Eidola Part 6

Turning from love to sleep, drowsy and smiling, With the fluttering of doves and dreams about her And, softer than silk, Hephaistos' golden net.

Lo, Bacchus and his painted beasts!

Praise ye mine images!

A dryad whom clinging ivy holds while laughs The swarthy centaur pursuing; and a troop Of small Pans delicate and deformed.

Yet your lips praise not, Crying: We too would be deathless as these are, We, the hunted! But dance and adore them, Praise my sweet grave G.o.ds of the blue, and the earth-born!

Praise their strong grace and swiftness!

For in these G.o.ds mine hands have wrought, In these alone are ye deathless.

SIMAETHA

FOR D. S. D.

Thou art wine, Simaetha! When mine eyes drink thee My blood flames with the golden joy thou art, Bewildering me, until thy loveliness Is veiled in its own light: nor know I then Pure brows, and placid lips and eyes, and hair With wind and sunlight glorious: but all Are mingled in one flame. O thou, in me, Art shrined, as none hath seen thee, as G.o.ds live Whom Time shall not consume; nor rusts thy gold Ever, so hath my soul enclosed thee round With its divine air. Yea, thy very life, Which flows through all the guises of thy moods, Escaping as they die, and laughs and weeps And builds again its beauty, have I set Beyond the jeopards of rough time: yea! all Thine ivory, imperilled loveliness, And winey sanguine where the cheek's curve takes Light as a bloom upon it, not to pa.s.s So there be G.o.d.

Thy praise hath made speech song And song from lip to lip flies, and black ships Bear it from sea to sea; and on some quay Where rise tall masts, and gay booths flank the ways A tumbler sings it; and an alien air Trembles with thee, while strange men wonder, dumb To see thee pa.s.s: thou being all my song.

TO THE UNKNOWN G.o.dDESS

Gross, sensual faces herded; and then you With magical wide eyes came. Eyes that kept The mirth of dews at dawn in them, and slept To the tumult of the street. They held the blue, Sweet, flowering s.p.a.ces under pines; and knew Cropped lawns, where naked dryads dancing leapt To the clash of golden cymbals, while there crept Furtively on white bellies through the dew, To glut on grace, ambiguous fauns, whose eyes Burned glittering with desire: until the horn Of the moon turned ashen; and through the still trees The lithe shapes feed: and dawn brimmed up the skies With winey gold, and walked upon the corn; And murmuring through the vines came gleaming bees.

HURLEYWAYNE

FOR M. S.

Such cool peace as fills Green solitudes with trembling light at eve, Fresh after summer thunder: and thin leaves Stir gleaming, and grow still; then the green light Alone moves, pulsing in pooled air, that shakes No more with sound. Quiet brims full; then break As dropping rain hurrying elfin feet, A silvery foam of sound blown as white spray, Sparkling with great bright bubbles: no sound to sense, Bright foam upon blue pools of quiet tossed: And a sight of waven manes that gleam Shaken in the twilight under luminous leaves; And challenging fairy horns that invite to the chace Gay, light o' heart. And the galloping host, Winding their horns, rush by as wind in the gra.s.s, Shimmering; and the horns from afar ring out, Farther and farther away.

TO Sa

You chase the blue b.u.t.terflies, The shining dew is shaken by your feet, That are white in the young gra.s.ses; Swift, you hesitate, poised; And they elude you; fluttering In the windless gold.

Sa is small, But a little child, With little sorrows; Yet her tears shine with laughter, Her face comes and goes between the wet leaves, As a face in sleep Comes and goes between green shadows, As moving lights hide and shine in the marshes.

I shall not look at her, Lest she should hide from mine eyes In the shadow.

I bring her pale honey in a comb, apples Sweet and smelling; and leave them beside me; Then comes she softly.

There is a bee in the willow-weed, From flower to flower it climbs, and I watch it Till the honey and apples are eaten.

Sa is quite close to me; now she has gone She has forgotten me.

Sa is small, But a little child.

THE SHEPHERDS' CAROL OF BETHLEHEM

A golden star hangs in the night, Heigh-ho, the bitter winds blow!

And all the fields are clad in white: I saw three shepherds out in the snow.

What maketh Mary's face so pale?

Heigh-ho, the bitter winds blow!

It is the hour of her travail: I saw three shepherds out in the snow.

She lies between an a.s.s and beast, Heigh-ho, the bitter winds blow!

Three kings come riding from the east: I saw three shepherds out in the snow.

Caspar, Melchior, Balthazar, Heigh-ho, the bitter winds blow!

They have ridden out of the lands afar: I saw three shepherds out in the snow.

In ermine furs and cramasie, Heigh-ho, the bitter winds blow!

A duffle cloak will shelter me: I saw three shepherds out in the snow.

The kings have stooped to Mary's hem, Heigh-ho, the bitter winds blow!

But her eyes travel away from them: I saw three shepherds out in the snow.

What gifts have we to bring the Lord?

Heigh-ho, the bitter winds blow!

Neither a sceptre, nor a sword: I saw three shepherds out in the snow.

We bring no gifts but milk and cheese: Heigh-ho, the bitter winds blow!

And a fleece of wool for Mary's knees: I saw three shepherds out in the snow.

Nor myrrh, nor frankincense, nor gold: Heigh-ho, the bitter winds blow!

But a fleece to shield Him from the cold: I saw three shepherds out in the snow.

Down miry ways, tho' storms be wild, Heigh-ho, the bitter winds blow!

A warm soft fleece for a naked child: I saw three shepherds out in the snow.

Now Mary turns her face to sleep: Heigh-ho, the bitter winds blow!

While we go back to tend our sheep: I saw three shepherds out in the snow.

The sparks fly from the crackling thorn, Heigh-ho, the bitter winds blow!

Our G.o.d was in a stable born: I saw three shepherds out in the snow.

Tho' three wise kings rode from the east, Heigh-ho, the bitter winds blow!