Minuscula Lyrics of Nature, Art and Love. By Francis William Bourdillon |
 | I. |
| II. |
| III. |
 | IV. | Part IV
Maiden's Love |
 | Minuscula |  |
95
IV. Part IV
Maiden's Love
96
97
The Story of the Rose
The rose said, Yes!
And the butterfly—
Ah, you may guess
His ecstasy!
How like a kiss his wing-plumes brushed
Her petals, and how fair she blushed.
And the butterfly—
Ah, you may guess
His ecstasy!
How like a kiss his wing-plumes brushed
Her petals, and how fair she blushed.
The rose said, Stay!
But another rose
Beside bloomed gay:
The bright wings rose,
Across the upturned face they cast
A moment's shadow, and then passed.
But another rose
Beside bloomed gay:
The bright wings rose,
Across the upturned face they cast
A moment's shadow, and then passed.
But ere the bird
Of night was calling,
Unseen, unheard,
Were petals falling,
Like drops in caverns, leaf by leaf,
Done with life, and love, and grief.
Of night was calling,
Unseen, unheard,
Were petals falling,
Like drops in caverns, leaf by leaf,
Done with life, and love, and grief.
98
To-day He Loves Me
To-day he loves me!—Time, stand still!
Haste not, sun, behind the hill!
To-day he loves me: no to-morrow
Can touch this one to-day with sorrow.
Haste not, sun, behind the hill!
To-day he loves me: no to-morrow
Can touch this one to-day with sorrow.
As a crystal well o'erspills
With sweet water from the hills,
So my heart o'erbrims with blisses,
Of looks, of love-words, and of kisses.
With sweet water from the hills,
So my heart o'erbrims with blisses,
Of looks, of love-words, and of kisses.
And through many a day of drought
Love shall come to draw thereout,
Singing low—though this to-day
Be then a year-old yesterday—
“To-day he loves me!” ('Tis Love's way).
Love shall come to draw thereout,
Singing low—though this to-day
Be then a year-old yesterday—
“To-day he loves me!” ('Tis Love's way).
99
“Si vous croyez que je vais dire.”
My lips must say not,
My eyes betray not
My heart's hid treasure;
My hands must deaden,
My feet go leaden,
Not leap in measure.
My eyes betray not
My heart's hid treasure;
My hands must deaden,
My feet go leaden,
Not leap in measure.
For how they would rate me,
Preach me and prate me,
Scoff at and scold me,
Should they discover
Who is my lover,
And what he has told me!
Preach me and prate me,
Scoff at and scold me,
Should they discover
Who is my lover,
And what he has told me!
100
Ce que vivent les Roses.
The stream, that flows for ever,
Whispered to the daffodil,
“Would you not be as the river,
Ever living, ever flowing,
Never fading, never knowing
Death the chill?”
Whispered to the daffodil,
“Would you not be as the river,
Ever living, ever flowing,
Never fading, never knowing
Death the chill?”
But the daffodil made answer,
“I have lived one day of Spring,
When the wind with me was dancer;—
Oh, the brightness! Oh, the fleetness!
Oh, the rapture! What more sweetness
Could life bring?”
“I have lived one day of Spring,
When the wind with me was dancer;—
Oh, the brightness! Oh, the fleetness!
Oh, the rapture! What more sweetness
Could life bring?”
101
I and You
Man differeth from man, as leaf from leat,
As star from star;
And ev'n the hearts that suffer the same grief
Are parted far.
As star from star;
And ev'n the hearts that suffer the same grief
Are parted far.
And ev'n the souls, that through the windows gaze
Of wistful eyes,
Are aureoled each for each, as by the haze
Of wintry skies.
Of wistful eyes,
Are aureoled each for each, as by the haze
Of wintry skies.
102
A Woman's Question
Why do you love me so well?
I am only a woman:
No angel from Heaven or Hell,
But earthly and human.
I am only a woman:
No angel from Heaven or Hell,
But earthly and human.
And you—by your eyes' flame I see,
By your heart-beat I know it,
Have dreamed me a Beatrice—me,
You Dante, my poet.
By your heart-beat I know it,
Have dreamed me a Beatrice—me,
You Dante, my poet.
Shall I yield you my soul-stuff to be
Your soul-fire's fuel?
There is that would take fire in me,
But were it not cruel
Your soul-fire's fuel?
There is that would take fire in me,
But were it not cruel
To feed for one hour a fire,
How sacred soever?
Then see my delight, your desire,
In ashes for ever?
How sacred soever?
Then see my delight, your desire,
In ashes for ever?
103
Not in Naxos
An August day—a sky o'ercast—
A gray Down sloping to the sea—
A sea like a face where death has passed,
Motionless but for misery.
Hardly a breath in the heavy air,
Hardly a wave on the heaving tide;
The very pebbles were silent there,
Chatterers stilled by the great despair.
No voice was there, nor sound, beside
A faint dull moaning that rose and died,
The mere heart-beat of the ocean wide.
Above was the waste Down, bare and blind,
The dancing place of the winter wind;
Now silent and lone as the wan lamps show
The dancing rooms when the dancers go.
A gray Down sloping to the sea—
A sea like a face where death has passed,
Motionless but for misery.
Hardly a breath in the heavy air,
Hardly a wave on the heaving tide;
The very pebbles were silent there,
Chatterers stilled by the great despair.
No voice was there, nor sound, beside
A faint dull moaning that rose and died,
The mere heart-beat of the ocean wide.
Above was the waste Down, bare and blind,
The dancing place of the winter wind;
Now silent and lone as the wan lamps show
The dancing rooms when the dancers go.
Half-way down, from the cliff-face lent
A tower of chalk, like a battlement,
With a crest of waving grass, like hair.
Motionless sat a maiden there;
Her locks streamed loose, her lips were pale:
Her eyes were fixed on a far-off sail.
A tower of chalk, like a battlement,
With a crest of waving grass, like hair.
Motionless sat a maiden there;
Her locks streamed loose, her lips were pale:
Her eyes were fixed on a far-off sail.
104
An old-world story, a far-off woe,
Made beautiful by its long ago?
Nay, 'tis a different story this!
Yet on her lips is her lover's kiss;
Yet in her heart is the agony;
For this was yesterday, and I,
Who tell it you in the talk of men
I was the Ariadne then.
Made beautiful by its long ago?
Nay, 'tis a different story this!
Yet on her lips is her lover's kiss;
Yet in her heart is the agony;
For this was yesterday, and I,
Who tell it you in the talk of men
I was the Ariadne then.
105
A Story heard on a Violin
She loved. Her whole heart grew around
A baser nature, which it bound
With beauty, as the purple vine,
Which makes the stone or stem divine.
A baser nature, which it bound
With beauty, as the purple vine,
Which makes the stone or stem divine.
She lost. His grosser nature woke
And from her glorious bondage broke;
And she was left, a plant forlorn,
With drooping leaves and tendrils torn.
And from her glorious bondage broke;
And she was left, a plant forlorn,
With drooping leaves and tendrils torn.
Know ye the maiden?—I have met
One like her. In her eyes lay yet
The pain. From viol-strings she drew
A human cry that thrilled me through.
One like her. In her eyes lay yet
The pain. From viol-strings she drew
A human cry that thrilled me through.
106
A Revolt
Pale and passionless star,
Steadily wheeling afar
From the golden Sun, thy lord!
What is thy love's reward?
Cycles ever the same,
Timeless, tireless, tame.
Steadily wheeling afar
From the golden Sun, thy lord!
What is thy love's reward?
Cycles ever the same,
Timeless, tireless, tame.
Rather be my love's fashion
The fiery meteor's passion,
That scorns the planet's orbit,
And ever flies to the Sun,
Till its glorious lover absorb it,
And life ends when love is won.
The fiery meteor's passion,
That scorns the planet's orbit,
And ever flies to the Sun,
Till its glorious lover absorb it,
And life ends when love is won.
107
Planctus Displicentis
Why was I not born fair?
Not as world-famous Helen, past compare,
Drawing all hearts and eyes
To madness or magnificent emprise:
Not as world-famous Helen, past compare,
Drawing all hearts and eyes
To madness or magnificent emprise:
But as some village maid,
Chosen May-queen beneath the hawthorn shade,
Not fair enough to move
All women's jealousy, but one man's love.
Chosen May-queen beneath the hawthorn shade,
Not fair enough to move
All women's jealousy, but one man's love.
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