The Home Book of Verse Volume Ii Part 99

THE SONG OF THE BOWER From "The House of Life"

Say, is it day, is it dusk in thy bower, Thou whom I long for, who longest for me?

Oh! be it light, be it night, 'tis Love's hour, Love's that is fettered as Love's that is free.

Free Love has leaped to that innermost chamber, Oh! the last time, and the hundred before: Fettered Love, motionless, can but remember, Yet something that sighs from him pa.s.ses the door.

Nay, but my heart when it flies to thy bower, What does it find there that knows it again?

There it must droop like a shower-beaten flower, Red at the rent core and dark with the rain.

Ah! yet what shelter is still shed above it,-- What waters still image its leaves torn apart?

Thy soul is the shade that clings round it to love it, And tears are its mirror deep down in thy heart.

What were my prize, could I enter thy bower, This day, to-morrow, at eve or at morn?

Large lovely arms and a neck like a tower, Bosom then heaving that now lies forlorn.

Kindled with love-breath, (the sun's kiss is colder!) Thy sweetness all near me, so distant to-day; My hand round thy neck and thy hand on my shoulder, My mouth to thy mouth as the world melts away.

What is it keeps me afar from thy bower,-- My spirit, my body, so fain to be there?

Waters engulfing or fires that devour?-- Earth heaped against me or death in the air?

Nay, but in day-dreams, for terror, for pity, The trees wave their heads with an omen to tell; Nay, but in night-dreams, throughout the dark city, The hours, clashed together, lose count in the bell.

Shall I not one day remember thy bower, One day when all days are one day to me?-- Thinking, "I stirred not, and yet had the power,"

Yearning, "Ah G.o.d, if again it might be!"

Peace, peace! such a small lamp illumes, on this highway, So dimly so few steps in front of my feet,-- Yet shows me that her way is parted from my way....

Out of sight, beyond light, at what goal may we meet?

Dante Gabriel Rossetti [1828-1882]

SONG

We break the gla.s.s, whose sacred wine To some beloved health we drain, Lest future pledges, less divine, Should e'er the hallowed toy profane; And thus I broke a heart that poured Its tide of feelings out for thee, In draughts, by after-times deplored, Yet dear to memory.

But still the old, impa.s.sioned ways And habits of my mind remain, And still unhappy light displays Thine image chambered in my brain, And still it looks as when the hours Went by like flights of singing birds, Or that soft chain of spoken flowers And airy gems,--thy words.

Edward Coote Pinkney [1802-1828]

MAUD MULLER

Maud Muller on a summer's day Raked the meadow sweet with hay.

Beneath her torn hat glowed the wealth Of simple beauty and rustic health.

Singing, she wrought, and her merry glee The mock-bird echoed from his tree.

But when she glanced to the far-off town, White from its hill-slope looking down,

The sweet song died, and a vague unrest And a nameless longing filled her breast,--

A wish that she hardly dared to own, For something better than she had known.

The Judge rode slowly down the lane, Smoothing his horse's chestnut mane.

He drew his bridle in the shade Of the apple-trees, to greet the maid,

And asked a draught from the spring that flowed Through the meadow across the road.

She stooped where the cool spring bubbled up, And filled for him her small tin cup,

And blushed as she gave it, looking down On her feet so bare, and her tattered gown.

"Thanks!" said the Judge; "a sweeter draught From a fairer hand was never quaffed."

He spoke of the gra.s.s and flowers and trees, Of the singing birds and the humming bees;

Then talked of the haying, and wondered whether The cloud in the west would bring foul weather.

And Maud forgot her brier-torn gown, And her graceful ankles bare and brown;

And listened, while a pleased surprise Looked from her long-lashed hazel eyes.

At last, like one who for delay Seeks a vain excuse, he rode away.

Maud Muller looked and sighed: "Ah me!

That I the Judge's bride might be!

"He would dress me up in silks so fine, And praise and toast me at his wine.

"My father should wear a broadcloth coat; My brother should sail a painted boat.

"I'd dress my mother so grand and gay, And the baby should have a new toy each day.

"And I'd feed the hungry and clothe the poor, And all should bless me who left our door."

The Judge looked back as he climbed the hill, And saw Maud Muller standing still.

"A form more fair, a face more sweet, Ne'er hath it been my lot to meet.

"And her modest answer and graceful air Show her wise and good as she is fair.

"Would she were mine, and I to-day, Like her, a harvester of hay;

"No doubtful balance of rights and wrongs, Nor weary lawyers with endless tongues,