Three Women Part 11

V.

If I were a rain drop, and you were a leaf, I would burst from the cloud above you And lie on your breast in a rapture of rest, And love you, love you, love you.

If I were a brown bee, and you were a rose, I would fly to you, love, nor miss you; I would sip and sip from your nectared lip, And kiss you, kiss you, kiss you.

If I were a doe, dear, and you were a brook, Ah, what would I do then, think you?

I would kneel by your bank, in the gra.s.ses dank, And drink you, drink you, drink you.

VI.

Time owes me such a heavy debt, How can he ever make things right?

For suns that with no promise set To help me greet the morning light,

For dreams that no fruition met, For joys that pa.s.sed from bud to blight, Time owes me such a heavy debt; How can he ever make things right?

For pa.s.sions balked, with strain and fret Of hopes delayed, or perished quite, For kisses that I did not get On many a love impelling night, Time owes me such a heavy debt; How can he ever make things right?

VII.

As the king bird feeds on the heart of the bee, So would I feed on the sweets of thee.

As the south wind kisses the leaf at will, From the leaf of thy lips I would drink my fill.

As the sun pries into the heart of a rose, I would pry in thy heart, and its thoughts disclose.

As a dewdrop mirrors the loving sky, I would see myself in thy tear wet eye.

As the deep night shelters the day in its arms, I would hide thee, dear, from the world's alarms.

VIII.

Now do I know how Paradise doth seem, Now do I know the deep red depths of h.e.l.l.

Swift from those fair supernal heights I fell To burning flames of hades, in a dream.

Methought my ladye rested by a stream Which rippled through the verdure of a dell.

She lay like Eve; dear G.o.d, I dare not tell Of her perfections; of the glow and gleam Of tinted flesh, and undulating hair, Of sudden thigh, and sweetly rounded breast.

Then, like a cloud, he came, from G.o.d knows where, And on her eyes and mouth mad kisses pressed.

I fell, and fell, through leagues of scorching s.p.a.ce, And always saw his lips upon her face.

IX.

Love is the source of all supreme delight, Love is the bitter fountain of despair; Who follows Love shall stand upon the height, Yet through the darkest depths, Love, too, leads there.

Courage needs he who would with bold Love fare, Let him set forth with all his strength bedight; Yet in his heart this song to banish care-- "Love is the source of all supreme delight."

And he must sing this song both day and night, Though he be led down shadowy pathways where Black waters moan, through valleys struck with blight, "Love is the bitter fountain of despair."

Let him be brave, and bravely let him dare Whate'er betide, and feel no coward fright.

Who shares the worst, the best deserves to share; Who follows Love shall stand upon the height.

Ah! sweet is peace to those who faced the fight, And bright the crown those faithful ones shall wear, Who whispered, when the shadows veiled their sight, "Yet through the darkest depths, Love, too, leads there."

To hearts that best know Love, his dark is fair, His sorrow gladness, and his wrong is right.

All joys lie waiting on his winding stair; All ways, ail paths of Love lead to the light.

Love is the source.

X.

My ladye's eyes are wis.h.i.+ng wells, Wherein I gaze with silent yearning; Deep in their depths my future dwells.

My ladye's eyes are wis.h.i.+ng wells, But not one sign my fate foretells, While my poor heart with love is burning.

My ladye's eyes are wis.h.i.+ng wells, Wherein I gaze with silent yearning.

XI.

Three things my ladye seemeth like to me-- She seems like moonlight on a waveless sea.

And like the delicate fragrance, which exhales, When Day's warm garments brush the dewy vales.

And when my heart grows weary of earth's sound, She seems like silence--restful and profound.

XII.

The moon flower, grown from a slip so slender, Has burst in a star bloom, full and white.

The air is filled with a perfume tender, The breath that blows from that garden height.

Yet moments lag that should take their flight On wings, like the wings of a homing dove, And the world goes wrong where it should go right, For this is a night that is lost to love.

Again, like a queen, who would rashly spend her Dower of wealth in a single night, The proud moon seems, on her track of splendor, Enriching the world with her silver light.

She flings on the crest of each billow a bright Pure gem, from the casket of jewels above.

But I sigh as I gaze on the glorious sight, "This is a night that is lost to love."

Oh, I would that the moon might never wend her Way through the skies in royal might, Till the haughty heart of my lady surrender And the faithful love of a life requite.

For the moon was made for a lover's delight; And grayer than gloom must its l.u.s.ter prove To the soul that sighs under sorrow's blight, "This is a night that is lost to love."