Part 4 (1/2)

I meant no wrong. I stole not from the sun The fire of Heaven; but I did seek to bring Glory from thee to me; and in the Spring I pray'd the prayer that left me thus undone.

XIII.

I pray'd my prayer. I wove into my song Fervour, and joy, and mystery, and the bleak, The wan despair that words can never speak.

I pray'd as if my spirit did belong To some old master, who was wise and strong Because he lov'd, and suffer'd, and was weak.

XIV.

I curb'd the notes, convulsive, to a sigh, And, when they falter'd most, I made them leap Fierce from my bow, as from a summer sleep A young she-devil. I was fired thereby To bolder efforts, and a m.u.f.fled cry Came from the strings, as if a saint did weep.

XV.

I changed the theme. I dallied with the bow Just time enough to fit it to a mesh Of merry notes, and drew it back afresh To talk of truth and constancy and woe, And life, and love, and madness, and the glow Of mine own soul which burns into my flesh.

XVI.

It was the Lord of music, it was he Who seiz'd my hand. He forc'd me, as I play'd, To think of that ill-fated fairy-glade Where once we stroll'd at night; and wild and free My notes did ring; and quickly unto me There came the joy that maketh us afraid.

XVII.

Oh! I shall die of tasting in my dreams Poison of love and ecstasy of pain; For I shall never kneel to thee again, Or sit in bowers, or wander by the streams Of golden vales, or of the morning beams Construct a wreath to crown thee on the plain!

XVIII.

Yet it were easy, too, to compa.s.s this, So thou wert kind; and easy to my soul Were harder things if I could reach the goal Of all I crave, and consummate a bliss In mine own fas.h.i.+on, and compel a kiss More fraught with honour than a king's control.

XIX.

It is not much to say that I would die,-- It is not much to say that I would dare Torture, and doom, and death, could I but share One kiss with thee. For then, without a sigh, I'd teach thee pity, and be graced thereby, Wet with thy tears, and shrouded by thy hair.

XX.

It is not much to say that this is so; Yet I would sell my substance and my breath, And all the joy that comes from Nazareth, And all the peace that all the angels know, To lie with thee, one minute, in the snow Of thy white bosom, ere I sank in death!

[Ill.u.s.tration: Letter IV YEARNING]

LETTER IV.

YEARNINGS.