Myth and Romance Part 12

From your sweet lips no word hath ever fallen To tell my heart its love is not in vain-- The bee that wooes the flow'r hath honey and pollen To cheer him on and bring him back again: But what have I, your other friends above, To feed my love, to feed my love?

III

Still, still you are my dream and my desire; Your love is an allurement and a dare Set for attainment, like a shining spire, Far, far above me in the starry air: And gazing upward, 'gainst the hope of hope, I breast the slope, I breast the slope.

_In May_

I

When you and I in the hills went Maying, You and I in the sweet May weather, The birds, that sang on the boughs together, There in the green of the woods, kept saying All that my heart was saying low, Love, as glad as the May's glad glow,-- And did you know?

When you and I in the hills went Maying.

II

There where the brook on its rocks went winking, There by its banks where the May had led us, Flowers, that bloomed in the woods and meadows, Azure and gold at our feet, kept thinking All that my soul was thinking there, Love, as pure as the May's pure air,-- And did you care?

There where the brook on its rocks went winking.

III

Whatever befalls through fate's compelling, Should our paths unite or our pathways sever, In the Mays to come I shall feel forever The wildflowers thinking, the wildbirds telling The same fond love that my heart then knew, Love unspeakable, deep and true,-- But what of you?

Whatever befalls through fate's compelling.

_Will You Forget?_

In years to come, will you forget, Dear girl, how often we have met?

And I have gazed into your eyes And there beheld no sad regret To cloud the gladness of their skies, While in your heart--unheard as yet-- Love slept, oblivious of my sighs?-- In years to come, will you forget?

Ah, me! I only pray that when, In other days, some man of men Has taught those eyes to laugh and weep With joy and sorrow, hearts must ken When love awakens in their deep,-- I only pray some memory then, Or sad or sweet, you still will keep Of me and love that might have been.

_Clouds of the Autumn Night_

Clouds of the autumn night, Under the hunter's moon,-- Ghostly and windy white,-- Whither, like leaves wild strewn, Take ye your stormy flight?

Out of the west, where dusk, From her rich windowsill, Leaned with a wand of tusk, Witch-like, and wood and hill Phantomed with mist and musk.

Into the east, where morn Sleeps in a shadowy close, Shut with a gate of horn, 'Round which the dreams she knows Flutter with rose and thorn.

Blow from the west, oh, blow, Clouds that the tempest steers!

And with your rain and snow Bear of my heart the tears, And of my soul the woe.

Into the east then pa.s.s, Clouds that the night winds sweep!

And on her grave's sear gra.s.s, There where she lies asleep.

There let them fall, alas!

_The Glory and the Dream_

There in the past I see her as of old, Blue-eyed and hazel-haired, within a room Dim with a twilight of tenebrious gold; Her white face sensuous as a delicate bloom Night opens in the tropics. Fold on fold Pale laces drape her; and a frail perfume, As of a moonlit primrose brimmed with rain, Breathes from her presence, drowsing heart and brain.

Her head is bent; some red carnations glow Deep in her heavy hair; her large eyes gleam;-- Bright sister stars of those twin worlds of snow, Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, through which the veined violets stream;-- I hold her hand; her smile comes sweetly slow As thoughts of love that haunt a poet's dream; And at her feet once more I sit and hear Wild words of pa.s.sion--dead this many a year.

_Snow and Fire_

Deep-hearted roses of the purple dusk And lilies of the morn; And cactus, holding up a slender tusk Of fragrance on a thorn; All heavy flowers, sultry with their musk, Her presence puts to scorn.

For she is like the pale, pale snowdrop there, Scentless and chaste of heart; The moonflower, making spiritual the air, Like some pure work of art; Divine and holy, exquisitely fair, And virtue's counterpart.

Yet when her eyes gaze into mine, and when Her lips to mine are pressed,-- Why are my veins all fire then? and then Why should her soul suggest Voluptuous perfumes, maddening unto men, And prurient with unrest?

_Restraint_

Dear heart and love! what happiness to sit And watch the firelight's varying shade and shine On thy young face; and through those eyes of thine-- As through glad windows--mark fair fancies flit In sumptuous chambers of thy soul's chaste wit Like graceful women: then to take in mine Thy hand, whose pressure brims my heart's divine Hushed rapture as with music exquisite!

When I remember how thy look and touch Sway, like the moon, my blood with ecstasy, I dare not think to what fierce heaven might lead Thy soft embrace; or in thy kiss how much Sweet h.e.l.l,--beyond all help of me,--might be, Where I were lost, where I were lost indeed!

_Why Should I Pine_?