I weave my verses of smiles and tears,
Gathered and shed for you,
I bind them up in the hopes of years,
Dear, will you read them through?
I write my ballads of joy and pain,
Cast at your heedless feet,
I set the words to a lost refrain,
Sing it but once, my Sweet!
I breathe my life into rhyme and song,
What shall I gain thereby?
The verse is poor, and the tune is wrong,
Kiss them and let them die.
A NIGHT IN ITALY
Time hangs suspended 'mid the perfumed dusk,
With limpid wings, o'er which the first pale star
Gleams like a tear, within the tender, far
Desirous eyes of love-lorn Destiny.
The earth is dumb, the scents of many flowers
Flow out from petalled lips upon her breast,
In one unending sigh of happy rest.
The halting pageant of the passing hours
Unfurls its misty pennants to the sea.
The Nightingale has swooned for ecstasy,
And hides away amid the vine-clad bowers
Upon the terrace; Oh! impassioned dusk!
Speechless with longing, throbbing with delight
To fling thy beauty in the arms of night,
Thy rare, dim beauty sweet with breath of musk,
Thou shalt not know thy joy nor him requite
With tender ardour, ere there comes to me
Adown thy paths from out eternity,
My soul's twin soul, mine embodied bliss,
Torn from the countless ages by a kiss.
HANDS AND LIPS
Give me your hands to hold,
For the night and the wind are cold,
And the year's growing sad and old,
So give me your hands to hold.
Give me your lips to press,
For the light of the moon grows less,
And the sky's full of dreariness,
So give me your lips to press.
Dear hands, dear lips, all mine!
Let the moon and her beams decline,
Let the night and the storm combine,
If your hands and your lips are mine.
WE TWO
What have we missed, we two—
You and I—I and you—
Of sorrow, and pain, and tears,
Of doubt, and of passionate fears,
Of madness, and badness, these years!
And what have we missed, we two!
But what have we missed, we two—
You and I—I and you—
Of rapture, and vast delight,
Of loving, and living, of right
To surrender, that love may requite,
How much have we missed, we two!
TO ——
The sun has set; Beloved see that star,
Wan with desire, pale in the afterglow,
Above the hill top hanging very low,
As though she stooped from her high regions far
To kiss this earth, because she loved it so!
While I, I feel the trembling touch of you,
Feel the dim magic of your eyes on me,
As though two stars had fallen in the sea,
And drowned themselves in his rejoicing blue,
Lighting his soul through all eternity!
NORTH AND SOUTH
Come with me, sweetheart, into Italy,
And press the burning goblet of the south
To those cold northern lips, until thy mouth
Relents beneath its draft of ecstasy.
Drink in the sun, made liquid in the breasts
Of purple grapes crushed lifeless for thy wine,
Until those over tranquil eyes of thine
Glow like twin lakes, on which the noontide rests.
Drink in the airs, those languid, vapoury sighs
Of Goddesses, whose souls live on in love,
Those amorous zephyrs, soft with plaint of dove
From flowery trees of Pagan Paradise:
Until thy brain grows hazy 'neath the fumes
Of pale camellias, passionately white,
Of scarlet roses dropping with delight
Their wanton petals in a shower of bloom.
Drink in the music of some ardent song,
Poured forth to die upon the wide, still lake,
Until the darkness seems to throb and break
In fiery stars whose pulses yearn and long.
And then drink in my love; the whole of me,
In one deep breath, one vast impassioned kiss,
That come what may, thou canst remember this:
That thou hast lived and loved in Italy.
ON THE HILL TOP
What is the end of all sweet things,
Of these dawns and twilights and golden springs?
Of the rose that climbs, and the scent that clings?
Of the breeze that sighs, and the thrush that sings?
Dust and ashes and death?
No, my dearest! for you and I
Here on the hill's summit under the sky
Have found a magic, time cannot deny
To make immortal what else must die,
The magic of Love's warm breath.
THE MOON
The moon has risen from her cloudy bed,
And soared serenely into cloudless blue,
White as a lily in a haze of dew,
Pale lady, to the Summer Darkness wed—
She leaves her nuptial couch, by breezes spread,
And seeks her virgin solitude anew;
While all the being of the Dark thrills through
With memories, the while her stately head
She lifts above him to the purer height,
Nor heeds the restless anguish of desire
With which he seeks to turn to living fire
The icy splendour of her luring light.
She drifts, and smiles into his ardent eyes,
With cold disdain, and smiling still denies.