Love Letters of a Violinist and Other Poems Part 4

I meant no wrong. I stole not from the sun The fire of Heaven; but I did seek to bring Glory from thee to me; and in the Spring I pray'd the prayer that left me thus undone.

XIII.

I pray'd my prayer. I wove into my song Fervour, and joy, and mystery, and the bleak, The wan despair that words can never speak.

I pray'd as if my spirit did belong To some old master, who was wise and strong Because he lov'd, and suffer'd, and was weak.

XIV.

I curb'd the notes, convulsive, to a sigh, And, when they falter'd most, I made them leap Fierce from my bow, as from a summer sleep A young she-devil. I was fired thereby To bolder efforts, and a m.u.f.fled cry Came from the strings, as if a saint did weep.

XV.

I changed the theme. I dallied with the bow Just time enough to fit it to a mesh Of merry notes, and drew it back afresh To talk of truth and constancy and woe, And life, and love, and madness, and the glow Of mine own soul which burns into my flesh.

XVI.

It was the Lord of music, it was he Who seiz'd my hand. He forc'd me, as I play'd, To think of that ill-fated fairy-glade Where once we stroll'd at night; and wild and free My notes did ring; and quickly unto me There came the joy that maketh us afraid.

XVII.

Oh! I shall die of tasting in my dreams Poison of love and ecstasy of pain; For I shall never kneel to thee again, Or sit in bowers, or wander by the streams Of golden vales, or of the morning beams Construct a wreath to crown thee on the plain!

XVIII.

Yet it were easy, too, to compa.s.s this, So thou wert kind; and easy to my soul Were harder things if I could reach the goal Of all I crave, and consummate a bliss In mine own fashion, and compel a kiss More fraught with honour than a king's control.

XIX.

It is not much to say that I would die,-- It is not much to say that I would dare Torture, and doom, and death, could I but share One kiss with thee. For then, without a sigh, I'd teach thee pity, and be graced thereby, Wet with thy tears, and shrouded by thy hair.

XX.

It is not much to say that this is so; Yet I would sell my substance and my breath, And all the joy that comes from Nazareth, And all the peace that all the angels know, To lie with thee, one minute, in the snow Of thy white bosom, ere I sank in death!

[Ill.u.s.tration: Letter IV YEARNING]

LETTER IV.

YEARNINGS.

I.

The earth is glad, I know, when night is spent, For then she wakes the birdlings in the bowers; And, one by one, the rosy-footed hours Start for the race; and from his crimson tent The soldier-sun looks o'er the firmament; And all his path is strewn with festal flowers.

II.

But what his mission? What the happy quest Of all this toil? He journeys on his way As Caesar did, unbia.s.s'd by the sway Of maid or man. His goal is in the west.

Will he unbuckle there, and, in his rest, Dream of the G.o.ds who died in Nero's day?

III.

Will he arraign the traitor in his camp?

The Winter Comet who, with streaming hair, Attack'd the sweetest of the Pleiads fair And ravish'd her, and left her in the damp Of dull decay, nor re-illumined the lamp That show'd the place she occupied in air.

IV.

No; 'tis not so! He seeks his lady-moon, The gentle orb for whom Endymion sigh'd, And trusts to find her by the ocean tide, Or near a forest in the coming June; For he has lov'd her since she late did swoon In that eclipse of which she nearly died.

V.

He knew her then; he knew her in the glow Of all her charms. He knew that she was chaste, And that she wore a girdle at her waist Whiter than pearl. And when he eyed her so He knew that in the final overthrow He should prevail, and she should be embraced.

VI.

But were I minded thus, were I the sun, And thou the moon, I would not bide so long To hear the marvels of thy wedding-song; For I would have the planets, every one, Conduct thee home, before the day was done, And call thee queen, and crown thee in the throng.

VII.

And, like Apollo, I would flash on thee, And rend thy veil, and call thee by the name That Daphne lov'd, the loadstar of his fame; And make myself for thee as white to see As whitest marble, and as wildly free As Leda's lover with his look of flame.

VIII.

And there should then be fetes that should not cease Till I had kiss'd thee, lov'd one! in a trance Lasting a life-time, through a life's romance; And every star should have a mate apiece, And I would teach them how, in ancient Greece, The G.o.ds were masters of the maidens' dance.

IX.

I should be bold to act; and thou should'st feel Terror and joy combined, in all the span Of thy sweet body, ere my fingers ran From curl to curl, to prompt thee how to kneel; And then, soul-stricken by thy mute appeal, I should be quick to answer like a man.