The Deluge and Other Poems Part 6

"Nay, death may follow love! 'Tis fit That life being empty, should be cast Carelessly into darkness' pit, Be one with all the life that's past"

(Black was the bay of Naples).

"Only compress the joy of years, Summers and seasons, nights and noons, To these short hours, where there appears, As of a mighty G.o.d that swoons, The sea's black arm round Naples.

"Oh, black beneath us are the trees, And black the weary line of hills, With all life's joy, and light, and ease, This room your radiant presence fills"

(Black was the bay of Naples).

"And ah," said he, "I'll give my soul To lie beneath your foot in h.e.l.l, That you may walk unscorched and whole-- Can other lovers love so well?"

(Black was the bay of Naples).

She took his hand and drew him in.

She quenched the lamplight's yellow gleam; The moon was like a sabre thin, The one white thing in all that dream Of black that lay on Naples.

A SONG

What if the rose should bloom, And the sunset deepen and fade, If we are penned in the gloom By close-barred shutters made?

What of the birds and the sun, And the moon-rise behind the trees, To the eyes and ears of one Who neither hears nor sees?

What of the world of love, Its fragrance, and light, and bloom, To the soul that cannot move Out of a loveless room?

Were it better the rose were dead In a black December frost, That no more skies were red, That lovers' ways were lost?

Ah no! The wood must shrink, Bar closely as you may, And between the shutters' c.h.i.n.k Slips in the sunlight's ray.

So that the prisoner knows It is June in the world outside, And his heart is glad for the rose, Though to him it is denied.

For the love of lovely things Must quench all bitterness, And whilst the robin sings No heart is comfortless.

THE BALLAD OF A SEA-NYMPH

Where the water meets the sands All alone sat she, Wrung her hair with chilly hands That glimmered mistily.

Phosph.o.r.escent were the drips From her hair she wrung, And like moonlight on her lips Were the words she sung.

White she was, as white as foam 'Neath a moonlit sky, And the treasures of her home On her brow did lie.

There he found her, he, a man, Wandering by the sea, And desire through him ran-- Misty-white was she.

There he wooed her, wooed her long, Till, within her eyes, Where were erst moonshine and song, Dawned in slow surprise

Mortal pain and mortal doubt, Shades of misery, And she turned her round about, Facing from the sea.

In his hand her hand she laid, As to land they turned, And her hand of sea-foam made 'Neath his fingers burned.

On they went then, he and she, Walking toward the East; And her sisters of the sea Their bewailing ceased

As it paled towards the dawn, From the light they fled; But she laughed with joy new-born.

"Is this life?" she said.

There was labour of the day, Dust upon her feet, Scorching of the shadeless way, Clamour of the street;

All a human want and pain, Laughter fraught with tears, Toil, when toil we know is vain, Hope, when hopes are fears;

Till this creature of the sea At the last became Human, in her misery, Joy, and pride, and shame.

With a word he left her then "Woman that you are, Mystery attracts us men Draws us from afar.

"Sea-nymph as you were, a thing Intangible, unknown, Like the light the sunbeams fling, Where the spray is blown,

"Sea-nymph have you ceased to be, Forfeited the whole Of that moonlight poetry, Cherished by man's soul;

"Still we seek the dim Ideal As the moth the star, How for women can we feel That our seekings bar?"

Where the water meets the sands, All alone sat she, With her head between her hands, Facing from the sea;

From her forehead pushed her hair Drooping wearily, Shivered by the water there: "Oh, soul's a curse," said she.

CHRYSANTHEMUMS

Oh, what a dainty negligence you show Outspreading all your petals' coquetry, As careless of restraint as poetry, Although, like poetry, you surely know That by the laws of beauty you must grow.

There is a pure and virgin fantasy In your curled petals, white as driven snow, And wayward as the unbound locks that blow Around a maiden's head, when, mad with glee, With outstretched arms she dances by the sea.

Yet in your glad abandon still you show The wildest beauty sorrow-touched must be, To give it worth; your leaves curve tenderly In subtle arches; so the heart may know Within the dancing maid the roots of woe.

A COURTLY MADRIGAL

Between the eyebrow and the eye Such uncounted beauties lie, Plain it is 'tis Cupid's pleasaunce only.

There he makes his court and seat, There lets all his graces meet, Leaves a loveless world, bereft and lonely.

Oh, fair straight brows that brood above The eyelid, as the nesting dove Broods upon her treasured young; In rosy flesh the veins of blue Do softly, dimly glimmer through, To lose themselves the eyelashes among.

Such eyelashes! More darkly sweet Than where the serried treetops meet Above the forest's undiscovered waters; Where scarce the stars peep o'er the edge, (Fringed round about with darkling sedge, And thickly-growing reeds, fair Syrinx' daughters).