Panama and Other Poems Narrative and Occasional By Stephen Phillips: With a Frontispiece by Joseph Pennell |
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A WOMAN TO SHAKESPEARE |
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 | Panama and Other Poems Narrative and Occasional |  |
87
A WOMAN TO SHAKESPEARE
My days are beyond reproach or breathing of scandal
In the placid inland town;
No man I owe; as I pass, all stand bare-headed;
A tale will empty my purse.
Each Sabbath I rustle soft to the seat set apart for me;
All eyes in the church are fixed.
Faultlessly, dimly attired, my lavender rarest,
About me voices are hushed;
And sweet is my little garden just after sunrise,
Sweet in the coming of night.
In the placid inland town;
No man I owe; as I pass, all stand bare-headed;
A tale will empty my purse.
Each Sabbath I rustle soft to the seat set apart for me;
All eyes in the church are fixed.
Faultlessly, dimly attired, my lavender rarest,
About me voices are hushed;
And sweet is my little garden just after sunrise,
Sweet in the coming of night.
Yet, ah my God! I am lone, lonely for ever,
Am well, but wither within;
And in dead of night I lack the cry of a boychild
Or the struggling lisp of a girl.
Must I linger on and languish amid the townfolk,
Who guess not the ache at my soul?
Must I drift away to the everlasting lumber
That cumbers a thriftless world?
And the young wife dies in my street, but really survives me,—
At least she has felt in the sun,—
And the girl deceived by her lover and thrown from the house-door,
Her tears are richer than mine.
Yes, better the plunge in Thames, the sudden seeking,
Than a death which was never a death.
Am well, but wither within;
And in dead of night I lack the cry of a boychild
Or the struggling lisp of a girl.
88
Who guess not the ache at my soul?
Must I drift away to the everlasting lumber
That cumbers a thriftless world?
And the young wife dies in my street, but really survives me,—
At least she has felt in the sun,—
And the girl deceived by her lover and thrown from the house-door,
Her tears are richer than mine.
Yes, better the plunge in Thames, the sudden seeking,
Than a death which was never a death.
O Shakespeare, of women confessor, from whom no secret
Of a woman's bosom was hid!
Thou from an ancient page, my comforter, comest,
Leaping from print to my life.
No woman so understood, or sang of a woman,
As a man with a poet's heart.
Spite of this placid, speckless, reproachless dungeon,
Thou understandest; enough!
Of a woman's bosom was hid!
Thou from an ancient page, my comforter, comest,
Leaping from print to my life.
No woman so understood, or sang of a woman,
As a man with a poet's heart.
89
Thou understandest; enough!
As I read I am wafted so far, am backward wafted,
To the gorgeous-dreaming East.
To be young in Egypt, to lie with Cleopatra,
To have some Antony's kiss.
She drank of a heaven by Nile, a world in the balance;
Even with the asp at her breast,
She gave as a mother her breast to a mortal baby,
For a long immortal kiss.
To the gorgeous-dreaming East.
To be young in Egypt, to lie with Cleopatra,
To have some Antony's kiss.
She drank of a heaven by Nile, a world in the balance;
Even with the asp at her breast,
She gave as a mother her breast to a mortal baby,
For a long immortal kiss.
Have centuries past? Shall centuries, then, oppress me,
This dimness in place of the glow?
This soul can love as they loved, whose stars were huger,
This dim town is for a time.
For the bare passing of time can touch not my spirit,
Though a moment may mar it quite.
And often the glimpse of a moon on an ebon night sky
Hath wildered a boy and a girl.
For a while I am pent from life, am hindered from living;
For a while, and but for a while.
This dimness in place of the glow?
This soul can love as they loved, whose stars were huger,
This dim town is for a time.
For the bare passing of time can touch not my spirit,
Though a moment may mar it quite.
90
Hath wildered a boy and a girl.
For a while I am pent from life, am hindered from living;
For a while, and but for a while.
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