywhere, daintily dress'd.

5

You never were glad to get early to bed;
And this constantly gadding about,
As you liked it alive, may have charms for you dead.
But for me—it is wearing me out!

6

Do, dear, for the sake of the days that are gone,
Put me back in my coffin and pall!
Nothing black for my burial need you put on,
Nor be miss'd from the liveliest ball.

7

From asking the living to lend me a hand
To get back to my grave, I refrain;
For I fear lest the living should misunderstand
What 'tis hard for the dead to explain.

8

But you are as little alive, dear, as I.
And I have not a sister or brother
To vouchsafe me this service. Nor can you deny
That the dead have a claim on each other.

NUNC STANS

1

Ah, the dead they may buiry their dead,
The unborn bring to birth their unborn,
But, ere life's flitting minute be fled,
Let us live, and laugh sorrow to scorn!

2

Past and Future, the permanent states
Of the fugitive Present, fleet fast
With its flight, that in flying creates
The fixt forms of the Future and Past.

3

Borne along in its boundless embrace,
The brief moments the centuries span;
And thro' time, as his shadow thro' space,
Does the Present accompany man.

PERVERSITY

Restless, unthankful, in a heaven all shining
With lights serene my fever'd spirit doth dwell;
And wild thro' Paradise it wanders, pining
For the hot feasts of Hell.

HAUNTED

For years (How many years? To me they seem'd
Hundreds of thousands. With eternity
Of torment every moment of them teem'd!)
The all-enduring slave of Pain was I.
At last, this servitude to suffering grew
Grievous beyond endurance. I arose,
And in revolt my tyrant, Pain, I slew.
A secret, dark, and hollow spot I chose
Among the ruin'd places of the past,
And buried murder'd Pain there. Then I went
Forth, an emancipated slave at last,
And mingled with the world, and was content,

And feasted, and made merry; laughing, “This
Is life, and life is beautiful again!”
But in mid-revel I began to miss
Something which I had buried with dead Pain.
I knew not what: but for the want of it
I could not take my pleasure as before
In pleasant things. A shadow seem'd to flit
Beside me, always sighing, “Nevermore!”
So from the revellers I stole away
Homeward. And here upon my hearth I found
A Spectre sitting. It was husht, and grey,
And ghastly. Its dim hooded brows were bound
With poisonous nightshade. A cold hand it laid
Upon me. My soul sicken'd. Helplessly
I groan'd, “What art thou?” and the Spectre said,
“The ghost of Pain, whose name is now Ennui!”

EPISODE

1

I love thy body better than thy soul.
I love thy beauty better than thy heart.
To me the part is dearer than the whole
Of all thou art.

2

For our lips naturally meet: but not
Our natures, not our thoughts. Far, far from thine
My spirit wanders lone. Thy heart hath got
No key to mine.

3

And 'tis adultery I commit with thee:
For to another woman I am wed;
Tho', save in dreams, her face I shall not see
Till I am dead.

4

We miss'd each other in the porch of Birth,
And there took different ways: mine earthward set
And hers I know not whither. But on earth
We have never met.

LIES

Ah, let me gaze still silent in those eyes,
Nor ask me what my soul is seeking there!
Tho' all that there is sought and found be lies,
If you and I on their false witness swear
Our love is love forever, were it wise
To test a fraud that is for both so fair?
Faith in it turns to treasures that I prize,
The faint scent breathing from your fawn-brown hair
And foam-white throat; the subtle mysteries
Of mellow shadow that have each its lair

In your lip's dimple; or the rose that dies
Along your cheek's smooth curve; and the rich air
Haunted with flutterings of entranced surprise
Round the warm edges of white vesture where
Those shy feet peep. Nor are the sorceries
Of this sweet fraud mine only. For you share
The fervid fascinations that arise
From wishes sure to wither if it were
Too soon mistrusted. Love's grand tragedies
Leave we, with all the pomps of their despair,
To souls heroic! Why should we despise
(We, whose hearts unheroically care
More for the moments than the eternities
Even the least of little joys, whate'er
Their source, that flush one minute as it flies
With radiant fervours of effulgence rare?
And if fond fancies aid them to disguise

Their fleeting earthliness in forms that wear
The hues of heaven (like wavelets, distant skies
Paint as they pass), need fretful forethought tear
From their poor wings those borrow'd pageantries?
What if some thunder-cloud soon quench the flare
Wherewith Desire's small bonfires humanise
One spot in the wide desert, whence they scare
The savage beast? No star whose beam supplies
Guidance or light, along the dark we dare
In blind pursuit of unknown destinies,
Will perish with it. Nor does Fate declare
Her will beforehand, tho' besought with sighs,
And groans, and tears, and supplicative prayer.
A miser's thrift is in each mad surmise
That starves the present for the thankless heir.
Who knows what plagues the future may devise
For those whose craft its blessings would ensnare?
Life's end may be to-night. The hour that hies

Is, while it lasts, life's all. So, if I swear
I love you, ask not what the oath implies,
But swear you love me also. We should fare
No better for the doubts that oath defies.
How sad were life, if bitter truth went bare!
And what were love itself without such lies?

LOVE'S LABOUR LOST

1

In the old Piazza at Florence a statue of David stands.
'Tis the masterful work of Michael Angelo's marvellous art,
Yet a failure nevertheless: for it came to the master's hands,
Not a virgin block intact, but already rough-hewn in part.

2

And what Mino da Fiesole did to it, Angelo could not undo.
So the work was but half his own. It is finish'd, yet incomplete.

As that statue to Michael Angelo hundreds of years ago,
So are you at this moment to me: an achievement, and yet a defeat!

3

'Tis that others have been before me, of whose touch you retain the trace.
You are half my work, half theirs. Thro' your spirit and flesh disperst
Is the mark of a love not mine, that my own love cannot efface.
For you were not virgin marble when you came to my hands at first.

100

HORACE AND LYDIA

[_]

(Modern.)

He
You ask me, “Do I love you?” Yes.
“What grace in you my worship wins?”
None. “Why, then, do I love you?” Guess!
Why does the sinner love his sins?
The drunkard his habitual dram?
The gambler counters, cards, and dice?
A slave to vicious wants I am,
And you are my inveterate vice.

She
Impertinent!

101

He
For truth you call,
Truth, and truth only. My reply,
Tho' it offend you—

She
Not at all!

He
Was, every word of it—

She
A lie!

He
No!

She
Yes! For all of flaming fire
Your fancy is, your heart all ice.

102

He
Granted. That means that my desire
Is vicious; you, its object, vice.

She
No. It means only, thankless friend,
That your desire has flights insane,
And I, beyond whose reach they tend,
Know that the goal they seek is vain.
Your dupe I am not. You deceive
Yourself, it may be, but not me,
When you aver, perhaps believe,
You love me. Ah, but you would be
As little to my liking then
As all the others are, if you
(In nothing else like other men)
Did, or could, love me as they do!

103

You do not love me. I suggest
Love fancies. Each for each is full
Of riddles that remain half guess'd.
And doubt, at least, is never dull.
You ought to feel, could you but share
My wisdom, thankful I am not
The woman that you wish I were.
To take delight in such a lot
As your caprice for love provides,
A woman should be either blind
And a born innocent besides,
Or else of a perverted mind—
Like me! Who deign with cheerfulness
To be the subject, tho' I know
That of your singular caress
I never was the object. No!
There lives no woman you could love
Fairly, for love's sake: tho' from each

104

You crave in turn what soars above,
Or fleets beyond, a woman's reach.
Ay, and a man's reach, too! For this
Ferocious idol, this Afar,
This phantom fetish, from a kiss
Could never yet create a star!

He
True. All its miracles require
The faith of two believers. One
Suffices not. And I aspire
In vain, for I aspire alone.
Our aims accord not. Mine, that was
High to uplift us both, has fail'd.
Yours was to drag me down. Alas,
And it is yours that has prevail'd!

105

She
To drag you down! You found me here
Where you were glad to find me, I
To welcome you. My natural sphere
I keep. Its hospitality
You sought, and all ungrudged 'twas given;
Nor did you spare the proffer'd feast.
If, just because earth is not Heaven,
I make the best of earth, at least
For the best gift earth has to give
Let us be thankful! Me you blame,
And you I tease; yet we contrive
To charm each other all the same.
Earth's child am I, for Heaven unfit.
But I deserve some earthly praise
For kindliness, good looks, and wit,
Altho' not wings I wear, but stays.

106

All my past lovers I have spoil'd
For other women. Here on earth
You will not find my better. Foil'd
Beforehand, seek! I know my worth.
After me, nothing! Search all round,
What is there left to find?

He
What they,
The Poet and the Sage, have found:
The Abstract!

She
Has the Abstract, pray,
Lips, limbs, and life? You will but find
Another woman, and a worse,
With faults as little to your mind,
Tho' not the same as mine, of course.

107

He
I came into your life too late,
And found you thus, completely made.
I needs must either love or hate
The thing you are without my aid.
And I would be a maker.

She
Friend,
Nature would be beforehand still
With all your work. Defeats attend
The usurpations of her will.
Perfection clothed in petticoats
Is youth's Chimaera. This sad truth
Your poets sing in mournful notes,
Your sages preach. The fault of youth

108

Is always to exaggerate,
And therefore miss the mark. Between
Life's two extremes, in me kind Fate
Accords you now the golden mean.
If one you found with warmer blood
Than mine is, she would be less fair.
Another's milk-white maidenhood
Would lack intelligence. Beware!
To us complacent circumstance
Is well disposed. Our fates are free.
And I would be your last romance,
As you are my first poem. See!

He
Ah, sceptic, cease! I can nor fight
Nor fly the field. Your lips and eyes
Disarm my reasonings. You are right,
And they are wrong. Be yours the prize

109

That Pallas ever fails to win!
Lay your hand on my heart once more!
What is it beats so wild within,
If love it be not?

She
Shut the door!

110

FUGIENS IMAGO

1

I have seen her, O how often I have seen her, but to see
Her mysterious evanescence, at a glance, a touch, a tone,
And how often, O how often, has my heart exclaim'd, “'Tis she!”
When, in turning to embrace her, I discover'd she was gone!

2

Gone as soon as greeted! Lost as soon as found!
And then again
All the search for her to recommence, discouraged, otherwhere!

111

All the doubt, “Will not the next search, as the last was, be in vain?
Was it she herself, or only a mirage of painted air?”

3

Nay! I could not be mistaken, could not see her and not know,
Could not take for her another! I, whose life has all been pass'd
In predicting her arrival, be its coming ne'er so slow,
And rejoicing in her presence, be its going ne'er so fast!

4

In the moment that I saw her, she was there. This much is sure.
All the rest may be illusion; all the time that went before,

112

All the time that follow'd after! For 'tis falsehoods that endure,
It is truth that, coming, going, lasts a moment and no more.

5

She is gone, and I have lost her! Yet a little while ago
She was there; and for a moment in your eyes I saw her smile,
In your voice I caught her accents, on your lips I felt the glow
Of her kiss, and I am certain she was there, tho' but a while.

6

Had you recognised her also, had you known her as I knew,
It had then been well for both of us. But, thro' some fault in each,

113

Now the search for her, you cannot aid, must all begin anew,
And the moment we retain'd not is already out of reach.

7

Hush! No vain recriminations! Life has years to count upon,
But for love are moments only. Love, that all the whiles between,
Looking forward to their coming, or recalling them when gone,
Bears two names: the one, “ I shall be!” and the other, other “ I have been!”

114

STILL!

1

I have invok'd with songs, and sued with tears,
A love still unresponsive to my call.
To find it, I have roam'd the waste of years;
To win it, spent my all.

2

Yet still do I believe in it, still cherish
An unrequited faith, and in the fume
Of fires unblest, that on its altars perish,
Life's substance still consume;

115

3

Like some poor alchemist, whose days have pin'd
In bondage to bright dreams that but betray'd,
Still raking ruin'd crucibles to find
The gold he never made.

116

SELENE

1

White Moon, forth-pouring floods of pallid fire
From founts that leave thy sallow orb forever
Ravaged and sear'd, and worn with wan desire,
But fervid never!

2

Bless the pale pleasures of my love and me,
Whose day of life, like thine, is the dark night!
From all the world I have chosen one like thee
For my delight.

117

3

No burning pulse her livid beauty warms.
But light that maddens the moon-stricken brain
Is in her looks, and in her cold white arms
Are dreams insane.

4

Like thine her chill enchantments! And like thine
My wistful vigils! And of all we are,
Each to the other, the sidereal sign
Is thy weird star.

5

Hushful, as o'er the bosom of the deep
Thou bendest, all night long I bend above
The soul that in her beauty lies asleep,
Dreaming of love.

118

6

Dreaming of love, not loving! Laid in trance
That waits the awakening touch of some caress
Not yet divined for its deliverance,
And still to guess.

7

Guide with the ghostly lamp's soul-reaching ray,
Desire's meandrous labyrinths among,
My slow sweet search, enamour'd of delay,
And lingering long!

8

My slow sweet search that dreads yet craves the goal
It seeks by ways bewilderingly dense
With dim delights, whose languors lap the soul
In charm'd suspense!

119

9

She whom I love has from the dawn of time
Been love's despair. All pleasure and all pain
Her breath begets. All virtue and all crime
Are her domain.

10

Her intricate charm is like a magic maze,
Whose central secret never can be found
By any of the interminable ways
That wind it round.

11

The perilous realms of Unreality
Her witchcraft rules. And my pale paramour
Fills all their phantom forms, from her faint sigh,
With strenuous power.

120

12

Fierce are the Solar Daughters of the South,
Faint, and a Lunar Witch, my leman is.
The North's lone mystery lingers on her mouth,
And chills her kiss.

13

The sun is in their veins, as in the vine:
The moon in hers, as in a sorcerer's cruce,
Has mingled dews and dreams. Their blood is wine:
Hers, morphian juice.

14

And I have drunk of it. And in her eyes
I have beheld, and on her lips pursued,
Passion's most mystical epiphanies;
With faith renew'd

121

15

In the voluptuous chastities of vice—
Virginities of sin in joys restrain'd,
Fruits of the imperishable paradise
Of the Unattain'd!

122

TRAVELLING ACQUAINTANCES

1

On my road at the dawn of day
Joy accosted me, passing me by.
We were both of us going one way;
But, alas, he went faster than I,
And in vain I besought him to stay.

2

“Prithee speed not,” I panted, “so fast,
Fellow-traveller! Fain would I be

123

Thy companion, and share to the last
The long course of my journey with thee!”
Never pausing, however, he pass'd.

3

“We can fare not together,” he cried,
“Any farther. But do not despond!
We may meet yet again.” And I sigh'd,
“Where again may I meet thee?” “Beyond!”
Joy, pointing his finger, replied.

4

“A remembrance,” he murmur'd, “meanwhile
('Tis the best that my passage bestows)
I bequeath thee, sad days to beguile.”
And he flung me a half-wither'd rose;
And was gone with a nod and a smile.

124

5

On I went, till the noon had wax'd hot.
Then I came to a blossoming grove.
There, alone in a flowery spot,
I was suddenly greeted by Love.
But I trembled, and answer'd him not.

6

For his face was the face of a stranger,
And I seem'd to myself to be there
A forbidden and trespassing ranger.
And, beholding Love's weapons, “Beware!”
Said my heart to me. “Here there is danger.”

125

7

But the whisper of Love was so sweet,
And the spell of his beauty so strong,
And with welcome so warm did he greet,
And so tenderly drew me along,
That I fell down faint at his feet.

8

Merry butterflies hither and thither
Were a-wooing. Sweet birds caroll'd clear.
All around, it was midsummer weather.
And I said, “This is Paradise! Here
Let us linger forever together!”

126

9

With a frown Love averted his face,
And his voice took a menacing tone,
As he struggled to break mine embrace,
Crying, “Loose me, for I must be gone!
I have linger'd too long from the chase.”

10

“If thou leavest me, what shall I do?”
I cried, clinging, imploring, and fond.
“And ah, whither away wouldst thou go?”
Love impatiently answer'd, “Beyond!”
And the sunshine seem'd turned into snow.

127

11

“If,” I wept, “thy last word has been spoken,
Cruel fugitive, ere thou depart,
Leave me one little lingering token!”
Then he struck me a blow at the heart,
And I felt in it something was broken.

12

I arose, sick, and faint, and in pain,
But still, staggering, onward I went,
Till the sun was low down and the plain
Sad and cold, and its colours all spent,
And the daylight beginning to wane.

128

13

Rough and hard was the way, tho' down hill;
And my feet were both weary and sore;
And the road I was journeying still
Had a narrower track than before;
And the twilight hung heavy and chill.

14

Where around me the long shadows lay.
And the path became doubtful and dim,
I was met by a traveller grey;
And his aspect was furtive and grim,
Like a beast's that is prowling for prey.

129

15

He approach'd me, and seized, and embraced,
As he cried to me, “Welcome at last!
It is late, but I am not in haste,
And we too have no need to go fast.
Thou art weary, and I am slow-paced.”

16

“Of my hand,” I groan'd, writhing, “let go!”
For I neither could loosen nor bear
The cold pressure of his. But, “Ah, no!”
The grey traveller said. “I am Care.
Love and Joy have gone from thee, I know.

130

17

But my fingers hold faster,” said he,
“Than the bite of an adamant bond.”
“Is there nowhere, then, refuge from thee?”
I exclaim'd in despair. And “Beyond,”
He said faintly, “perchance there may be!”