 | Lyrical Poems |  |
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Book Fourth
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HIC JACET
1852
Where she lies low—where she lies low
The great world and its clamours sleep:
The low soft winds above her creep,
With sighing whispers through the grass,
And shake the tearful flowers that blow
Where she lies low.
The great world and its clamours sleep:
The low soft winds above her creep,
With sighing whispers through the grass,
And shake the tearful flowers that blow
Where she lies low.
The ghostly height of ancient walls,
Gray watchmen o'er the couch of death,
Stand shrouded in the marish breath,
Till first the stealthy dawn strikes through,
And smites them with a silvery glow
Where she lies low.
Gray watchmen o'er the couch of death,
Stand shrouded in the marish breath,
Till first the stealthy dawn strikes through,
And smites them with a silvery glow
Where she lies low.
But ever, ever higher yet,
Blithe reveller on pinion strong,
The lark pours out himself in song;
Then wearied on her turf he drops,
And folds his speckled wings in woe
Where she lies low.
Blithe reveller on pinion strong,
The lark pours out himself in song;
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And folds his speckled wings in woe
Where she lies low.
—The earth transfigures her in light:
The living sun is whirl'd on high:—
O golden day! O happy sky!
O bright satiety of bliss!
Ye mock the settled shades of woe
Where she lies low.
The living sun is whirl'd on high:—
O golden day! O happy sky!
O bright satiety of bliss!
Ye mock the settled shades of woe
Where she lies low.
And childhood seats her on the turf,
And shares the noontide meal with joy:
Girl smiles to girl: boy laughs to boy:
—They go:—the robin quits the bush,
And treads the careless flowers that grow
Where she lies low.
And shares the noontide meal with joy:
Girl smiles to girl: boy laughs to boy:
—They go:—the robin quits the bush,
And treads the careless flowers that grow
Where she lies low.
And Evening crimsons through the blue;
And as a bride with cheeks aflame,
Day dyes her face in happy shame,
And blushes at her own delight:
—But lengthening shades of twilight flow
Where she lies low.
And as a bride with cheeks aflame,
Day dyes her face in happy shame,
And blushes at her own delight:
—But lengthening shades of twilight flow
Where she lies low.
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O irony of joyless joy!
Pale azure of the heartless sky!
O cold keen stars, unmoved on high!
O all bright things, your glory veil!
There is but one deep night of woe
Where she lies low.
Pale azure of the heartless sky!
O cold keen stars, unmoved on high!
O all bright things, your glory veil!
There is but one deep night of woe
Where she lies low.
Is there no pity in the sun,
No note of grief in childly mirth?
Is there no echo from the earth?
Is there no answer in the sky?
No hint from Heaven that will'd it so,
Where she lies low?
No note of grief in childly mirth?
Is there no echo from the earth?
Is there no answer in the sky?
No hint from Heaven that will'd it so,
Where she lies low?
—Where she lies low—where she lies low,
There is the hush of holy sleep:
The dewy flowers in silence weep:
There is no place for voice or cry:
It is the utter heart of woe
Where she lies low.
There is the hush of holy sleep:
The dewy flowers in silence weep:
There is no place for voice or cry:
It is the utter heart of woe
Where she lies low.
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THE DESIRE
At dawn from flower to flower
The footless soul on fairy pinions went:
Eternity seem'd in each several hour,
And joys came quicker than an infant's breath;
The wish scarce framed, the cry scarce upward sent.
Ere the Desire cometh.
The footless soul on fairy pinions went:
Eternity seem'd in each several hour,
And joys came quicker than an infant's breath;
The wish scarce framed, the cry scarce upward sent.
Ere the Desire cometh.
Heaven's gate to youth is wide;
No vain prayer empty-hand with shame returns;
God suffers not his children be denied;
Youth's highest lavish visions far beneath
Their sweet fulfilment, when the bosom burns
And the Desire cometh!
No vain prayer empty-hand with shame returns;
God suffers not his children be denied;
Youth's highest lavish visions far beneath
Their sweet fulfilment, when the bosom burns
And the Desire cometh!
Why then, my God, when less
Advancing years implore, and deeper cries,
Should'st thou give least? Why this scant haste to bless
When blessings are thrice blest? Why license Death
Love's hand to wither, as we touch the prize
And the Desire cometh?
Advancing years implore, and deeper cries,
Should'st thou give least? Why this scant haste to bless
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Love's hand to wither, as we touch the prize
And the Desire cometh?
He, the Compassionate,
Past hope, when all seem'd taken, grants us more,
And on drear earth flings open Heaven's own gate.
Immortal love dawns o'er horizon Death:
A glory of lost faces fills the door,
And the Desire cometh.
Past hope, when all seem'd taken, grants us more,
And on drear earth flings open Heaven's own gate.
Immortal love dawns o'er horizon Death:
A glory of lost faces fills the door,
And the Desire cometh.
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CASTELROVINATO
The death-flag darkens on the tower,
The shadow blots the wall:
They wail within my lady's bower,
They groan along the hall:—
The hope of all that knightly house
In hottest strait of battle slain,—
His true-love flung upon the corse,
And kissing his gray lips in vain,—
The young hope of that castle tower
Lies low beneath the wall;
So well to wail within the bower,
And groan along the hall.
The shadow blots the wall:
They wail within my lady's bower,
They groan along the hall:—
The hope of all that knightly house
In hottest strait of battle slain,—
His true-love flung upon the corse,
And kissing his gray lips in vain,—
The young hope of that castle tower
Lies low beneath the wall;
So well to wail within the bower,
And groan along the hall.
The festal flag is on the tower,
The sunbeam gilds the wall;
Why should they wail within the bower,
Why groan within the hall?
The daughter of the house to-day
Her beauty veils in bridal dress;
To others yields her lands and name,
To others yields her loveliness—
For Love is lord of keep and tower,
And climbs the castle wall:—
At eve they sing within the bower,
And dance athwart the hall.
The sunbeam gilds the wall;
Why should they wail within the bower,
Why groan within the hall?
The daughter of the house to-day
Her beauty veils in bridal dress;
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To others yields her loveliness—
For Love is lord of keep and tower,
And climbs the castle wall:—
At eve they sing within the bower,
And dance athwart the hall.
There is no flag upon the tower,
No shadow on the wall:
The chestnut vaults my lady's bower,
The green snake haunts the hall.
A thousand years—a thousand years—
The hearth is cold; the race has fled:
And rather will the years return
Than any spell restore the dead.—
So well the wind should waste the tower,
The lichen fret the wall;
The chestnut burgeon in the bower,
The green snake in the hall.
No shadow on the wall:
The chestnut vaults my lady's bower,
The green snake haunts the hall.
A thousand years—a thousand years—
The hearth is cold; the race has fled:
And rather will the years return
Than any spell restore the dead.—
So well the wind should waste the tower,
The lichen fret the wall;
The chestnut burgeon in the bower,
The green snake in the hall.
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RECOLLECTIONS OF CHILDHOOD
I love the gracious littleness
Of Childhood's fancied reign:
The narrow chambers and the nooks
That all its world contain:
The fairy landscapes on the walls
And half-imagined faces:
The stairs from thoughtless steps fenced off,
The landing loved for races:
—By stranger feet the floors are trod
That still in thought I see:
But the golden days of Childhood
May not return to me.
Of Childhood's fancied reign:
The narrow chambers and the nooks
That all its world contain:
The fairy landscapes on the walls
And half-imagined faces:
The stairs from thoughtless steps fenced off,
The landing loved for races:
—By stranger feet the floors are trod
That still in thought I see:
But the golden days of Childhood
May not return to me.
I love the little room where first
On infant reason broke
The knowledge we had seen before
The place in which we woke:
Where first we link'd a happy eve
To an all-sunny morning,
Nor in that rigid chain of time
Read any note of warning.
Why are the years together forged
And bound by Fate's decree,
If the golden days of Childhood
May not return to me?
On infant reason broke
The knowledge we had seen before
The place in which we woke:
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To an all-sunny morning,
Nor in that rigid chain of time
Read any note of warning.
Why are the years together forged
And bound by Fate's decree,
If the golden days of Childhood
May not return to me?
I love the broken plaything ghosts
That once were living joys:
Th' extemporized delight we snatch'd
From toys that were not toys:
The hands that nursed our infant limbs,
And bade us ‘sleep in clover’;
The lips we shall not kiss again
That kiss'd us oft and over:—
These relics of the past I prize,
Though faint and rare they be:
For the vanish'd days of Childhood
May not return to me.
That once were living joys:
Th' extemporized delight we snatch'd
From toys that were not toys:
The hands that nursed our infant limbs,
And bade us ‘sleep in clover’;
The lips we shall not kiss again
That kiss'd us oft and over:—
These relics of the past I prize,
Though faint and rare they be:
For the vanish'd days of Childhood
May not return to me.
I love the swing that shook between
The jaw-bones of the whale:
The hollow rocking garden-boat
Fit haunt for feast and tale:
The mat-roof'd cabin where we crouch'd
And scorn'd the storm together:
Th' initials flourish'd on the beech
To tell our loves for ever:
That half we wish'd and half we fear'd
Another's eyes might see:—
—Ah, that the days of Childhood
May ne'er return to me!
The jaw-bones of the whale:
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Fit haunt for feast and tale:
The mat-roof'd cabin where we crouch'd
And scorn'd the storm together:
Th' initials flourish'd on the beech
To tell our loves for ever:
That half we wish'd and half we fear'd
Another's eyes might see:—
—Ah, that the days of Childhood
May ne'er return to me!
I love the lawn—the scene of high
Hellenic bulrush fights:
Where Homer's heroes, known through Pope,
Gave names to childly knights:
Where after-life was shadow'd out
In feats of happy daring,
Till each went off the field with joy
The victor-trophies sharing:
To count the shatter'd darts that lay,
The dints that scarr'd the tree—
—Ah, that the days of Childhood
May ne'er return to me!
Hellenic bulrush fights:
Where Homer's heroes, known through Pope,
Gave names to childly knights:
Where after-life was shadow'd out
In feats of happy daring,
Till each went off the field with joy
The victor-trophies sharing:
To count the shatter'd darts that lay,
The dints that scarr'd the tree—
—Ah, that the days of Childhood
May ne'er return to me!
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I love the palaces we built,
The fancied brick or stone:
The forts for happy snowball siege,
And conquest lightly won:—
The mimic puppet shows we framed
To act some Shakespeare story,
Where Rome and Forres were set forth,
And Caesar fell in glory:
Where all was false and all was true
The moment might decree.—
—Ah, that the days of Childhood
May ne'er return to me!
The fancied brick or stone:
The forts for happy snowball siege,
And conquest lightly won:—
The mimic puppet shows we framed
To act some Shakespeare story,
Where Rome and Forres were set forth,
And Caesar fell in glory:
Where all was false and all was true
The moment might decree.—
—Ah, that the days of Childhood
May ne'er return to me!
I love the foolish words—that love
Recorded as they fell:
The very faults that then we wept,
The follies prized too well:—
Alas for loss that Time has wrought:
For joys, from grief that borrow;
For sorrows that we cannot weep,
And sins that bring no sorrow!
Where is that unremorseful woe,
That unreflecting glee?—
Alas! the days of Childhood
May ne'er return to me.
Recorded as they fell:
The very faults that then we wept,
The follies prized too well:—
Alas for loss that Time has wrought:
For joys, from grief that borrow;
For sorrows that we cannot weep,
And sins that bring no sorrow!
Where is that unremorseful woe,
That unreflecting glee?—
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May ne'er return to me.
I love the timid soul that blush'd
Before an elder's look:
Yet from its equals in the game
No tyranny could brook:—
That spoke undaunted truth, no veils
Of Custom interposing:
Nor fear'd its weakness and its strength
To open hearts disclosing.
I love the very strife that left
Our souls for love more free:
For the truthful days of Childhood
May ne'er return to me.
Before an elder's look:
Yet from its equals in the game
No tyranny could brook:—
That spoke undaunted truth, no veils
Of Custom interposing:
Nor fear'd its weakness and its strength
To open hearts disclosing.
I love the very strife that left
Our souls for love more free:
For the truthful days of Childhood
May ne'er return to me.
—Alas for hands that then we clasp'd;
For merry tripping feet;
For daily thoughtless welcomings,
And partings but to meet!
The shout, the song, the leap, the race:
The light of happy faces:
The voice, the eyes of vanish'd love;
The youthful fond embraces.
—I hoard the thought of things that were,
And ne'er again shall be:
For the loving days of Childhood
May not return to me.
For merry tripping feet;
For daily thoughtless welcomings,
And partings but to meet!
The shout, the song, the leap, the race:
The light of happy faces:
The voice, the eyes of vanish'd love;
The youthful fond embraces.
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And ne'er again shall be:
For the loving days of Childhood
May not return to me.
—But O blithe little ones—that dance,
And bid me join your play:
How can I share your blessedness?
How can I turn away?—
Your's are the gleam of azure eyes,
The light of happy faces:—
The hurried breath of eager joy,
The proffer'd pure embraces:—
What can I then but take the gift,
The love you lavish free?—
—In you the days of Childhood
May yet return to me.
And bid me join your play:
How can I share your blessedness?
How can I turn away?—
Your's are the gleam of azure eyes,
The light of happy faces:—
The hurried breath of eager joy,
The proffer'd pure embraces:—
What can I then but take the gift,
The love you lavish free?—
—In you the days of Childhood
May yet return to me.
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IBYCUS AND CLEORA
Ηρι μεν αι τε Κυδωνιαι μαλιδες αρδομεναι ροαν
εκ ποταμων, ινα παρθενων κηπος ακηρατος,
αι τ' οινανθιδες αυξομεναι σκιεροισιν υφ' ερνεσιν
οιναρεοις θαλεθοισιν, εμοι δ' Ερος
ουδεμιαν κατακοιτος ωραν----
This quotation is from one of the too-scanty fragments in which the poetry of Ibycus of Rhegium has reached us. That on the reverse of the title is from a Paean by Bacchylides.
I THE VOYAGE
White star of the green and distance-hazy coast,
And is it Limnocréné that I view?
Before this rediscovery of the lost
Scarce can I tell if truth herself be true:—
O glad prophetic warmth that cheers the brain,
Deceive me not again;
But let this oracle be without alloy,
Void of some second sense, some heart of pain;
In boyhood's land to be once more a boy,
Nor joy by her retreating footsteps own,
This, Hope, I ask alone!
O wild west wind that sigh'st to touch the bay,
O cloven furrow of the volant bark,
O faithful rudder love-straight to the mark,
Stretch all your speed and close this long delay:—
—For all ye can and more
My spirit leaps on Leuconnese before—
The land I seem'd to quit, yet there alway:
From Cleora to Cleora
Is the limit of my way.
And is it Limnocréné that I view?
Before this rediscovery of the lost
Scarce can I tell if truth herself be true:—
O glad prophetic warmth that cheers the brain,
Deceive me not again;
But let this oracle be without alloy,
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In boyhood's land to be once more a boy,
Nor joy by her retreating footsteps own,
This, Hope, I ask alone!
O wild west wind that sigh'st to touch the bay,
O cloven furrow of the volant bark,
O faithful rudder love-straight to the mark,
Stretch all your speed and close this long delay:—
—For all ye can and more
My spirit leaps on Leuconnese before—
The land I seem'd to quit, yet there alway:
From Cleora to Cleora
Is the limit of my way.
I dwelt in exile long and far from Thee:
I sought a solace fitted for my need:
‘'Twas no peculiar curse was laid on me;
Some Providence that wills the heart should bleed.
Patient submissiveness meet ransom bears,
Pure wisdom comes thro' tears.
The close makes all things clear to waiting eyes,
Fix'd on that crown beyond the mist of years:
Enough! Man may not read the mysteries:
‘Submit; nor waste thyself on idle grief,
‘For Action is relief.’
—O wild west wind, O truer-hearted breeze,
Is there no yearning in thy length of sighs?
Can holy Nature her own lore despise,
Yielding her aims before such sophistries?
Teach me to prize one so;
Then bid me turn aside the nearing prow
From what I seem'd to quit, yet there alway:—
From Cleora to Cleora
Is the limit of my way.
I sought a solace fitted for my need:
‘'Twas no peculiar curse was laid on me;
Some Providence that wills the heart should bleed.
Patient submissiveness meet ransom bears,
Pure wisdom comes thro' tears.
The close makes all things clear to waiting eyes,
Fix'd on that crown beyond the mist of years:
Enough! Man may not read the mysteries:
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‘For Action is relief.’
—O wild west wind, O truer-hearted breeze,
Is there no yearning in thy length of sighs?
Can holy Nature her own lore despise,
Yielding her aims before such sophistries?
Teach me to prize one so;
Then bid me turn aside the nearing prow
From what I seem'd to quit, yet there alway:—
From Cleora to Cleora
Is the limit of my way.
And I have drunk experience to the lees,
Have waked vain nights with mindful solitude,
Fretting the days on action's vanities,
And call'd Forgetfulness my final good:
From Friendship's hand Lethaean goblets quaff'd,
And laugh'd with those that laugh'd.
I ask'd the heart resign'd and full submission,
The flower of Patience on Love's tomb engraff'd;
But sorrow from despair takes no remission:
Patience, where Love in trance unconscious breathes,
Amaranthine garlands wreathes.
And as when summer's hour and Enna bloom
Enfranchised from dim Hell Proserpine springs,
So love shakes free the cerement-crumpled wings,
Knowing afar Cleora's voice:—I come—
I come to claim thee now,
Striking the conscious shore with trembling prow—
The shore I seem'd to quit, yet there alway:—
From Cleora to Cleora
Is the limit of my way.
Have waked vain nights with mindful solitude,
Fretting the days on action's vanities,
And call'd Forgetfulness my final good:
From Friendship's hand Lethaean goblets quaff'd,
And laugh'd with those that laugh'd.
I ask'd the heart resign'd and full submission,
The flower of Patience on Love's tomb engraff'd;
But sorrow from despair takes no remission:
Patience, where Love in trance unconscious breathes,
Amaranthine garlands wreathes.
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Enfranchised from dim Hell Proserpine springs,
So love shakes free the cerement-crumpled wings,
Knowing afar Cleora's voice:—I come—
I come to claim thee now,
Striking the conscious shore with trembling prow—
The shore I seem'd to quit, yet there alway:—
From Cleora to Cleora
Is the limit of my way.
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II A MEETING
What is this silence when I meet thee, Dear,
And after such delay?
Is soul to soul for words too nearly near;
Or are we still apart;
Cleora, say?
And after such delay?
Is soul to soul for words too nearly near;
Or are we still apart;
Cleora, say?
The tender hand my boyhood press'd I take,
That thro' some fifteen years
Its young proportion keeps: I cannot speak:
But gaze on that dear pledge
Time more endears.
That thro' some fifteen years
Its young proportion keeps: I cannot speak:
But gaze on that dear pledge
Time more endears.
Ah Love—And has love grown with growing years?
In that dumb moment's show
The question of a life with many fears
Perusing glances ask:
And better so.
In that dumb moment's show
The question of a life with many fears
Perusing glances ask:
And better so.
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There are no mortal words for such request:
Nor could I, Darling, more
Than by the voiceless pleading of the breast,
By the heart's crimson tears,
Thy pity implore:
Nor could I, Darling, more
Than by the voiceless pleading of the breast,
By the heart's crimson tears,
Thy pity implore:
By all that changeless love to promise thee
For more than life may dare:
By all the burden thou hast laid on me,
Having no other hope
But this despair:—
For more than life may dare:
By all the burden thou hast laid on me,
Having no other hope
But this despair:—
Not so, the scornful world and custom say:
Submit: be blithe as we.
I take the tenour of the common day:
To common themes the tongue
Again is free.
Submit: be blithe as we.
I take the tenour of the common day:
To common themes the tongue
Again is free.
But ever and anon some transient tone,
Some glance at where thou art—
And mid the jocund throng I stand alone,
And in my all the world
May claim no part.
Some glance at where thou art—
And mid the jocund throng I stand alone,
And in my all the world
May claim no part.
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How will it be, I ask'd me as I came,
With her I left so fair?
—The music of thy beauty is the same;
'Tis the bright voice of yore
Heard on the stair.
With her I left so fair?
—The music of thy beauty is the same;
'Tis the bright voice of yore
Heard on the stair.
Dearest: And hast no little word for ease:
No hint of kindlier strain?
And owns the tender heart no tenderness:
Canst thus endure to give
Painless, such pain?
No hint of kindlier strain?
And owns the tender heart no tenderness:
Canst thus endure to give
Painless, such pain?
Ah Child—, ah dearer than aught else on earth,
So far off and so near:—
Spare him a little who so knows thy worth,
But finds no words to say
How thou art dear.
So far off and so near:—
Spare him a little who so knows thy worth,
But finds no words to say
How thou art dear.
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III ANTICIPATIONS
Sweet Spring, blind quiverings in the breast,
And vague emotions fired along the blood;—
I know the secret fount of this unrest,
This vital vernal flood.
And vague emotions fired along the blood;—
I know the secret fount of this unrest,
This vital vernal flood.
Deep in her Demiurgic gloom
Nature, that heeds not oft her children's moan,
From th' alchemic and life-encradling tomb
Feels sometimes for her own.
Nature, that heeds not oft her children's moan,
From th' alchemic and life-encradling tomb
Feels sometimes for her own.
She bids the balmier hours return,
And the glad Zephyr imps his crumpled wing;
The rubies of her crown dilating burn
When she proclaims it Spring.
And the glad Zephyr imps his crumpled wing;
The rubies of her crown dilating burn
When she proclaims it Spring.
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She in Cleora's breast, her child,
The living ruby swells with vital fire;
Fluttering the gentle heart with visions wild
And unexplain'd desire.
The living ruby swells with vital fire;
Fluttering the gentle heart with visions wild
And unexplain'd desire.
Me also, Mother, yet again
By thine inspiring to new hope beguiled,—
By this rewaking of the sleepless pain,
Compassionate thy child!
By thine inspiring to new hope beguiled,—
By this rewaking of the sleepless pain,
Compassionate thy child!
Sweet Spring, responsive to my breast,
Hope's quicken'd tide that fires along the blood,
Bring the dear kiss of peace for this unrest
And sympathetic flood.
Hope's quicken'd tide that fires along the blood,
Bring the dear kiss of peace for this unrest
And sympathetic flood.
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IV INVOCATION
Low on thy suppliants,
Us, even us,
Bend thy pure eyelids,
Lady of Amathus.
Us, even us,
Bend thy pure eyelids,
Lady of Amathus.
Zeus in white majesty
Lords it on high;
Pallas with wisdom
Arches the sky.
Lords it on high;
Pallas with wisdom
Arches the sky.
Phoebus each morning
Climbs to his throne;
Nightly fair Artemis
Walketh alone.
Climbs to his throne;
Nightly fair Artemis
Walketh alone.
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Yet to thy suppliants,
Us, even us,
Turn thee and smile,
Lady of Amathus!
Us, even us,
Turn thee and smile,
Lady of Amathus!
On the great Presences
Idly we call:
Thou, Aphrodité,
Greater than all.
Idly we call:
Thou, Aphrodité,
Greater than all.
Come with the sweetness
Love knoweth well,
All thine, only thine,
Utter, ineffable.
Love knoweth well,
All thine, only thine,
Utter, ineffable.
Smile on thy suppliants,
Us, even us;
Smile as of yore,
Lady of Amathus!
Us, even us;
Smile as of yore,
Lady of Amathus!
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V A SUPPLICATION
As a child on mother's face
Looks a longing lingering gaze;
He has ask'd a boon and knows not
If she gives or if bestows not:
So I to Thee: so my soul hangs on thine,
Waiting thy whisper and the doom of life:
Life in one word,
Cleora mine.
Looks a longing lingering gaze;
He has ask'd a boon and knows not
If she gives or if bestows not:
So I to Thee: so my soul hangs on thine,
Waiting thy whisper and the doom of life:
Life in one word,
Cleora mine.
As sweet lilies to the blue,
Downcast 'neath Aurora's dew,
When Apollo bids, lift up
Tears within each timid cup:
So I to thee when doubt one moment flies,
Uplift the glance that trembles as it dwells;
Thy face my Heaven;
God in thine eyes.
Downcast 'neath Aurora's dew,
When Apollo bids, lift up
Tears within each timid cup:
So I to thee when doubt one moment flies,
Uplift the glance that trembles as it dwells;
Thy face my Heaven;
God in thine eyes.
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And as mariners that view
Typho's dark wing shroud the blue,
Silent thro' the rifted veil
Bid the gracious azure hail;
So where thy crystal casement-quarrels gleam
The voiceless lips a prayerful suppliance send;
Bidding my love
Wake in thy dream.
Typho's dark wing shroud the blue,
Silent thro' the rifted veil
Bid the gracious azure hail;
So where thy crystal casement-quarrels gleam
The voiceless lips a prayerful suppliance send;
Bidding my love
Wake in thy dream.
In his day of sore distress,
Child, thy child, Cleora, bless:
Heaven mine, thro' clouded skies
Rain the grace of starry eyes.
Life's first last hope to thee I thus consign,
Summ'd in one venture, bosom'd in one word;
One word sigh-short,—
Cleora mine.
Child, thy child, Cleora, bless:
Heaven mine, thro' clouded skies
Rain the grace of starry eyes.
Life's first last hope to thee I thus consign,
Summ'd in one venture, bosom'd in one word;
One word sigh-short,—
Cleora mine.
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VI UNREST
In strange unrest from room to room I glide:
A spell is on me: I must find her now:
I have a word to speak, that on my brow
Is writ in lines of flame,
And to all else what I for her would hide
Betrays my shame.
A spell is on me: I must find her now:
I have a word to speak, that on my brow
Is writ in lines of flame,
And to all else what I for her would hide
Betrays my shame.
My moody silence wrong'd her yester-eve:
Methought for pride the gift she so refused
Her young confuséd blush I more confused
With words of foolish haste
My penitence my heart's-ease should receive
Ere day be past.
Methought for pride the gift she so refused
Her young confuséd blush I more confused
With words of foolish haste
My penitence my heart's-ease should receive
Ere day be past.
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In Love's own inmost bower does she dream?
Or is her footstep on the walnut stair?
I track the sounds: I know the passionate air,
The song of yesternight,
‘Bells in the valley, flowers by the stream’:
They guide me right:—
Or is her footstep on the walnut stair?
I track the sounds: I know the passionate air,
The song of yesternight,
‘Bells in the valley, flowers by the stream’:
They guide me right:—
Through rushen-rustling hall I follow, follow,
Through lucent-paved and pillar'd corridor,
By grape-heap'd altar-niche and vine-hung door,
And lawnward 'neath the glade:
Where with one high lament and laughter hollow
Those accents fade.
Through lucent-paved and pillar'd corridor,
By grape-heap'd altar-niche and vine-hung door,
And lawnward 'neath the glade:
Where with one high lament and laughter hollow
Those accents fade.
O balmy dusk and crown'd with Love's own star!
I see the star: I cannot see my Love:
I cry Repentance to the ringing grove:
‘Unheard she scorns thy cry;
‘Love's quick ear to Love's footstep beats from far’
The Nymphs reply.
I see the star: I cannot see my Love:
I cry Repentance to the ringing grove:
‘Unheard she scorns thy cry;
‘Love's quick ear to Love's footstep beats from far’
The Nymphs reply.
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I turn from those drear omens of mistrust:
A casement flashes on the palace-wall:
I hear her sliding lattice softly fall:
Love's star I see no more:
The cloud comes weaving o'er the sky with gust
And scornful roar.
A casement flashes on the palace-wall:
I hear her sliding lattice softly fall:
Love's star I see no more:
The cloud comes weaving o'er the sky with gust
And scornful roar.
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VII AT MIDNIGHT
I dare not bid Time speed his pace:
I dare not bid him linger:
Fate lifts the scale and holds my life
Poised on her even finger.
I dare not bid him linger:
Fate lifts the scale and holds my life
Poised on her even finger.
—Why, my heart, this idle beating?
Fate is deaf to thine entreating:
Time holds on his equal way:
Calm thee, calm thee, till the day.
Fate is deaf to thine entreating:
Time holds on his equal way:
Calm thee, calm thee, till the day.
I dare not bid the Dawn awake:
I know not what she bears me:
My all is in her rosy hands:
In providence she spares me.
I know not what she bears me:
My all is in her rosy hands:
In providence she spares me.
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—Yet O Name of hope, Aurora!
By my sunny-hair'd Cleora,
By thyself I thee implore
Dawn on such suspense no more
By my sunny-hair'd Cleora,
By thyself I thee implore
Dawn on such suspense no more
I dare not watch the paling Night,
Or Dawn's advances number:
My life is in my Darling hid,
And slumbers with her slumber.
Or Dawn's advances number:
My life is in my Darling hid,
And slumbers with her slumber.
—Yet as midnight music streaming
Hear Love's voice within thy dreaming.
Hear my heart within thy heart;
‘All I am for life thou art.’
Hear Love's voice within thy dreaming.
Hear my heart within thy heart;
‘All I am for life thou art.’
I dare not bid thee wake, my fate
By those fair lips disclosing:
Thy utter sweetness folds me round,
In Love's own heart reposing.
By those fair lips disclosing:
Thy utter sweetness folds me round,
In Love's own heart reposing.
—Why, my heart, then, why this beating?
Sleep bars Love to thine entreating:
Night fulfils her long delay:
Wait the promise and the Day.
Sleep bars Love to thine entreating:
Night fulfils her long delay:
Wait the promise and the Day.
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VIII VOX CLAMANTIS
When that long yew-tree shade
That grows toward each man from his falling sun
Shall touch me into darkness, undismay'd,
Rejoiced my sands are run:
That grows toward each man from his falling sun
Shall touch me into darkness, undismay'd,
Rejoiced my sands are run:
Come then, Cleora, come,
Come unregretful in thy prime of May,
Relentless of the havoc and the doom
Thou on my life didst lay.
Come unregretful in thy prime of May,
Relentless of the havoc and the doom
Thou on my life didst lay.
And let thy rosy feet
Tread the rare spike-grass o'er a new-heap'd mound,
And look Truth face to face, and say ‘'Tis meet
That he such rest hath found.
Tread the rare spike-grass o'er a new-heap'd mound,
And look Truth face to face, and say ‘'Tis meet
That he such rest hath found.
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‘There was no other choice.
His soul's desire for life I might not yield,
Nor set thine own to fraudful smiles and voice
When the heart's lips were seal'd.
His soul's desire for life I might not yield,
Nor set thine own to fraudful smiles and voice
When the heart's lips were seal'd.
‘I may not now deplore
The death-dried fountain of wan wasted tears;
The feet that yet would try the perilous shore,
The chase of fruitless years.
The death-dried fountain of wan wasted tears;
The feet that yet would try the perilous shore,
The chase of fruitless years.
‘Ah, not unwarn'd he strove!
All wiser whisperings hush'd, all help repell'd:
What moment's hope was giv'n, what lure to love?
What anodyne withheld?
All wiser whisperings hush'd, all help repell'd:
What moment's hope was giv'n, what lure to love?
What anodyne withheld?
‘It could not but be so.
The might of Gods contends with Fate in vain:
Rest, hidden dust, assoil'd from earthly woe,
And that forgotten pain.’
The might of Gods contends with Fate in vain:
Rest, hidden dust, assoil'd from earthly woe,
And that forgotten pain.’
Then if, as sages say,
The soul, resolved into some vaster life,
Heeds not what passes o'er its moulder'd clay,
A-rest from hope and strife:
The soul, resolved into some vaster life,
Heeds not what passes o'er its moulder'd clay,
A-rest from hope and strife:
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If these dark powers that bind
Our individual selves to nerve and vein,
This fond remembrance, this fore-glancing mind
O'er-running present pain:
Our individual selves to nerve and vein,
This fond remembrance, this fore-glancing mind
O'er-running present pain:
If it be Death untwines
This thread of consciousness the Genius spun,
And as the fainting flower on earth declines
The All resume the One:—
This thread of consciousness the Genius spun,
And as the fainting flower on earth declines
The All resume the One:—
O Love, I pray thy feet
May stir my dust to fresh access of pain!
My soul recorporate in the sindon-sheet
Its ancient self regain:
May stir my dust to fresh access of pain!
My soul recorporate in the sindon-sheet
Its ancient self regain:
And from that gloom below
Some voice be felt, some last appealing plea:
‘Better to feel the gnawing worm, as now,
Than not remember thee.’
Some voice be felt, some last appealing plea:
‘Better to feel the gnawing worm, as now,
Than not remember thee.’
Till some reluctant sigh,
Some love of love, that holds her yet so dear,
Dim the blue wonder of Cleora's eye,
And bless me with a tear.
Some love of love, that holds her yet so dear,
Dim the blue wonder of Cleora's eye,
And bless me with a tear.
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IX LAST PRAYER
And when returning from the place of death
With something from my grave reflected on thee,
Thy little Sister, laughing thro' lost breath,
Tells thee some baby jest, some young surprise,
Let not that memory quit all hold upon thee,
But smile with quiet eyes:
With something from my grave reflected on thee,
Thy little Sister, laughing thro' lost breath,
Tells thee some baby jest, some young surprise,
Let not that memory quit all hold upon thee,
But smile with quiet eyes:
And touch the happy head, and turn aside
To some white shrine, and pray God's peace may find me:
That in heaven's dew Lethaean drops may glide
And pierce the sod and touch th' unrestful head:
Ending the life-long pangs thou hast assign'd me,
Thy lover midst the dead.
To some white shrine, and pray God's peace may find me:
That in heaven's dew Lethaean drops may glide
And pierce the sod and touch th' unrestful head:
Ending the life-long pangs thou hast assign'd me,
Thy lover midst the dead.
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The prayer I cannot pray—no more to be;
Thro' mute aeonian glooms no more adore her:—
Then take these foolish rhymes, faint hints of thee,
And read them o'er and say, ‘'Twas his request:—
‘Cleora's self has barr'd him from Cleora,
‘And so has wrought him rest.’
Thro' mute aeonian glooms no more adore her:—
Then take these foolish rhymes, faint hints of thee,
And read them o'er and say, ‘'Twas his request:—
‘Cleora's self has barr'd him from Cleora,
‘And so has wrought him rest.’
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X FAREWELL
Call her once more, once more,
Cleora! Cleora!
The rein'd horse darkens the palace door:
There is yet one prayer unheard
One little word:
Farewell, Cleora.
Cleora! Cleora!
The rein'd horse darkens the palace door:
There is yet one prayer unheard
One little word:
Farewell, Cleora.
I have sought her in vain the day
Thro' chamber and garden:
A thousand sighs for utterance pray,
And the roses know them well
But they may not tell
The tale to Cleora.
Thro' chamber and garden:
A thousand sighs for utterance pray,
And the roses know them well
But they may not tell
The tale to Cleora.
And the mounting rooks to the sky
The farewell are telling:
And the West is red at the passionate cry
But I must whisper it low
Ere yet I go,—
Farewell to Cleora.
The farewell are telling:
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But I must whisper it low
Ere yet I go,—
Farewell to Cleora.
So, little one, call her once more,
Call Sister Cleora:
And run to the horse by the garden door
And stroke him with song and shout;
Whilst I weep out
My soul to Cleora.
Call Sister Cleora:
And run to the horse by the garden door
And stroke him with song and shout;
Whilst I weep out
My soul to Cleora.
There is a hand in my hand:
A gaze on my gazing:
A something passes as there we stand:
But no one word can we say:
Must we for aye
Part, and so, Cleora?
A gaze on my gazing:
A something passes as there we stand:
But no one word can we say:
Must we for aye
Part, and so, Cleora?
A thousand thoughts thro' the breast
Run riot and terror:
A thousand sum them in one request:
One word for Love ere I go:
But 'tis not so,
Not so, Cleora.
Run riot and terror:
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One word for Love ere I go:
But 'tis not so,
Not so, Cleora.
A hand in my hand; an eye
Too tender in sadness:
The silence of Love that could not die
Yet knows thou wilt ne'er be mine:—
Yet ever thine
For ever, Cleora!
Too tender in sadness:
The silence of Love that could not die
Yet knows thou wilt ne'er be mine:—
Yet ever thine
For ever, Cleora!
Whilst even crimsons the west
And homeward birds clamour:
Whilst I lie in that long unrest
And dream in the grave of thee
—So must it be,
Ever, Cleora.
And homeward birds clamour:
Whilst I lie in that long unrest
And dream in the grave of thee
—So must it be,
Ever, Cleora.
And West is one ruby red,
And homeward birds clamour:
And the dying sun enhaloes thy head:
And O could the thought of thee
Having been, not be,
For ever, Cleora!
And homeward birds clamour:
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And O could the thought of thee
Having been, not be,
For ever, Cleora!
—We met in silence: and o'er
Our parting was silence.
Call her no more, no more:—
I have no words can say
For aye, for aye
Farewell, Cleora.
Our parting was silence.
Call her no more, no more:—
I have no words can say
For aye, for aye
Farewell, Cleora.
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FROM SAPPHO
High lift the beams of the chamber,
Workmen, on high;
Like Arés in step comes the Bridegroom;
Like him of the song of Terpander,
Like him in majesty.
Workmen, on high;
Like Arés in step comes the Bridegroom;
Like him of the song of Terpander,
Like him in majesty.
—O fair—O sweet!
As the sweet apple blooms high on the bough,
High on the highest, forgot of the gatherers:
So Thou:—
Yet not so: nor forgot of the gatherers;
High o'er their reach in the golden air,
—O sweet—O fair!
As the sweet apple blooms high on the bough,
High on the highest, forgot of the gatherers:
So Thou:—
Yet not so: nor forgot of the gatherers;
High o'er their reach in the golden air,
—O sweet—O fair!
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FROM ALKMAN
Sleep mountain-tops and ravines,
Sleep headland and torrent;
Sleep what dark earth bears on her bosom,
Green leaves and insects;
Beasts in the den and bees in their families;
Monsters in depths of the violet sea:
Sleeps every bird,
Folding the long wings to slumber.
Sleep headland and torrent;
Sleep what dark earth bears on her bosom,
Green leaves and insects;
Beasts in the den and bees in their families;
Monsters in depths of the violet sea:
Sleeps every bird,
Folding the long wings to slumber.
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FROM SIMONIDES
There is a song,
That on high rocks, bright, inaccessible,
Girt with the circling dance, her holy throng,
Doth Virtue dwell:—
Nor on that throne
Seen of all human kind: by him alone,
Heart-pierced in soul-corroding toil, and so
To height of perfect Manhood climbing slow:
—By him alone.
That on high rocks, bright, inaccessible,
Girt with the circling dance, her holy throng,
Doth Virtue dwell:—
Nor on that throne
Seen of all human kind: by him alone,
Heart-pierced in soul-corroding toil, and so
To height of perfect Manhood climbing slow:
—By him alone.
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AN ATHENIAN SONG
IN HONOUR OF HARMODIUS AND ARISTOGEITON
Myrtle-wreathed my sword I wave,
As of yore the brothers brave,
When the tyrant sank, and ye
Gave fair Athens liberty.
As of yore the brothers brave,
When the tyrant sank, and ye
Gave fair Athens liberty.
Loved Harmodius! art not dead!
To the blessed isles hast sped:
Where Achilles fleet and fair
And the son of Tydeus are.
To the blessed isles hast sped:
Where Achilles fleet and fair
And the son of Tydeus are.
Myrtle-wreathed my sword I wave,
As of yore the brothers brave
'Mid the sacrificial crew
By the shrine Hipparchus slew.
As of yore the brothers brave
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By the shrine Hipparchus slew.
Aye on earth your names will shine,
Brothers brave, beloved, divine;
Since the tyrant sank, and ye
Gave fair Athens liberty.
Brothers brave, beloved, divine;
Since the tyrant sank, and ye
Gave fair Athens liberty.
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