Poems By The Way & Love Is Enough Part 55

Maybe: for e'en now when he turned, His heart's scorn and his hate outburned, And love the more for that ablaze, I shuddered, e'en as in the place High up the mountains, where men say G.o.ds dwelt in time long worn away.

JOAN

At Love's voice did I tremble too, And his bright wings, for all I knew He was a comely minstrel-lad, In dainty golden raiment clad.

GILES

Yea, yea; for though to-day he spake Words measured for our pleasure's sake, From well-taught mouth not overwise, Yet did that fount of speech arise In days that ancient folk called old.

O long ago the tale was told To mighty men of thought and deed, Who kindled hearkening their own need, Set forth by long-forgotten men, E'en as we kindle: praise we then Tales of old time, whereby alone The fairness of the world is shown.

JOAN

A longing yet about me clings, As I had hearkened half-told things; And better than the words make plain I seem to know these lovers twain.

Let us go hence, lest there should fall Something that yet should mar it all.

GILES

Hist--Master Mayor is drawn anigh; The Empress speaketh presently.

THE MAYOR

May it please you, your Graces, that I be forgiven, Over-bold, over-eager to bear forth my speech, In which yet there speaketh the Good Town, beseeching That ye tell us of your kindness if ye be contented With this breath of old tales, and shadowy seemings Of old times departed.--Overwise for our pleasure May the rhyme be perchance; but rightly we knew not How to change it and fas.h.i.+on it fresh into fairness.

And once more, your Graces, we pray your forgiveness For the boldness Love gave us to set forth this story; And again, that I say, all that Pharamond sought for, Through sick dreams and weariness, now have ye found, Mid health and in wealth, and in might to uphold us; Midst our love who shall deem you our hope and our treasure.

Well all is done now; so forget ye King Pharamond, And Azalais his love, if we set it forth foully, That fairly set forth were a sweet thing to think of In the season of summer betwixt labour and sleeping.

THE EMPEROR

Fair Master Mayor, and City well beloved, Think of us twain as folk no little moved By this your kindness; and believe it not That Pharamond the Freed shall be forgot, By us at least: yea, more than ye may think, This summer dream into our hearts shall sink.

Lo, Pharamond longed and toiled, nor toiled in vain, But fame he won: he longed and toiled again, And Love he won: 'twas a long time ago, And men did swiftly what we now do slow, And he, a great man full of gifts and grace, Wrought out a twofold life in ten years' s.p.a.ce.

Ah, fair sir, if for me reward come first, Yet will I hope that ye have seen the worst Of that my kingcraft, that I yet shall earn Some part of that which is so long to learn.

Now of your gentleness I pray you bring This knife and girdle, deemed a well-wrought thing; And a king's thanks, whatso they be of worth, To him who Pharamond this day set forth In worthiest wise, and made a great man live, Giving me greater gifts than I may give.

THE EMPRESS

And therewithal I pray you, Master Mayor, Unto the seeming Azalais to bear This chain, that she may wear it for my sake, The memory of my pleasure to awake. [_Exit MAYOR_.

THE EMPEROR

Gifts such as kings give, sweet! Fain had I been To see him face to face and his fair Queen, And thank him friendly; asking him maybe How the world looks to one with love left free: It may not be, for as thine eyes say, sweet, Few folk as friends shall unfreed Pharamond meet.

So is it: we are lonelier than those twain, Though from their vale they ne'er depart again.

THE EMPRESS

Shall I lament it, love, since thou and I By all the seeming pride are drawn more nigh?

Lo, love, our toil-girthed garden of desire, How of its changeless sweetness may we tire, While round about the storm is in the boughs And careless change amid the turmoil ploughs The rugged fields we needs must stumble o'er, Till the grain ripens that shall change no more.

THE EMPEROR

Yea, and an omen fair we well may deem This dreamy shadowing of ancient dream, Of what our own hearts long for on the day When the first furrow cleaves the fallow grey.

THE EMPRESS

O fair it is! let us go forth, my sweet, And be alone amid the babbling street; Yea, so alone that scarce the hush of night May add one joy unto our proved delight.

GILES

Fair lovers were they: I am fain To see them both ere long again; Yea, nigher too, if it might be.

JOAN

Too wide and dim, love, lies the sea, That we should look on face to face This Pharamond and Azalais.

Those only from the dead come back Who left behind them what they lack.

GILES

Nay, I was asking nought so strange, Since long ago their life did change: The seeming King and Queen I meant.

And e'en now 'twas my full intent To bid them home to us straightway, And crown the joyance of to-day.

He may be glad to see my face, He first saw mid that waggon race When the last barley-sheaf came home.

JOAN

A great joy were it, should they come.

They are dear lovers, sure enough.

He deems the summer air too rough To touch her kissed cheek, howsoe'er Through winter mountains they must fare, He would bid spring new flowers to make Before her feet, that oft must ache With flinty driftings of the waste.

And sure is she no more abased Before the face of king and lord, Than if the very Pharamond's sword Her love amid the hosts did wield Above the dinted lilied s.h.i.+eld: O bid them home with us, and we Their scholars for a while will be In many a lesson of sweet lore To learn love's meaning more and more.

GILES

And yet this night of all the year Happier alone perchance they were, And better so belike would seem The glorious lovers of the dream: So let them dream on lip to lip: Yet will I gain his fellows.h.i.+p Ere many days be o'er my head, And they shall rest them in our stead; And there we four awhile shall dwell As though the world were nought but well, And that old time come back again When nought in all the earth had pain.

The sun through lime-boughs where we dine Upon my father's cup shall s.h.i.+ne; The vintage of the river-bank, That ten years since the sunbeams drank, Shall fill the mazer bowl carved o'er With naked shepherd-folk of yore.

Dainty should seem worse fare than ours As o'er the close-thronged garden flowers The wind comes to us, and the bees Complain overhead mid honey-trees.