A Lover's Litanies Part 2

xii.

Wouldst thou, Ca.s.sandra-wise, oppress my soul With more unrest, and Hebe-like, the bowl Of festal comfort for a moment raise To my poor lips, and then avert thy gaze?

Wouldst make me mad beyond the daily curse Of thy displeasure, and in wrath disperse That halcyon draught, that nectar of the mind, Which is the theme I yearn to in my verse?

xiii.

Oh, by thy pity when so slight a thing As some small bird is wounded in the wing, Avert thy scorn, and grant me, from afar, At least the right to love thee as a star,-- The right to turn to thee, the right to bow To thy pure name and evermore, as now, To own thy thraldom and to sing thereon, In proud allegiance to mine earliest vow.

xiv.

It were abuse of power to frown again When, all day long, I gloat upon the pain Of pent-up hope, my joy and my distress,-- While the remembrance of a mute caress Given to a rose,--a rose I pluck'd for thee,-- Seems as the withering of the world to me, Because I am unlov'd of thee to-day And undesired as sea-weeds in the sea.

xv.

I'll not believe that eyes so bright as thine Were meant for malice in the summer-s.h.i.+ne, Or that a glance thereof, though changed to fire, Could injure one whose spirit, like a lyre, Has throbb'd to music of remember'd joys,-- The pride thereof, and all the tender poise Of trust with trust,--the symphonies of grief Made all mine own,--and Faith which never cloys.

xvi.

How can it be that one so fair as thou Should wear contention on a whiter brow Than May-day Dian's in her hunting gear?

I'll not believe that eyes so holy-clear And mouth so constant to its morning prayer Could mock the mischief of a man's despair And all the misery of a moment's hope Seen far away, as mists are seen in air.

xvii.

How can a woman's heart be made of stone And she not know it? Mine is overthrown.

I have no heart to-day, no perfect one, Only a thing that sighs at set of sun And beats its cage, as if the thrall thereof Were freedom's prison or the tomb of love; As if, G.o.d help me! there were shame in truth And no salvation left in realms above.

xviii.

I once could laugh, I once was deem'd a man Fit for the frenzies of the dead G.o.d Pan, And now, by Heaven! the birds that sing so well Move me to tears; and all the leafy dell, And all the sun-down glories of the West, And all the moorland which the moon has blest, Make me a dreamer, aye! a coward, too, In all the weird expanse of mine unrest.

xix.

It is my curse to see thee and to learn That I must shun thee, though I blaze and burn With all this longing, all this fierce delight Fear-fraught and famish'd for a suitor's right; A right conceded for a moment's s.p.a.ce And then withdrawn as, amorous face to face, I dared to clasp thee and to urge a troth Too sovereign-sweet for one of Adam's race.

xx.

I am a doom-entangled mirthless soul, Without the power to rid me of the dole Which, day by day, and nightly evermore Corrodes my peace! Oh, smile, as once before, At each wild thought and each discarded plea, And let thy sentence, let thy suffrance be That I be reckon'd till the day I die The sad-eyed Singer of thy fame and thee!

[Ill.u.s.tration: cherub]

Third Litany.

_AD TE CLAMAVI._

Third Litany.

Ad Te Clamavi.

i.

Again, O Love! again I make lament, And, Arab-like, I pitch my summer-tent Outside the gateways of the Lord of Song.

I weep and wait, contented all day long To be the proud possessor of a grief.

It comforts me. It gives me more relief Than pleasures give; and, spirit-like in air, It re-invokes the peace that was so brief.

ii.

It speaks of thee. It keeps me from the lake Which else might tempt me; and for thy sweet sake I shun all evil. I am calmer now Than when I wooed thee, calmer than the vow Which made me thine, and yet so fond withal I start and tremble at the wind's footfall.

Is it the wind? Or is it mine own past Come back to life to lure me to its thrall?

iii.

I long to rise and seek thee where thou art And draw thee amorous to my wakeful heart That beats for thee alone, in vague unrest.

I long to front thee when thou'rt lily-dress'd In white attire,--e'en like the flowers of old That Jesus praised; and, though the thought be bold, I'm fain to kiss thee, Sweetheart! through thy hair And hide my face awhile in all that gold.

iv.

I will not say what more might then be done, And how, by moonlight or beneath the sun, We might be happy. In a reckless mood I've talk'd of this; and dreams and many a brood Of tongue-tied fancies have my soul beset.

I will not hint at fealty or the fret Of lips untrue, or anger thee therein, Or call to mind one word thou wouldst forget.

v.

I should withhold my raptures were I wise, I should not vex thee with my many sighs, Or claim one tear from thee, though 'tis my due.

I should be silent. I should cease to sue!

Sorrow should teach me what I fail'd to learn In days gone by; and cross'd at every turn By some new doubt, new-born of my desires, I should suppress the pangs with which I burn.

vi.

I am an outcast from the land of love And thou the Queen thereof, as white as dove New-sped from Heaven, and fine and fair to see As coy Queen Mab when, out upon the lea, She met her master and was lov'd of him.

Thou art allied to long-hair'd cherubim, And I a something undesired of these, With woesome lips and eyes for ever dim.