Part 15 (1/2)
The look in thine eyes can change me utterly; Thine eyes challenge: my heart is lighted, I am thy taper, I burn straight-pointed-- Ay, even so doing I waste away.
Bathe me in thy calm eyes' soft glances; I am thy slave, I bow, I wors.h.i.+p; Bid me to steal, and I will steal gladly: Ah! bid me not, thou robbest my manhood.
Let thine eyes smile: change comes upon me, I put forth blossoms, flowers of my pa.s.sion, Roses crimson, alas! whose petals, Once white, now blush with blood of my heart.
Gaze not on me: I burn, I perish; Gaze not on me: I am thy servant; Gaze not on me: I sink a-bleeding; Yet gaze! I cannot otherwise live.
LAWFORD, _Easter_, 1914.
IV.--THE PRINCESS BADOURA'S LAST SONG TO HER LOVER
I have poured my wine into a gold cup, I have plucked my roses, unfastened the stone From my bosom. Thou mayest drink my red wine up, Or spill where my jewel and roses are thrown.
The golden-globed night deepens quickly over Me, afraid under its curtains. The spheres Stare. O gather me swiftly, my lover; Make me forget and forgive me these tears.
LAWFORD, _Easter_, 1914.
THE GIFT OF SONG
THE GIFT OF SONG
Beyond a hill and a river, Within a tower of stone, A Princess by a cas.e.m.e.nt Dreamed, sitting still, alone.
Her golden hair hung heavy Over her kirtle green; Her eyes were blue and lonely, Her tender mouth had been
A joy for splendid kisses, It was so red, so red; But it was parted in singing, And, beginning her song, she said:
”Three songs in my spirit: Elusive, tremulous, light.
If you can feel their tremor, This gift is spended aright.”
Without in the silent garden The sunflowers dozed in the sun, Bees blackened their tawny faces, Their heads drooped one by one.
Amid a stilly fig-tree, Hidden from sun and sight, A nightingale sang over The songs that rejoice the night.
And browsing upon sweet gra.s.ses In the fair solitude, Half in sun, half in shadow, A lordly bay stag stood.
Upon earth all was silent Save when the hid bird sung; In the dark blue afternoon heavens A silent half-moon hung.
As she commenced singing, The nightingale stopped. In the dead Silence the leaves flicked softly; The great stag turned his head.
Thus sung she alone, and only The stag, the fig-tree, the bird And pensive moon in the darkling heavens Her lovely singing heard.
And as she finished singing, She bowed her golden head Low, O low, on her shaking bosom, And, ending her song, she said: