Poems by Oscar Wilde Part 7

O Linnet in the wild-rose brake Strain for my Love thy melody, O Lark sing louder for love's sake, My gentle Lady pa.s.seth by.

She is too fair for any man To see or hold his heart's delight, Fairer than Queen or courtesan Or moonlit water in the night.

Her hair is bound with myrtle leaves, (Green leaves upon her golden hair!) Green gra.s.ses through the yellow sheaves Of autumn corn are not more fair.

Her little lips, more made to kiss Than to cry bitterly for pain, Are tremulous as brook-water is, Or roses after evening rain.

Her neck is like white melilote Flus.h.i.+ng for pleasure of the sun, The throbbing of the linnet's throat Is not so sweet to look upon.

As a pomegranate, cut in twain, White-seeded, is her crimson mouth, Her cheeks are as the fading stain Where the peach reddens to the south.

O twining hands! O delicate White body made for love and pain!

O House of love! O desolate Pale flower beaten by the rain!

CHANSON

A RING of gold and a milk-white dove Are goodly gifts for thee, And a hempen rope for your own love To hang upon a tree.

For you a House of Ivory, (Roses are white in the rose-bower)!

A narrow bed for me to lie, (White, O white, is the hemlock flower)!

Myrtle and jessamine for you, (O the red rose is fair to see)!

For me the cypress and the rue, (Finest of all is rosemary)!

For you three lovers of your hand, (Green gra.s.s where a man lies dead)!

For me three paces on the sand, (Plant lilies at my head)!

CHARMIDES

I.

HE was a Grecian lad, who coming home With pulpy figs and wine from Sicily Stood at his galley's prow, and let the foam Blow through his crisp brown curls unconsciously, And holding wave and wind in boy's despite Peered from his dripping seat across the wet and stormy night.

Till with the dawn he saw a burnished spear Like a thin thread of gold against the sky, And hoisted sail, and strained the creaking gear, And bade the pilot head her l.u.s.tily Against the nor'west gale, and all day long Held on his way, and marked the rowers' time with measured song.

And when the faint Corinthian hills were red Dropped anchor in a little sandy bay, And with fresh boughs of olive crowned his head, And brushed from cheek and throat the h.o.a.ry spray, And washed his limbs with oil, and from the hold Brought out his linen tunic and his sandals brazen-soled,

And a rich robe stained with the fishers' juice Which of some swarthy trader he had bought Upon the sunny quay at Syracuse, And was with Tyrian broideries inwrought, And by the questioning merchants made his way Up through the soft and silver woods, and when the labouring day

Had spun its tangled web of crimson cloud, Clomb the high hill, and with swift silent feet Crept to the fane unnoticed by the crowd Of busy priests, and from some dark retreat Watched the young swains his frolic playmates bring The firstling of their little flock, and the shy shepherd fling

The crackling salt upon the flame, or hang His studded crook against the temple wall To Her who keeps away the ravenous fang Of the base wolf from homestead and from stall; And then the clear-voiced maidens 'gan to sing, And to the altar each man brought some goodly offering,

A beechen cup br.i.m.m.i.n.g with milky foam, A fair cloth wrought with cunning imagery Of hounds in chase, a waxen honey-comb Dripping with oozy gold which scarce the bee Had ceased from building, a black skin of oil Meet for the wrestlers, a great boar the fierce and white-tusked spoil

Stolen from Artemis that jealous maid To please Athena, and the dappled hide Of a tall stag who in some mountain glade Had met the shaft; and then the herald cried, And from the pillared precinct one by one Went the glad Greeks well pleased that they their simple vows had done.

And the old priest put out the waning fires Save that one lamp whose restless ruby glowed For ever in the cell, and the shrill lyres Came fainter on the wind, as down the road In joyous dance these country folk did pa.s.s, And with stout hands the warder closed the gates of polished bra.s.s.

Long time he lay and hardly dared to breathe, And heard the cadenced drip of spilt-out wine, And the rose-petals falling from the wreath As the night breezes wandered through the shrine, And seemed to be in some entranced swoon Till through the open roof above the full and br.i.m.m.i.n.g moon

Flooded with sheeny waves the marble floor, When from his nook up leapt the venturous lad, And flinging wide the cedar-carven door Beheld an awful image saffron-clad And armed for battle! the gaunt Griffin glared From the huge helm, and the long lance of wreck and ruin flared

Like a red rod of flame, stony and steeled The Gorgon's head its leaden eyeb.a.l.l.s rolled, And writhed its snaky horrors through the s.h.i.+eld, And gaped aghast with bloodless lips and cold In pa.s.sion impotent, while with blind gaze The blinking owl between the feet hooted in shrill amaze.

The lonely fisher as he trimmed his lamp Far out at sea off Sunium, or cast The net for tunnies, heard a brazen tramp Of horses smite the waves, and a wild blast Divide the folded curtains of the night, And knelt upon the little p.o.o.p, and prayed in holy fright.

And guilty lovers in their venery Forgat a little while their stolen sweets, Deeming they heard dread Dian's bitter cry; And the grim watchmen on their lofty seats Ran to their s.h.i.+elds in haste precipitate, Or strained black-bearded throats across the dusky parapet.

For round the temple rolled the clang of arms, And the twelve G.o.ds leapt up in marble fear, And the air quaked with dissonant alarums Till huge Poseidon shook his mighty spear, And on the frieze the prancing horses neighed, And the low tread of hurrying feet rang from the cavalcade.

Ready for death with parted lips he stood, And well content at such a price to see That calm wide brow, that terrible maidenhood, The marvel of that pitiless chast.i.ty, Ah! well content indeed, for never wight Since Troy's young shepherd prince had seen so wonderful a sight.

Ready for death he stood, but lo! the air Grew silent, and the horses ceased to neigh, And off his brow he tossed the cl.u.s.tering hair, And from his limbs he throw the cloak away; For whom would not such love make desperate?

And nigher came, and touched her throat, and with hands violate

Undid the cuira.s.s, and the crocus gown, And bared the b.r.e.a.s.t.s of polished ivory, Till from the waist the peplos falling down Left visible the secret mystery Which to no lover will Athena show, The grand cool flanks, the crescent thighs, the bossy hills of snow.

Those who have never known a lover's sin Let them not read my ditty, it will be To their dull ears so musicless and thin That they will have no joy of it, but ye To whose wan cheeks now creeps the lingering smile, Ye who have learned who Eros is,-O listen yet awhile.

A little s.p.a.ce he let his greedy eyes Rest on the burnished image, till mere sight Half swooned for surfeit of such luxuries, And then his lips in hungering delight Fed on her lips, and round the towered neck He flung his arms, nor cared at all his pa.s.sion's will to check.

Never I ween did lover hold such tryst, For all night long he murmured honeyed word, And saw her sweet unravished limbs, and kissed Her pale and argent body undisturbed, And paddled with the polished throat, and pressed His hot and beating heart upon her chill and icy breast.

It was as if Numidian javelins Pierced through and through his wild and whirling brain, And his nerves thrilled like throbbing violins In exquisite pulsation, and the pain Was such sweet anguish that he never drew His lips from hers till overhead the lark of warning flew.

They who have never seen the daylight peer Into a darkened room, and drawn the curtain, And with dull eyes and wearied from some dear And wors.h.i.+pped body risen, they for certain Will never know of what I try to sing, How long the last kiss was, how fond and late his lingering.

The moon was girdled with a crystal rim, The sign which s.h.i.+pmen say is ominous Of wrath in heaven, the wan stars were dim, And the low lightening east was tremulous With the faint fluttering wings of flying dawn, Ere from the silent sombre shrine his lover had withdrawn.

Down the steep rock with hurried feet and fast Clomb the brave lad, and reached the cave of Pan, And heard the goat-foot snoring as he pa.s.sed, And leapt upon a gra.s.sy knoll and ran Like a young fawn unto an olive wood Which in a shady valley by the well-built city stood;

And sought a little stream, which well he knew, For oftentimes with boyish careless shout The green and crested grebe he would pursue, Or snare in woven net the silver trout, And down amid the startled reeds he lay Panting in breathless sweet affright, and waited for the day.

On the green bank he lay, and let one hand Dip in the cool dark eddies listlessly, And soon the breath of morning came and fanned His hot flushed cheeks, or lifted wantonly The tangled curls from off his forehead, while He on the running water gazed with strange and secret smile.

And soon the shepherd in rough woollen cloak With his long crook undid the wattled cotes, And from the stack a thin blue wreath of smoke Curled through the air across the ripening oats, And on the hill the yellow house-dog bayed As through the crisp and rustling fern the heavy cattle strayed.

And when the light-foot mower went afield Across the meadows laced with threaded dew, And the sheep bleated on the misty weald, And from its nest the waking corncrake flew, Some woodmen saw him lying by the stream And marvelled much that any lad so beautiful could seem,

Nor deemed him born of mortals, and one said, 'It is young Hylas, that false runaway Who with a Naiad now would make his bed Forgetting Herakles,' but others, 'Nay, It is Narcissus, his own paramour, Those are the fond and crimson lips no woman can allure.'

And when they nearer came a third one cried, 'It is young Dionysos who has hid His spear and fawnskin by the river side Weary of hunting with the Ba.s.sarid, And wise indeed were we away to fly: They live not long who on the G.o.ds immortal come to spy.'