Yes, Caesar"s--but not in our case.
Let him learn we are waiting before The grave"s mouth, the heaven"s gate, G.o.d"s face With implacable love evermore.
Sleep.
VIII.
He"s ours, though he kissed her but now, He"s ours, though she kissed in reply: He"s ours, though himself disavow, And G.o.d"s universe favour the lie; Ours to claim, ours to clasp, ours below, Ours above, ... if we live, if we die.
Sleep.
IX.
Ah baby, my baby, too rough Is my lullaby? What have I said?
Sleep! When I"ve wept long enough I shall learn to weep softly instead, And piece with some alien stuff My heart to lie smooth for thy head.
Sleep.
X.
Two souls met upon thee, my sweet; Two loves led thee out to the sun: Alas, pretty hands, pretty feet, If the one who remains (only one) Set her grief at thee, turned in a heat To thine enemy,--were it well done?
Sleep.
XI.
May He of the manger stand near And love thee! An infant He came To His own who rejected Him here, But the Magi brought gifts all the same.
_I_ hurry the cross on my Dear!
_My_ gifts are the griefs I declaim!
Sleep.
LORD WALTER"S WIFE.
I.
"But why do you go?" said the lady, while both sat under the yew, And her eyes were alive in their depth, as the kraken beneath the sea-blue.
II.
"Because I fear you," he answered;--"because you are far too fair, And able to strangle my soul in a mesh of your gold-coloured hair."
III.
"Oh, that," she said, "is no reason! Such knots are quickly undone, And too much beauty, I reckon, is nothing but too much sun."
IV.
"Yet farewell so," he answered;--"the sun-stroke"s fatal at times.
I value your husband, Lord Walter, whose gallop rings still from the limes."
V.
"Oh, that," she said, "is no reason. You smell a rose through a fence: If two should smell it, what matter? who grumbles, and where"s the pretence?"
VI.
"But I," he replied, "have promised another, when love was free, To love her alone, alone, who alone and afar loves me."
VII.
"Why, that," she said, "is no reason. Love"s always free, I am told.
Will you vow to be safe from the headache on Tuesday, and think it will hold?"
VIII.
"But you," he replied, "have a daughter, a young little child, who was laid In your lap to be pure; so I leave you: the angels would make me afraid."
IX.
"Oh, that," she said, "is no reason. The angels keep out of the way; And Dora, the child, observes nothing, although you should please me and stay."
X.
At which he rose up in his anger,--"Why, now, you no longer are fair!
Why, now, you no longer are fatal, but ugly and hateful, I swear."
XI.
At which she laughed out in her scorn: "These men! Oh, these men overnice, Who are shocked if a colour not virtuous is frankly put on by a vice."
XII.
Her eyes blazed upon him--"And _you_! You bring us your vices so near That we smell them! You think in our presence a thought "t would defame us to hear!
XIII.
"What reason had you, and what right,--I appeal to your soul from my life,-- To find me too fair as a woman? Why, sir, I am pure, and a wife.
XIV.
"Is the day-star too fair up above you? It burns you not. Dare you imply I brushed you more close than the star does, when Walter had set me as high?
XV.
"If a man finds a woman too fair, he means simply adapted too much To uses unlawful and fatal. The praise!--shall I thank you for such?
XVI.
"Too fair?--not unless you misuse us! and surely if, once in a while, You attain to it, straightway you call us no longer too fair, but too vile.