A Lover's Litanies Part 8

vi.

The bath, the plunge, the combing of the hair, All this I view,--a sight beyond compare Since Daphne died in all the varied charms Of her chaste body,--rounded regal arms, And shape supreme, too fair for human gaze, But not too fair to win the mirror's praise That throbs to see thee in thy deshabille And loves thee well through all the nights and days.

vii.

I see thee thus in fancy, as in books A man may see the naads of the brooks;-- As one entranced by potions aptly given May see the angels where they walk in Heaven, And may not greet them in their high estate.

For who shall guess the riddle wrought of Fate Till he be dead? And who that lives a span Shall thwart the Future where it lies in wait?

viii.

And now to-day a word I dare not write Starts to my lips, as when a baffled knight Witholds a song which fain he would repeat; For lo! the sense thereof is pa.s.sing sweet.

And, like a cup that's full, my heart is fill'd With new desires and quiverings new-distill'd From old delights; and all my pulses throb As at the touch of dreams divinely-will'd.

ix.

Who talks of comfort when he sees thee not And feels no fragrance of the happy lot Which violets feel, when call'd upon to lie On thy white breast? And who with amorous eye Looks at the dear tomb of the shuddering flowers, The two-fold tomb where daintily for hours They droop and muse,--who looks, I say, at these And will not own the witchery of thy powers?

x.

Who speaks of glory and the force of love, And thou not near, my maiden-minded dove!

With all the coyness, all the beauty-sheen, Of thy rapt face? A fearless virgin-queen,-- A queen of peace art thou,--and on thy head The golden light of all thy hair is shed Most nimbus-like and most suggestive, too, Of youthful saints enshrined and garlanded.

xi.

Thou'rt Nature's own; and when a word of thine Rings on the air, and when the Voice Divine We call the lark upfloats amid the blue, I know not which is which, for both are true, Both meant for Heaven, though foster'd here below.

And when the silences around me flow, I think of lilies and the face of thee Which hath compell'd my manhood's overthrow.

xii.

O blue-eyed Rapture with the radiant locks!

O thou for whom, athwart the fever-shocks Of life and death and misery and much sin, I'd sell salvation! There's a prize to win And thou'rt its voucher; there's a wonder-prize, Unknown till now beneath the vaulted skies, And thou'rt its symbol; thou'rt its essence fair, Its full completion form'd adoring-wise!

xiii.

Yes, I will tell thee how I love thee best, And all my thoughts of thee shall be confess'd And none withheld, not e'en the witless one Which late I harbor'd when the mounting sun Burst from a cloud,--the moon a mile away, As if in hiding from the lord of day,-- As if, at times, the moon were like thyself, And fear'd the semblance of a master's sway.

xiv.

I love thee dearly when thine eyes are dim With unshed tears; for then they seem to swim In liquid blessedness, and unto me There comes the memory of a G.o.d's decree Which said of old:--"Be all men evermore, All men and maids whose hearts are pa.s.sion-sore, Acclaim'd in Heaven!" and all day long I muse On hope's divine and deathless prophet-lore.

xv.

I love thee when the soft endearing flush Invades thy face, and dimples in the blush Bespeak attention,--as a rose's pout Absorbs the stillness when the sun is out, And all the air retains the glow thereof.

In all the world there is not light enough Nor sheen enough, all day, nor any warmth, Till thou be near me, arm'd with some rebuff!

xvi.

And how I love thee when thy startled eyes Look out at me, enrapt in that surprise Which marks an epoch in the life I lead,-- As if they guess'd the scope of Eros' creed And all the mirth and malice of his wiles.

For it is wondrous when my Lady smiles, And all the ground is holy where she treads, And all the air is thrill'd for many miles!

xvii.

In every mood of thine thou art my joy, And, day by day, to shield thee from annoy, I'd do the deeds that slaves were bound unto With stabs for payment,--shuddering through and through With their much labour; and I'd deem it grand To die for thee if, after touch of hand, I might but kiss thee as a lover doth; For I should then be king of all the land.

xviii.

But Father Time, old Time with Ja.n.u.s-face Looks o'er the sphere, and sees no fitting place For thine acceptance; for the thrones of earth Are much too mean, and in thy maiden worth Thou'rt crown'd enough, and throned in very sooth More than the queens who lord it in their youth O'er men's convictions; and He names thy name As one belov'd of Nature and of Truth.

xix.

He sees the nights, he sees the veering days, The sweet spring season with its hymn of praise, The summer, frondage-proud, the autumn pale, The winter worn with withering of the gale,-- All this he sees; and now, to-day, in June, He, too, recalls that rapturous afternoon When all the fields and flowers were like a dream, And all the winds the offshoot of a tune.

xx.

So I will cease to clamour for the past, And seek suspension of my doubts at last, In some new way till Fate becomes my friend.

I will re-gain the right to re-defend The love I bear to thee, for good or ill.

For though, 'tis said, our griefs have power to kill, Mine let me live, in mine unworthiness, That, spurn'd of thee, my lips may praise thee still!

[Ill.u.s.tration: cherubs]

Eighth Litany.

DOMINA EXAUDI.

Eighth Litany.

Domina Exaudi.