Volume I Part 32 (2/2)
Yet with thee am I not as an arm of the vine, Firm to bind thee, to cherish thee, feed thee sweet?
Swear an oath on my lip to let none disentwine The life that here fawns to give warmth to thy feet.
I on thine, thus! no more shall that jewelled Head jar The music thou breathest on Shemselnihar.
Far away, far away, where the wandering scents Of all flowers are sweetest, white mountains among, There my kindred abide in their green and blue tents: Bear me to them, my lover! they lost me so young.
Let us slip down the stream and leap steed till afar None question thy claim upon Shemselnihar.
O that long note the bulbul gave out--meaning love!
O my lover, hark to him and think it my voice!
The blue night like a great bell-flower from above Drooping low and gold-eyed: O, but hear him rejoice!
Can it be? 'twas a flas.h.!.+ that accurst scimiter In thought even cuts thee from Shemselnihar.
Yes, I would that, less generous, he would oppress, He would chain me, upbraid me, burn deep brands for hate, Than with this mask of freedom and gorgeousness Bespangle my slavery, mock my strange fate.
Would, would, would, O my lover, he knew--dared debar Thy coming, and earn curse of Shemselnihar!
A ROAR THROUGH THE TALL TWIN ELM-TREES
A roar thro' the tall twin elm-trees The mustering storm betrayed: The South-wind seized the willow That over the water swayed.
Then fell the steady deluge In which I strove to doze, Hearing all night at my window The knock of the winter rose.
The rainy rose of winter!
An outcast it must pine.
And from thy bosom outcast Am I, dear lady mine.
WHEN I WOULD IMAGE
When I would image her features, Comes up a shrouded head: I touch the outlines, shrinking; She seems of the wandering dead.
But when love asks for nothing, And lies on his bed of snow, The face slips under my eyelids, All in its living glow.
Like a dark cathedral city, Whose spires, and domes, and towers Quiver in violet lightnings, My soul basks on for hours.
THE SPIRIT OF SHAKESPEARE
Thy greatest knew thee, Mother Earth; unsoured He knew thy sons. He probed from h.e.l.l to h.e.l.l Of human pa.s.sions, but of love deflowered His wisdom was not, for he knew thee well.
Thence came the honeyed corner at his lips, The conquering smile wherein his spirit sails Calm as the G.o.d who the white sea-wave whips, Yet full of speech and inters.h.i.+fting tales, Close mirrors of us: thence had he the laugh We feel is thine: broad as ten thousand beeves At pasture! thence thy songs, that winnow chaff From grain, bid sick Philosophy's last leaves Whirl, if they have no response--they enforced To fatten Earth when from her soul divorced.
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