Volume I Part 27 (2/2)
Our tragedy, is it alive or dead?
x.x.xVIII
Give to imagination some pure light In human form to fix it, or you shame The devils with that hideous human game:- Imagination urging appet.i.te!
Thus fallen have earth's greatest Gogmagogs, Who dazzle us, whom we can not revere: Imagination is the charioteer That, in default of better, drives the hogs.
So, therefore, my dear Lady, let me love!
My soul is arrowy to the light in you.
You know me that I never can renew The bond that woman broke: what would you have?
'Tis Love, or Vileness! not a choice between, Save petrifaction! What does Pity here?
She killed a thing, and now it's dead, 'tis dear.
Oh, when you counsel me, think what you mean!
x.x.xIX
She yields: my Lady in her n.o.blest mood Has yielded: she, my golden-crowned rose!
The bride of every sense! more sweet than those Who breathe the violet breath of maidenhood.
O visage of still music in the sky!
Soft moon! I feel thy song, my fairest friend!
True harmony within can apprehend Dumb harmony without. And hark! 'tis nigh!
Belief has struck the note of sound: a gleam Of living silver shows me where she shook Her long white fingers down the shadowy brook, That sings her song, half waking, half in dream.
What two come here to mar this heavenly tune?
A man is one: the woman bears my name, And honour. Their hands touch! Am I still tame?
G.o.d, what a dancing spectre seems the moon!
XL
I bade my Lady think what she might mean.
Know I my meaning, I? Can I love one, And yet be jealous of another? None Commits such folly. Terrible Love, I ween, Has might, even dead, half sighing to upheave The lightless seas of selfishness amain: Seas that in a man's heart have no rain To fall and still them. Peace can I achieve, By turning to this fountain-source of woe, This woman, who's to Love as fire to wood?
She breathed the violet breath of maidenhood Against my kisses once! but I say, No!
The thing is mocked at! Helplessly afloat, I know not what I do, whereto I strive.
The dread that my old love may be alive Has seized my nursling new love by the throat.
XLI
How many a thing which we cast to the ground, When others pick it up becomes a gem!
We grasp at all the wealth it is to them; And by reflected light its worth is found.
Yet for us still 'tis nothing! and that zeal Of false appreciation quickly fades.
This truth is little known to human shades, How rare from their own instinct 'tis to feel!
They waste the soul with spurious desire, That is not the ripe flame upon the bough.
We two have taken up a lifeless vow To rob a living pa.s.sion: dust for fire!
Madam is grave, and eyes the clock that tells Approaching midnight. We have struck despair Into two hearts. O, look we like a pair Who for fresh nuptials joyfully yield all else?
XLII
I am to follow her. There is much grace In woman when thus bent on martyrdom.
They think that dignity of soul may come, Perchance, with dignity of body. Base!
But I was taken by that air of cold And statuesque sedateness, when she said 'I'm going'; lit a taper, bowed her head, And went, as with the stride of Pallas bold.
Fleshly indifference horrible! The hands Of Time now signal: O, she's safe from me!
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