A Lover's Litanies Part 12

ix.

Till I have heard from thee my doom of death I shall be proud to serve thee with my breath, And with my labour, and be thine withal As Man is G.o.d's,--content with any thrall That's bound in thee; content with any lot That's link'd with thine, in some secluded spot Which thou hast lov'd, O Lady! in the past, And where remorse and wrong will find us not.

x.

To know thee fair, ah G.o.d! how sweet is this; To find thee wavering, and to grasp in bliss Only the dream of thee, how sad the while!

And yet, by reason of a moment's smile, How grand to hope, how gracious to forget!

Thou false to me? Thou heedless of a debt Of love's incurring? Nay, by Juno's crown, Thy snow-white hand shall be my guerdon yet!

xi.

The spirit-love that leads us to the soul Athwart the body as its fairest goal,-- The love that lives in languor undefined And yet is strong,--the love that can be kind And yet aggressive as a soldier's blade, Keen to the hilt, entranced and not afraid,-- This is the love that will survive the death Of all endowments which the years have made.

xii.

Wilt frown at this? Wilt chide me? Wilt appeal, As some are wont, when lovers, out of zeal, O'erstep the bounds of wisdom which hath ceased To win men's praise? The Matins of the East Sung by the lark,--the Credo of the Cloud Which oft he sings in confirmation proud Of his great love,--all this were mine excuse If I could sing as he, so dawn-endow'd.

xiii.

For I'd be welcome, then, where'er thou art, And gladden thee, and play as prompt a part As Romeo play'd with Juliet at his breast.

Who loves not love, who hates to be caress'd, Is Nature's bane; and I'll denounce him, too.

For he's a foe to all that's just and true In earth and Heaven; and when he seeks a joy, His quest shall fail,--his hand shall miss the clue.

xiv.

We know these things. We know how dark a word May let in light, and how the smallest bird May mix the morn with music till we think The fire-lit air is wine for us to drink,-- And every drop salvation,--every sound A Muse's whisper,--all the flower-full ground A fancy-carpet fit for knights to tread When on their way to Arthur's Table Round.

xv.

A peevish fool is he who will not raise His hands in prayer, among the danger-days That come to all; for he, when waxen old, Will search the past and find it callous-cold; And all the future, too, will freeze for him.

Nor shall he weep aright when tears bedim His desperate, doleful eyes that know not faith; And he shall hear no chants of cherubim.

xvi.

I was bewitch'd of late! My soul had met Some fearful doom; and there had dropt a threat,-- A curse belike,--from lips of Atropos.

There had been done a deed of spirit-loss Which did o'erwhelm me as I paused thereat.

But now 'tis shunn'd; and where a Tremor sat Now sits a Hope; and where a gulf was seen Now stands a mount as blest as Ararat.

xvii.

The rose is silent, and the lily dumb For Man alone. He sees them when they come Glad from the soil; but what they mean thereby, And what they dream of, when they front the sky, Eludes his learning. But the birds can tell.

Moths talk to flowers; and breezes in the dell Hear more confessions than we men reveal; And oaks and cedars love each other well.

xviii.

In woodland places where the gra.s.s is lit With lamp-like flowers, I seem to see thee flit On azure wings, as if to bless the glade; For, everywhere, thy form in s.h.i.+ne and shade Doth come and go, conversant, as I deem, With Nature's whims; for thou'rt of great esteem In fairy haunts; and elves and fays confess How sweet thou art, my Love! and how supreme.

xix.

Diana's self was not more virgin-proud.

The maiden-moon, new-seated on a cloud That seems her throne where she receives the stars,-- The moon who holds her court beyond the jars Of land and sea,--the moon, the vestal moon, Has kept thee cold since the transcendant noon Of that wild day when I thy hand did claim, And when thy lips refused me their boon.

xx.

But thoughts are free; and mine have found at last Their apt solution; and, from out the past, There seems to s.h.i.+ne as 'twere a beacon-fire; And all the land is lit with large desire Of lambent glory; all the quivering sea Is big with waves that wait the Morn's decree, As I, thy va.s.sal, wait thy beckoning smile Athwart the splendors of my dreams of Thee!

Amen!