A Lover's Litanies Part 6

xv.

O Sweet! forgive me that from day to day I dream such dreams, and teach me how to sway My fluttering self, that, in forsaken hours, I may be valiant, and eschew the powers Of death and doubt! I need the cert.i.tude Of thine esteem that I may check the feud Of mine own thoughts that rend and anger me Because denied the boon for which I sued.

xvi.

Teach me to wait with patience for a word, And be the sight of thee no more deferr'd Than one up-rising of the vesper star That waits on Dian when, supreme, afar, She eyes the sunset. And of this be sure, As I'm a man and thou a maid demure, Thou shalt be ta'en aside and wonder'd at, Before the gloaming leaves the land obscure.

xvii.

Thou shalt be bow'd to as we bow to saints In window'd shrines; and, far from all attaints Of ribald pa.s.sion, thou, as seemeth good, Wilt smile serenely in thy virginhood.

Nor shall I know, of mine own poor accord, Which thing in all the world is best to h.o.a.rd, Or which is worst of all the things that slay: A woman's beauty or a soldier's sword.

xviii.

I grieve in sleep. I pine away at night.

I wake, uncared for, in the morning light; And, hour by hour, I marvel that for me The wandering wind should make its minstrelsy So sweet and calm. I marvel that the sun, So round and red, with all his hair undone, Should smile at me and yet begrudge me still The sight of thee that art my worshipp'd one!

xix.

I count my moments as a cloister'd man May count his beads; and through the weary span Of each long day I peer into my heart For hints of comfort; and I find, in part, A self-committal, and a glimpse withal Of some new menace in the rise and fall Of days and nights that are the test of Time Though Fate would make a mockery of them all.

xx.

There's a disaster worse than loss of gold, Worse than remorse, and worse a thousand-fold, Than pangs of hunger. 'Tis the thirst of love, The rage and rapture of the ravening dove We name Desire. Ah, pardon! I offend; My fervor blinds me to the withering end Of all good council, and, accurst thereby, I vaunt anew the faults I cannot mend.

[Ill.u.s.tration: cherubs]

Sixth Litany.

_BENEDICTA TU_.

Sixth Litany.

Benedicta Tu.

i.

I tell thee Sweet! there lives not on the earth A love like mine in all the height and girth And all the vast completion of the sphere.

I should be proud, to-day, to shed a tear If I could weep. But tears are most denied When most besought; and joys are sanctified By joys' undoing in this world of ours From dusk to dawn and dawn to eventide.

ii.

Wert thou a marble maid and I endow'd With power to move thee from thy seeming shroud Of frozen splendour,--all thy whiteness mine And all the glamour, all the tender shine Of thy glad eyes,--ah G.o.d! if this were so, And I the loosener, in the summer-glow, Of thy long tresses! I were licensed then To gaze, unchidden, on thy limbs of snow.

iii.

I would prepare for thee a holy niche In some new temple, and with draperies rich, And flowers and lamps and incense of the best, I would with something of mine own unrest Imbue thy blood and prompt thee to be just.

I would endow thee with a fairer trust Than mere contentment, and a dearer joy Than mere revulsion from the sins of dust.

iv.

A band of boys, with psaltery and with lyre, And Cyprian girls, the slaves of thy desire, Would chant and pray and raise so wild a storm Of golden notes around thy sculptured form That saints would hear the chorus up in Heaven, And intermingle with their holy steven The sighs of earth, and long for other cares Than those ordain'd them by the Lord's Eleven.

v.

I would approach thee with a master's tread And claim thy hand and have the service read By youthful priests resplendent every one; And in thy frame the blood of thee would run As warm and sound as wine of Syracuse.

And all that day the birds would bear the news In far directions, and the meadow-flowers Would dream thereof, love-laden, in the dews.

vi.

Then, by magnetic force,--the greatest known This side the tomb,--I would athwart the stone Of thy white body, in a trice of time, Call forth thy soul, and woo thee to the chime Of tinkling bells, and make thee half afraid, And half aggrieved, to find thyself array'd In such enthralment, and in such attire, In sight of one whose will should not be stay'd.

vii.

And, like Pygmalion, I would claim anon A bride's submission; and my talk thereon Would not perplex thee; for the sense of life Would warm thy heart, and urge thee to the strife Of lip with lip, and kiss with pulsing kiss, Which gives the clue to all we know of bliss, And all we know of heights we long to climb Beyond the boundaries of the grave's abyss.

viii.

The dear old deeds chivalrous once again Would find fulfilment; and the curse of Cain Which fell on woman, as on men it fell, Would fly from us, as at a sorcerer's spell, And leave us wiser than the sophists are Who love not folly. Night should not debar, Nor day dissuade us, from those ecstacies That have Anacreon's fame for guiding-star.

ix.

Aye! thou wouldst kneel and seek in me apace A transient shelter for thine amorous face Which then I'd screen; and thou to me wouldst turn With awe-struck eyes, and cling to me and yearn, With sighs full tender and a touch of fear.

And, like a bird which knows that spring is near, And, after spring, the summer of sweet days, Thou wouldst attune thy love-notes in mine ear.

x.

Or, fraught with feelings near akin to hate, Thou wouldst denounce me; and, like one elate, Thou wouldst entwine me in thine arms so white, As soldier-nymphs, with rapt and raging sight, Made war with spearsmen in the vales of song, The vales of Sparta where, for right or wrong, The G.o.ds were potent, and, for beauty's sake, Upheld the tourneys of the fair and strong.