Volume I Part 25 (1/2)
XII
Not solely that the Future she destroys, And the fair life which in the distance lies For all men, beckoning out from dim rich skies: Nor that the pa.s.sing hour's supporting joys Have lost the keen-edged flavour, which begat Distinction in old times, and still should breed Sweet Memory, and Hope,--earth's modest seed, And heaven's high-prompting: not that the world is flat Since that soft-luring creature I embraced Among the children of Illusion went: Methinks with all this loss I were content, If the mad Past, on which my foot is based, Were firm, or might be blotted: but the whole Of life is mixed: the mocking Past will stay: And if I drink oblivion of a day, So shorten I the stature of my soul.
XIII
'I play for Seasons; not Eternities!'
Says Nature, laughing on her way. 'So must All those whose stake is nothing more than dust!'
And lo, she wins, and of her harmonies She is full sure! Upon her dying rose She drops a look of fondness, and goes by, Scarce any retrospection in her eye; For she the laws of growth most deeply knows, Whose hands bear, here, a seed-bag--there, an urn.
Pledged she herself to aught, 'twould mark her end!
This lesson of our only visible friend Can we not teach our foolish hearts to learn?
Yes! yes!--but, oh, our human rose is fair Surpa.s.singly! Lose calmly Love's great bliss, When the renewed for ever of a kiss Whirls life within the shower of loosened hair!
XIV
What soul would bargain for a cure that brings Contempt the n.o.bler agony to kill?
Rather let me bear on the bitter ill, And strike this rusty bosom with new stings!
It seems there is another veering fit, Since on a gold-haired lady's eyeb.a.l.l.s pure I looked with little prospect of a cure, The while her mouth's red bow loosed shafts of wit.
Just heaven! can it be true that jealousy Has decked the woman thus? and does her head Swim somewhat for possessions forfeited?
Madam, you teach me many things that be.
I open an old book, and there I find That 'Women still may love whom they deceive.'
Such love I prize not, madam: by your leave, The game you play at is not to my mind.
XV
I think she sleeps: it must be sleep, when low Hangs that abandoned arm toward the floor; The face turned with it. Now make fast the door.
Sleep on: it is your husband, not your foe.
The Poet's black stage-lion of wronged love Frights not our modern dames:- well if he did!
Now will I pour new light upon that lid, Full-sloping like the b.r.e.a.s.t.s beneath. 'Sweet dove, Your sleep is pure. Nay, pardon: I disturb.
I do not? good!' Her waking infant-stare Grows woman to the burden my hands bear: Her own handwriting to me when no curb Was left on Pa.s.sion's tongue. She trembles through; A woman's tremble--the whole instrument:- I show another letter lately sent.
The words are very like: the name is new.
XVI
In our old s.h.i.+pwrecked days there was an hour, When in the firelight steadily aglow, Joined slackly, we beheld the red chasm grow Among the clicking coals. Our library-bower That eve was left to us: and hushed we sat As lovers to whom Time is whispering.
From sudden-opened doors we heard them sing: The nodding elders mixed good wine with chat.
Well knew we that Life's greatest treasure lay With us, and of it was our talk. 'Ah, yes!
Love dies!' I said: I never thought it less.
She yearned to me that sentence to unsay.
Then when the fire domed blackening, I found Her cheek was salt against my kiss, and swift Up the sharp scale of sobs her breast did lift:- Now am I haunted by that taste! that sound!
XVII
At dinner, she is hostess, I am host.
Went the feast ever cheerfuller? She keeps The Topic over intellectual deeps In buoyancy afloat. They see no ghost.
With sparkling surface-eyes we ply the ball: It is in truth a most contagious game: HIDING THE SKELETON, shall be its name.
Such play as this the devils might appal!
But here's the greater wonder; in that we, Enamoured of an acting nought can tire, Each other, like true hypocrites, admire; Warm-lighted looks, Love's ephemerioe, Shoot gaily o'er the dishes and the wine.
We waken envy of our happy lot.
Fast, sweet, and golden, shows the marriage-knot.
Dear guests, you now have seen Love's corpse-light s.h.i.+ne.