Part 8 (1/2)

We pa.s.sed it blindly by, And now what profit that we wait and listen Each for the other's heart beat? Ah! the cry Of love o'erlooked still lingers, you and I Sought heaven afar, we did not understand 'Twas--once so near at hand.

THE IDLERS

The sun's red pulses beat, Full prodigal of heat, Full lavish of its l.u.s.tre unrepressed; But we have drifted far From where his kisses are, And in this landward-lying shade we let our paddles rest.

The river, deep and still, The maple-mantled hill, The little yellow beach whereon we lie, The puffs of heated breeze, All sweetly whisper--These Are days that only come in a Canadian July.

So, silently we two Lounge in our still canoe, Nor fate, nor fortune matters to us now: So long as we alone May call this dream our own, The breeze may die, the sail may droop, we care not when or how.

Against the thwart, near by, Inactively you lie, And all too near my arm your temple bends.

Your indolently crude, Abandoned att.i.tude, Is one of ease and art, in which a perfect languor blends.

Your costume, loose and light, Leaves unconcealed your might Of muscle, half suspected, half defined; And falling well aside, Your vesture opens wide, Above your splendid sunburnt throat that pulses unconfined.

With easy unreserve, Across the gunwale's curve, Your arm superb is lying, brown and bare; Your hand just touches mine With import firm and fine, (I kiss the very wind that blows about your tumbled hair).

Ah! Dear, I am unwise In echoing your eyes Whene'er they leave their far-off gaze, and turn To melt and blur my sight; For every other light Is servile to your cloud-grey eyes, wherein cloud shadows burn.

But once the silence breaks, But once your ardour wakes To words that humanize this lotus-land; So perfect and complete Those burning words and sweet, So perfect is the single kiss your lips lay on my hand.

The paddles lie disused, The fitful breeze abused, Has dropped to slumber, with no after-blow; And hearts will pay the cost, For you and I have lost More than the homeward blowing wind that died an hour ago.

AT SUNSET

To-night the west o'er-brims with warmest dyes; Its chalice overflows With pools of purple colouring the skies, Aflood with gold and rose; And some hot soul seems throbbing close to mine, As sinks the sun within that world of wine.

I seem to hear a bar of music float And swoon into the west; My ear can scarcely catch the whispered note, But something in my breast Blends with that strain, till both accord in one, As cloud and colour blend at set of sun.

And twilight comes with grey and restful eyes, As ashes follow flame.

But O! I heard a voice from those rich skies Call tenderly my name; It was as if some priestly fingers stole In benedictions o'er my lonely soul.

I know not why, but all my being longed And leapt at that sweet call; My heart outreached its arms, all pa.s.sion thronged And beat against Fate's wall, Crying in utter homesickness to be Near to a heart that loves and leans to me.

PENSEROSO

Soulless is all humanity to me To-night. My keenest longing is to be Alone, alone with G.o.d's grey earth that seems Pulse of my pulse and consort of my dreams.

To-night my soul desires no fellows.h.i.+p, Or fellow-being; crave I but to slip Thro' s.p.a.ce on s.p.a.ce, till flesh no more can bind, And I may quit for aye my fellow kind.

Let me but feel athwart my cheek the lash Of whipping wind, but hear the torrent dash Adown the mountain steep, 'twere more my choice Than touch of human hand, than human voice.

Let me but wander on the sh.o.r.e night-stilled, Drinking its darkness till my soul is filled; The breathing of the salt sea on my hair, My outstretched hands but grasping empty air.