Love Letters of a Violinist and Other Poems Part 15

XIII.

This, and no less: the keeper of thy fame, The proud controller of each silken tress, And each dear item of thy loveliness, And every oath, and every dainty name Known to a bride: a picture in a frame Of golden hair, to turn to and caress.

XIV.

And though I know thee p.r.o.ne, in vacant hours, To laugh and talk with those who circ.u.mvent And make mad speeches; though I know the bent Of some such men, and though in ladies' bowers They brag of swords--I know my proven powers; I know myself and thee, and am content.

XV.

I know myself; and why should I demur?

The lily, bowing to the breeze's play, Is not forgetful of the sun in May.

She is his nymph, and with a servitor She doth but jest. The sun looks down at her, And knows her true, and loves her day by day.

XVI.

E'en so I thee, O Lady of my Heart!

O Lady white as lilies on the lea, And fair as foam upon the ocean free Whereon the sun hath sent a s.h.i.+ning dart!

E'en so I love thee, blameless as thou art, And with my soul's desire I compa.s.s thee.

XVII.

For thou art Woman in the sweetest sense Of true endowment, and a bride indeed Fit for Apollo. This is Woman's need: To be a beacon when the air is dense, A bower of peace, a life-long recompense-- This is the sum of Woman's worldly creed.

XVIII.

And what is Man the while? And what his will?

And what the furtherance of his earthly hope?

To turn to Faith, to turn, as to a rope A drowning sailor; all his blood to spill For One he loves, to keep her out of ill-- This is the will of Man, and this his scope.

XIX.

'Tis like the tranquil sea, that knows anon It can be wild, and keep away from home A thousand s.h.i.+ps--and lash itself to foam-- And beat the sh.o.r.e, and all that lies thereon-- And catch the thunder ere the flash has gone Forth from the cloud that spans it like a dome.

XX.

This is the will of Man, and this is mine.

But lo! I love thee more than wealth or fame, More than myself, and more than those who came With Christ's commission from the goal divine.

Soul of my soul, and mine as I am thine, I cling to thee, my Life! as fire to flame.

Miscellaneous Poems.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

ANTEROS.

I.

This is the feast-day of my soul and me, For I am half a G.o.d and half a man.

These are the hours in which are heard by sea, By land and wave, and in the realms of s.p.a.ce, The lute-like sounds which sanctify my span, And give me power to sway the human race.

II.

I am the king whom men call Lucifer, I am the genius of the nether spheres.

Give me my Christian name, and I demur.

Call me a Greek, and straightway I rejoice.

Yea, I am Anteros, and with my tears I salt the earth that gladdens at my voice.

III.

I am old Anteros; a young, old G.o.d; A sage who smiles and limps upon a crutch.

But I can turn my crutch into a rod, And change my rod into a crown of wood.

Yea, I am he who conquers with a touch, And plays with poisons till he makes them good.

IV.

The sun, uprising with his golden hair, Is mine apostle; and he serves me well.

Thoughts and desires of mine, beyond compare, Thrill at his touch. The moon, so lost in thought, Has pined for love; and wanderers out of h.e.l.l, And saints from heaven, have known what I have taught.

V.

Great are my griefs; my joys are multiplex; And beasts and birds and men my subjects are; Yea, all created things that have a s.e.x, And flies and flowers and monsters of the mere; All these, and more, proclaim me from afar, And sing my marriage songs from year to year.

VI.

There are no bridals but the ones I make; For men are quicken'd when they turn to me.

The soul obeys me for its body's sake, And each is form'd for each, as day for night.

'Tis but the soul can pay the body's fee To win the wisdom of a fool's delight.