A Legend of Old Persia and Other Poems Part 9

June and November.

On a day, long ago, I was just a child, I walked with my lover, my arm in his arm, Half of me was sad and half with joy was wild, The wind was so soft and the sun was so warm.

I walked with my lover to his pretty nonsense listening, And I pressed my beating heart against my lover's side; And tho' my voice was steady my traitor eyes were glistening, I showed to my lover all I wished to hide.

His vows were so tender, his speech was so fluent, He whispered his sorrow if ever we must part.

My heart in my bosom fluttered and played truant, So I gave it him all ... my innocent heart.

On a green bank amidst the purple irises, And the shadow of a pine-wood across it was flung, I gave him soft words, I gave him my kisses, I gave him myself--myself that was so young.

On a day, long ago, (pity to remember How the wind was soft, how the sun was warm,)-- Then it was June and now it is November, Then I knew no evil nor thought of any harm.

A Foolish Tragedy.

In the capital of Valladolid There lived a highborn maiden In a white house in a steep street With green doors and shutters, Her lips were like scarlet poppies And her hair like a black waterfall, And behind her ear she wore A flower of red geranium.

And her Spanish lover sighed And in his love he cried, "Heaven were nearer If she were dearer, She is the most wonderful and beautiful thing In the capital of Valladolid.

"If I could persuade her father, That fierce and rich old Councillor, Not to despise my suit But let me speak to his daughter, I would esteem it more Than the rank of a Grandee of Spain, A cargo of spices from Java Or a galleon laden with silver."

Under a brazen crucifix And the outstretched arms of our Saviour (And over her ivory shoulder Her black hair poured like a waterfall) To Mary, Mother of Heaven, Prayed the foolish maiden, "Mary, send me a lover, Young and tender and handsome."

It chanced on a day of festival In the capital of Valladolid That their eyes met at a crossing And their two souls rushed together.

By the greed of a bought duenna And the interchange of love-notes And the help of a hempen ladder They arranged a meeting at midnight.

Her father, the rich old Councillor, Looked out of a second-floor window And pa.s.sed his sword thro' the body Of one who climbed up a ladder.

His fingers loosed the rungs And down he crashed to the pavement.

And out of his handsome body His startled spirit departed.

And the Spanish maiden cried And moaned until she died, "My lover dead, My honour sped."

So ended a foolish tragedy In the capital of Valladolid.

Alone!

I

Alone and built of a pallid stone Across the levels looked her house And tattered plot, where nought had grown But withered trees which creaked their boughs.

No fruit or blossom or petal blown Was there to gladden mournful eyes, But all was drab and monotone Beneath a reign of leaden skies.

A red, red weed was all the flower, Which crawled serpiginous about The marsh, unchanged from hour to hour Until the evening blotted out The landscape which she called her own.

And, save for a ridge of bent and sand, Which rose between them and the sea, The marshes stretched on either hand, And, ever looking, wearied she Of low sad purple and sombre brown And, where the rivulets trickled down, Moss-tracks of vivid green, And stiff grey gra.s.ses which bend and sigh, As the marsh wind wails and pa.s.ses by, And quagmires in between The firmer ground--and over all She heard the curlews' dreary call As they piped eternally.

II

In the days of grace, in the good days gone, She had set him up on a golden throne, The face of a G.o.d and a heart of stone, But now she must live alone, Alone, alone, alone In a little grey house of stone Which stares o'er the marshes towards the sea Where the great grey waves roll sullenly Night and day for ever and aye With mournful voices which seem to say "Alone, alone, alone."

III

She laid her down on a sandy ledge, Alone, And buried her face amid the sedge And mourned till eve for a broken pledge, Alone, And the great grey sea began to moan Gathering noise from depths unknown And boomed with a hollow undertone "Alone, alone, alone."

IV

Up came the night with funeral wing The ominous depths o'ershadowing, But she lay a dumb insentient thing-- Alone with a heart of stone, With neither tears nor hopes nor fears And the booming swell like a monstrous knell Tolled strongly in her ears.

V

Alone, alone, alone, She who had loved and known On other nights like this Strong arms about her and many a kiss And words of gentle tone.

Alone, alone, alone, A woman she had known Like a figure carved from stone Held a letter in her hand She scarce could understand Of words which hardly could be read "Goodbye--There is nothing to be said."

Ah! G.o.d, if she had known.

Alone, alone, alone, She who had longed for love by stealth As a gold-mad miser longs for wealth Or a poet longs for fame, Her seared numb body had just an ache For a pitiful pitiless last mistake And the smirch upon her name.

VI

A shrill chill wind blew out of the West As a young child wails for a Mother's breast, It broke the swell and whitened each crest And moaned "I come with a strange behest; The dead are happier. They are at rest Alone, alone, alone, Each under a graven stone, Where the poppies are red In the homes of the dead And their scarlet petals spill And the seabirds scream As they wheel and gleam And the seawinds whistle shrill.

The dead are happy, for they are free They have said farewell to misery, Alone Each under a stone; But the hearts which mourn for a faithless friend Can never, never, never mend, And so they break for friendship's sake Alone, alone, alone."

VII

The sea wind blew like a wild lament For loved ones dying or love mis-spent And still in her hollow of sand and bent She lay alone, alone, And stared out into the keening blast Not heeding the future or mourning the past, For past and future were one.

VIII

Ah! pity her, who needed it most-- But in the village along the coast Are those who tremble and moan, Seeming to wait alone For a dreadful something unknown, As the tempest travels gathering force And sobs and howls and raves and roars And laughs like a demon band, And the great waves clamber into the bay With voices triumphant which seem to say "Hurrah! Hurrah! we have found a prey But we seek another on land."

Ah! shivering fisherwife in your shawl, Perhaps they have found a prey Who leap and shout in the bay, And you will weep for the grief of it all For many and many a day.

IX