And when low down she spied the hapless pair, And heard the Oread"s faint despairing cry, Whose cadence seemed to play upon the air As though it were a viol, hastily She bade her pigeons fold each straining plume, And dropt to earth, and reached the strand, and saw their dolorous doom.
For as a gardener turning back his head To catch the last notes of the linnet, mows With careless scythe too near some flower bed, And cuts the th.o.r.n.y pillar of the rose, And with the flower"s loosened loneliness Strews the brown mould; or as some shepherd lad in wantonness
Driving his little flock along the mead Treads down two daffodils, which side by aide Have lured the lady-bird with yellow brede And made the gaudy moth forget its pride, Treads down their br.i.m.m.i.n.g golden chalices Under light feet which were not made for such rude ravages;
Or as a schoolboy tired of his book Flings himself down upon the reedy gra.s.s And plucks two water-lilies from the brook, And for a time forgets the hour gla.s.s, Then wearies of their sweets, and goes his way, And lets the hot sun kill them, even go these lovers lay.
And Venus cried, "It is dread Artemis Whose bitter hand hath wrought this cruelty, Or else that mightier maid whose care it is To guard her strong and stainless majesty Upon the hill Athenian, - alas!
That they who loved so well unloved into Death"s house should pa.s.s."
So with soft hands she laid the boy and girl In the great golden waggon tenderly (Her white throat whiter than a moony pearl Just threaded with a blue vein"s tapestry Had not yet ceased to throb, and still her breast Swayed like a wind-stirred lily in ambiguous unrest)
And then each pigeon spread its milky van, The bright car soared into the dawning sky, And like a cloud the aerial caravan Pa.s.sed over the AEgean silently, Till the faint air was troubled with the song From the wan mouths that call on bleeding Thammuz all night long.
But when the doves had reached their wonted goal Where the wide stair of orbed marble dips Its snows into the sea, her fluttering soul Just shook the trembling petals of her lips And pa.s.sed into the void, and Venus knew That one fair maid the less would walk amid her retinue,
And bade her servants carve a cedar chest With all the wonder of this history, Within whose scented womb their limbs should rest Where olive-trees make tender the blue sky On the low hills of Paphos, and the Faun Pipes in the noonday, and the nightingale sings on till dawn.
Nor failed they to obey her hest, and ere The morning bee had stung the daffodil With tiny fretful spear, or from its lair The waking stag had leapt across the rill And roused the ouzel, or the lizard crept Athwart the sunny rock, beneath the gra.s.s their bodies slept.
And when day brake, within that silver shrine Fed by the flames of cressets tremulous, Queen Venus knelt and prayed to Proserpine That she whose beauty made Death amorous Should beg a guerdon from her pallid Lord, And let Desire pa.s.s across dread Charon"s icy ford.
III
In melancholy moonless Acheron, Farm for the goodly earth and joyous day Where no spring ever buds, nor ripening sun Weighs down the apple trees, nor flowery May Chequers with chestnut blooms the gra.s.sy floor, Where thrushes never sing, and piping linnets mate no more,
There by a dim and dark Lethaean well Young Charmides was lying; wearily He plucked the blossoms from the asphodel, And with its little rifled treasury Strewed the dull waters of the dusky stream, And watched the white stars founder, and the land was like a dream,
When as he gazed into the watery gla.s.s And through his brown hair"s curly tangles scanned His own wan face, a shadow seemed to pa.s.s Across the mirror, and a little hand Stole into his, and warm lips timidly Brushed his pale cheeks, and breathed their secret forth into a sigh.
Then turned he round his weary eyes and saw, And ever nigher still their faces came, And nigher ever did their young mouths draw Until they seemed one perfect rose of flame, And longing arms around her neck he cast, And felt her throbbing bosom, and his breath came hot and fast,
And all his h.o.a.rded sweets were hers to kiss, And all her maidenhood was his to slay, And limb to limb in long and rapturous bliss Their pa.s.sion waxed and waned, - O why essay To pipe again of love, too venturous reed!
Enough, enough that Eros laughed upon that flowerless mead.
Too venturous poesy, O why essay To pipe again of pa.s.sion! fold thy wings O"er daring Icarus and bid thy lay Sleep hidden in the lyre"s silent strings Till thou hast found the old Castalian rill, Or from the Lesbian waters plucked drowned Sappho"s golden quid!
Enough, enough that he whose life had been A fiery pulse of sin, a splendid shame, Could in the loveless land of Hades glean One scorching harvest from those fields of flame Where pa.s.sion walks with naked unshod feet And is not wounded, - ah! enough that once their lips could meet
In that wild throb when all existences Seemed narrowed to one single ecstasy Which dies through its own sweetness and the stress Of too much pleasure, ere Persephone Had bade them serve her by the ebon throne Of the pale G.o.d who in the fields of Enna loosed her zone.
POEMS
REQUIESCAT
Tread lightly, she is near Under the snow, Speak gently, she can hear The daisies grow.
All her bright golden hair Tarnished with rust, She that was young and fair Fallen to dust.
Lily-like, white as snow, She hardly knew She was a woman, so Sweetly she grew.
Coffin-board, heavy stone, Lie on her breast, I vex my heart alone, She is at rest.
Peace, Peace, she cannot hear Lyre or sonnet, All my life"s buried here, Heap earth upon it.
AVIGNON
SAN MINIATO
See, I have climbed the mountain side Up to this holy house of G.o.d, Where once that Angel-Painter trod Who saw the heavens opened wide,
And throned upon the crescent moon The Virginal white Queen of Grace, - Mary! could I but see thy face Death could not come at all too soon.
O crowned by G.o.d with thorns and pain!
Mother of Christ! O mystic wife!
My heart is weary of this life And over-sad to sing again.
O crowned by G.o.d with love and flame!
O crowned by Christ the Holy One!
O listen ere the searching sun Show to the world my sin and shame.
ROME UNVISITED
I.
The corn has turned from grey to red, Since first my spirit wandered forth From the drear cities of the north, And to Italia"s mountains fled.
And here I set my face towards home, For all my pilgrimage is done, Although, methinks, yon blood-red sun Marshals the way to Holy Rome.