The Unknown Eros Part 7

So clasp your childish arms again around my heart: 'Tis but in such captivity The unbounded Heav'ns know what they be!

And lie still there, Till the dawn, threat'ning to declare My beauty, which you cannot bear, Bid me depart.

Suffer your soul's delight, Lest that which is to come wither you quite: For these are only your espousals; yes, More intimate and fruitfuller far Than aptest mortal nuptials are; But nuptials wait you such as now you dare not guess.'

'In all I thee obey! And thus I know That all is well: Should'st thou me tell Out of thy warm caress to go And roll my body in the biting snow, My very body's joy were but increased; More pleasant 'tis to please thee than be pleased.

Thy love has conquer'd me; do with me as thou wilt, And use me as a chattel that is thine!

Kiss, tread me under foot, cherish or beat, Sheathe in my heart sharp pain up to the hilt, Invent what else were most perversely sweet; Nay, let the Fiend drag me through dens of guilt; Let Earth, Heav'n, h.e.l.l 'Gainst my content combine; What could make nought the touch that made thee mine!

Ah, say not yet, farewell!'

'Nay, that's the Blackbird's note, the sweet Night's knell.

Behold, Beloved, the penance you would brave!'

'Curs'd when it comes, the bitter thing we crave!

Thou leav'st me now, like to the moon at dawn, A little, vacuous world alone in air.

I will not care!

When dark comes back my dark shall be withdrawn!

Go free; For 'tis with me As when the cup the Child scoops in the sand Fills, and is part and parcel of the Sea.

I'll say it to myself and understand.

Farewell!

Go as thou wilt and come! Lover divine, Thou still art jealously and wholly mine; And this thy kiss A separate secret by none other scann'd; Though well I wis The whole of life is womanhood to thee, Momently wedded with enormous bliss.

Rainbow, that hast my heaven sudden spann'd, I am the apple of thy glorious gaze, Each else life cent'ring to a different blaze; And, nothing though I be But now a no more void capacity for thee, 'Tis all to know there's not in air or land Another for thy Darling quite like me!

Mine arms no more thy restless plumes compel!

Farewell!

Whilst thou art gone, I'll search the weary meads To deck my bed with lilies of fair deeds!

And, if thou choose to come this eventide, A touch, my Love, will set my cas.e.m.e.nt wide.

Farewell, farewell!

Be my dull days Music, at least, with thy remember'd praise!'

'Bitter, sweet, few and veil'd let be Your songs of me.

Preserving bitter, very sweet, Few, that so all may be discreet, And veil'd, that, seeing, none may see.'

XIII. DE NATURA DEORUM.

'Good-morrow, Psyche! What's thine errand now?

What awful pleasure do thine eyes bespeak, What shame is in thy childish cheek, What terror on thy brow?

Is this my Psyche, once so pale and meek?

Thy body's sudden beauty my sight old Stings, like an agile bead of boiling gold, And all thy life looks troubled like a tree's Whose boughs wave many ways in one great breeze.'

'O Pythoness, to strangest story hark: A dreadful G.o.d was with me in the dark--'

'How many a Maid-- Has never told me that! And thou'rt afraid--'

'He'll come no more, Or come but twice, Or thrice, Or only thrice ten thousand times thrice o'er!'

'For want of wishing thou mean'st not to miss.

We know the Lover, Psyche, by the kiss!'

'If speech of honey could impart the sweet, The world were all in tears and at his feet!

But not to tell of that in tears come I, but this: I'm foolish, weak, and small, And fear to fall.

If long he stay away, O frightful dream, wise Mother, What keeps me but that I, gone crazy, kiss some other!'

'The fault were his! But know, Sweet little Daughter sad, He did but feign to go; And never more Shall cross thy window-sill, Or pa.s.s beyond thy door, Save by thy will.

He's present now in some dim place apart Of the ivory house wherewith thou mad'st him glad.

Nay, this I whisper thee, Since none is near, Or, if one were, since only thou could'st hear, That happy thing which makes thee flush and start, Like infant lips in contact with thy heart, Is He!'

'Yea, this I know, but never can believe!

O, hateful light! when shall mine own eyes mark My beauty, which this victory did achieve?'

'When thou, like G.o.ds and owls, canst see by dark.'

'In vain I cleanse me from all blurring error--'

''Tis the last rub that polishes the mirror.'

'It takes fresh blurr each breath which I respire.'

'Poor Child, don't cry so! Hold it to the fire.'

'Ah, nought these dints can e'er do out again!'

'Love is not love which does not sweeter live For having something dreadful to forgive.'

'Sadness and change and pain Shall me for ever stain; For, though my blissful fate Be for a billion years, How shall I stop my tears That life was once so low and Love arrived so late!'

'Sadness is beauty's savour, and pain is The exceedingly keen edge of bliss; Nor, without swift mutation, would the heav'ns be aught.'

'How to behave with him I'd fain be taught.

A maid, meseems, within a G.o.d's embrace, Should bear her like a G.o.ddess, or, at least, a Grace.'

'When G.o.ds, to Man or Maid below, As men or birds appear, A kind 'tis of incognito, And that, not them, is what they choose we should revere.'

'Advise me what oblation vast to bring, Some least part of my worship to confess!'

'A woman is a little thing, And in things little lies her comeliness.'

'Must he not soon with mortal tire to toy?'

'The bashful meeting of strange Depth and Height Breeds the forever new-born babe, Delight; And, as thy G.o.d is more than mortal boy, So bashful more the meeting, and so more the joy.'

'He loves me dearly, but he shakes a whip Of deathless scorpions at my slightest slip.

Mother, last night he call'd me "Gipsy," so Roughly it smote me like a blow!

Yet, oh, I love him, as none surely e'er could love Our People's pompous but good-natured Jove.

He used to send me stately overture; But marriage-bonds, till now, I never could endure!'

'How should great Jove himself do else than miss To win the woman he forgets to kiss; Or, won, to keep his favour in her eyes, If he's too soft or sleepy to chastise!

By Eros, her twain claims are ne'er forgot; Her wedlock's marr'd when either's miss'd: Or when she's kiss'd, but beaten not, Or duly beaten, but not kiss'd.

Ah, Child, the sweet Content, when we're both kiss'd and beat!

--But whence these wounds? What Demon thee enjoins To scourge thy shoulders white And tender loins!'

''Tis nothing, Mother. Happiness at play, And speech of tenderness no speech can say!'

'How learn'd thou art!

Twelve honeymoons profane had taught thy docile heart Less than thine Eros, in a summer night!'

'Nay, do not jeer, but help my puzzled plight: Because he loves so marvellously me, And I with all he loves in love must be, How to except myself I do not see.

Yea, now that other vanities are vain, I'm vain, since him it likes, of being withal Weak, foolish, small!'

'How can a Maid forget her ornaments!

The Powers, that hopeless doom the proud to die, Unask'd smile pardon upon vanity, Nay, praise it, when themselves are praised thereby.'

'Ill-match'd I am for a G.o.d's blandishments!

So great, so wise--'

'G.o.ds, in the abstract, are, no doubt, most wise; But, in the concrete, Girl, they're mysteries!

He's not with thee, At all less wise nor more Than human Lover is with her he deigns to adore.

He finds a fair capacity, And fills it with himself, and glad would die For that sole She.'

'Know'st thou some potion me awake to keep, Lest, to the grief of that ne'er-slumbering Bliss, Disgraced I sleep, Wearied in soul by his bewildering kiss?'

'The Immortals, Psyche, moulded men from sods That Maids from them might learn the ways of G.o.ds.

Think, would a wakeful Youth his hard fate weep, Lock'd to the tired breast of a Bride asleep?'

'Ah, me, I do not dream, Yet all this does some heathen fable seem!'

'O'ermuch thou mind'st the throne he leaves above!

Between unequals sweet is equal love.'

'Nay, Mother, in his breast, when darkness blinds, I cannot for my life but talk and laugh With the large impudence of little minds!'

'Respectful to the G.o.ds and meek, According to one's lights, I grant 'Twere well to be; But, on my word, Child, any one, to hear you speak, Would take you for a Protestant, (Such fish I do foresee When the charm'd fume comes strong on me,) Or powder'd lackey, by some great man's board, A deal more solemn than his Lord!

Know'st thou not, Girl, thine Eros loves to laugh?

And shall a G.o.d do anything by half?

He foreknew and predestinated all The Great must pay for kissing things so small, And ever loves his little Maid the more The more she makes him laugh.'

'O, Mother, are you sure?'

'Gaze steady where yon starless deep the gaze revolts, And say, Seest thou a t.i.tan forging thunderbolts, Or three fair b.u.t.terflies at lovesome play?

And this I'll add, for succour of thy soul: Lines parallel meet sooner than some think; The least part oft is greater than the whole; And, when you're thirsty, that's the time to drink.'

'Thy sacred words I ponder and revere, And thank thee heartily that some are clear.'