Who snares and tames with fear and danger A bright beast of a fiery kin, Only to mar, only to change her Sleek supple soul and splendid skin?
Easy with blows to mar and maim her, Easy with bonds to bind and bruise; What profit, if she yield her tamer The limbs to mar, the soul to lose?
Best leave or take the perfect creature, Take all she is or leave complete; Trans.m.u.te you will not form or feature, Change feet for wings or wings for feet.
Strange eyes, new limbs, can no man give her; Sweet is the sweet thing as it is.
No soul she hath, we see, to outlive her; Hath she for that no lips to kiss?
So may one read his weird, and reason, And with vain drugs a.s.suage no pain.
For each man in his loving season Fools and is fooled of these in vain.
Charms that allay not any longing, Spells that appease not any grief, Time brings us all by handfuls, wronging All hurts with nothing of relief.
Ah, too soon shot, the fool"s bolt misses!
What help? the world is full of loves; Night after night of running kisses, Chirp after chirp of changing doves.
Should Love disown or disesteem you For loving one man more or less?
You could not tame your light white sea-mew, Nor I my sleek black pantheress.
For a new soul let whoso please pray, We are what life made us, and shall be.
For you the jungle and me the sea-spray, And south for you and north for me.
But this one broken foam-white feather I throw you off the hither wing, Splashed stiff with sea-scurf and salt weather, This song for sleep to learn and sing--
Sing in your ear when, daytime over, You, couched at long length on hot sand With some sleek sun-discoloured lover, Wince from his breach as from a brand:
Till the acrid hour aches out and ceases, And the sheathed eyeball sleepier swims, The deep flank smoothes its dimpling creases.
And pa.s.sion loosens all the limbs:
Till dreams of sharp grey north-sea weather Fall faint upon your fiery sleep, As on strange sands a strayed bird"s feather The wind may choose to lose or keep.
But I, who leave my queen of panthers, As a tired honey-heavy bee Gilt with sweet dust from gold-grained anthers Leaves the rose-chalice, what for me?
From the ardours of the chaliced centre, From the amorous anthers" golden grime, That scorch and s.m.u.tch all wings that enter, I fly forth hot from honey-time.
But as to a bee"s gilt thighs and winglets The flower-dust with the flower-smell clings; As a snake"s mobile rampant ringlets Leave the sand marked with print of rings;
So to my soul in surer fashion Your savage stamp and savour hangs; The print and perfume of old pa.s.sion, The wild-beast mark of panther"s fangs.
SESTINA
I saw my soul at rest upon a day As a bird sleeping in the nest of night, Among soft leaves that give the starlight way To touch its wings but not its eyes with light; So that it knew as one in visions may, And knew not as men waking, of delight.
This was the measure of my soul"s delight; It had no power of joy to fly by day, Nor part in the large lordship of the light; But in a secret moon-beholden way Had all its will of dreams and pleasant night, And all the love and life that sleepers may.
But such life"s triumph as men waking may It might not have to feed its faint delight Between the stars by night and sun by day, Shut up with green leaves and a little light; Because its way was as a lost star"s way, A world"s not wholly known of day or night.
All loves and dreams and sounds and gleams of night Made it all music that such minstrels may, And all they had they gave it of delight; But in the full face of the fire of day What place shall be for any starry light, What part of heaven in all the wide sun"s way?
Yet the soul woke not, sleeping by the way, Watched as a nursling of the large-eyed night, And sought no strength nor knowledge of the day, Nor closer touch conclusive of delight, Nor mightier joy nor truer than dreamers may, Nor more of song than they, nor more of light.
For who sleeps once and sees the secret light Whereby sleep shows the soul a fairer way Between the rise and rest of day and night, Shall care no more to fare as all men may, But be his place of pain or of delight, There shall he dwell, beholding night as day.
Song, have thy day and take thy fill of light Before the night be fallen across thy way; Sing while he may, man hath no long delight.
THE YEAR OF THE ROSE
From the depths of the green garden-closes Where the summer in darkness dozes Till autumn pluck from his hand An hour-gla.s.s that holds not a sand; From the maze that a flower-belt encloses To the stones and sea-gra.s.s on the strand How red was the reign of the roses Over the rose-crowned land!
The year of the rose is brief; From the first blade blown to the sheaf, From the thin green leaf to the gold, It has time to be sweet and grow old, To triumph and leave not a leaf For witness in winter"s sight How lovers once in the light Would mix their breath with its breath, And its spirit was quenched not of night, As love is subdued not of death.
In the red-rose land not a mile Of the meadows from stile to stile, Of the valleys from stream to stream, But the air was a long sweet dream And the earth was a sweet wide smile Red-mouthed of a G.o.ddess, returned From the sea which had borne her and burned, That with one swift smile of her mouth Looked full on the north as it yearned, And the north was more than the south.
For the north, when winter was long, In his heart had made him a song, And clothed it with wings of desire, And shod it with shoon as of fire, To carry the tale of his wrong To the south-west wind by the sea.
That none might bear it but he To the ear of the G.o.ddess unknown Who waits till her time shall be To take the world for a throne.
In the earth beneath, and above In the heaven where her name is love, She warms with light from her eyes The seasons of life as they rise, And her eyes are as eyes of a dove, But the wings that lift her and bear As an eagle"s, and all her hair As fire by the wind"s breath curled, And her pa.s.sage is song through the air, And her presence is spring through the world.
So turned she northward and came, And the white-thorn land was aflame With the fires that were shed from her feet, That the north, by her love made sweet, Should be called by a rose-red name; And a murmur was heard as of doves, And a music beginning of loves In the light that the roses made, Such light as the music loves, The music of man with maid.
But the days drop one upon one, And a chill soft wind is begun In the heart of the rose-red maze That weeps for the roseleaf days And the reign of the rose undone That ruled so long in the light, And by spirit, and not by sight, Through the darkness thrilled with its breath, Still ruled in the viewless night, As love might rule over death.
The time of lovers is brief; From the fair first joy to the grief That tells when love is grown old, From the warm wild kiss to the cold, From the red to the white-rose leaf, They have but a season to seem As roseleaves lost on a stream That part not and pa.s.s not apart As a spirit from dream to dream, As a sorrow from heart to heart.
From the bloom and the gloom that encloses The death-bed of Love where he dozes Till a relic be left not of sand To the hour-gla.s.s that breaks in his hand; From the change in the grey garden-closes To the last stray gra.s.s of the strand, A rain and ruin of roses Over the red-rose land
A WASTED VIGIL
I
Couldst thou not watch with me one hour? Behold, Dawn skims the sea with flying feet of gold, With sudden feet that graze the gradual sea; Couldst thou not watch with me?
II
What, not one hour? for star by star the night Falls, and her thousands world by world take flight; They die, and day survives, and what of thee?
Couldst thou not watch with me?