DEATH IN LIFE.
Within my veins it beats
And burns within my brain;
For when the year is sad and sear
I dream the dream again.
And burns within my brain;
For when the year is sad and sear
I dream the dream again.
Ah! over young am I
God knows! yet in this sleep
More pain and woe than women know
I know, and doubly deep!...
God knows! yet in this sleep
More pain and woe than women know
I know, and doubly deep!...
Seven towers of shaggy rock
Rise red to ragged skies,
Built in a marsh that, black and harsh,
To dead horizons lies.
Rise red to ragged skies,
Built in a marsh that, black and harsh,
To dead horizons lies.
Eternal sunset pours,
Around its warlock towers,
A glowing urn where garnets burn
With fire-dripping flowers.
Around its warlock towers,
A glowing urn where garnets burn
With fire-dripping flowers.
O'er bat-like turrets high,
Stretched in a scarlet line,
The crimson cranes through rosy rains
Drop like a ruby wine.
Stretched in a scarlet line,
The crimson cranes through rosy rains
Drop like a ruby wine.
Once in the banquet-hall
These scarlet storks are heard:—
I sit at board with men o' th' sword
And knights of noble word;
These scarlet storks are heard:—
I sit at board with men o' th' sword
And knights of noble word;
Cased all in silver mail;
But he, I love and fear,
In glittering gold beside me bold
Sits like a lover near.
But he, I love and fear,
In glittering gold beside me bold
Sits like a lover near.
Wild music echoes in
The hollow towers there;
Behind bright bars o' his visor, stars
Beam in his eyes and glare.
The hollow towers there;
Behind bright bars o' his visor, stars
Beam in his eyes and glare.
Wild music oozes from
Arched ceilings, caked with white
Groined pearl; and floors like mythic shores
That sing to seas of light.
Arched ceilings, caked with white
Groined pearl; and floors like mythic shores
That sing to seas of light.
Wild music and a feast,
And one's belovèd near
In burning mail—why am I pale,
So pale with grief and fear?
And one's belovèd near
In burning mail—why am I pale,
So pale with grief and fear?
Red heavens and slaughter-red
The marsh to west and east;
Seven slits of sky, seven casements high,
Flare on the blood-red feast.
The marsh to west and east;
Seven slits of sky, seven casements high,
Flare on the blood-red feast.
Our torches tall are these,
Our revel torches seven,
That spill from gold soft splendors old—
The hour of night—eleven.
Our revel torches seven,
That spill from gold soft splendors old—
The hour of night—eleven.
No word. The sparkle aches
In cups of diamond-spar,
That prism the light of ruddy white
In royal wines of war.
In cups of diamond-spar,
That prism the light of ruddy white
In royal wines of war.
No word. Rich plate that rays,
Splashes of splitting fires,
Off beryl brims; while sobs and swims
Enchantment of lost lyres.
Splashes of splitting fires,
Off beryl brims; while sobs and swims
Enchantment of lost lyres.
I lean to him I love,
And in the silence say:
"Would thy dear grace reveal thy face,
If love should crave and pray?"
And in the silence say:
"Would thy dear grace reveal thy face,
If love should crave and pray?"
Grave Silence, like a king,
At that strange feast is set;
Grave Silence still as the soul's will,
That rules the reason yet.
At that strange feast is set;
Grave Silence still as the soul's will,
That rules the reason yet.
But when I speak, behold!
The charm is snapped, for low
Speaks out the mask o' his golden casque,
"At midnight be it so!"
The charm is snapped, for low
Speaks out the mask o' his golden casque,
"At midnight be it so!"
And Silence waits severe,
Till one sonorous tower,
Owl-swarmed, that looms in glaring glooms,
Sounds slow the midnight hour.
Till one sonorous tower,
Owl-swarmed, that looms in glaring glooms,
Sounds slow the midnight hour.
Three strokes; the knights arise,
The palsy from them flung,
To meward mock like some hoarse rock
When wrecking waves give tongue.
The palsy from them flung,
To meward mock like some hoarse rock
When wrecking waves give tongue.
Six strokes; and wailing out
The music hoots away;
The fiery glimmer of eve dies dimmer,
The red grows ghostly gray.
The music hoots away;
The fiery glimmer of eve dies dimmer,
The red grows ghostly gray.
Nine strokes; and dropping mould
The crumbling hall is lead;
The plate is rust, the feast is dust,
The banqueters are dead.
The crumbling hall is lead;
The plate is rust, the feast is dust,
The banqueters are dead.
Twelve strokes pound out and roll;
The huge walls writhe and shake
O'er hissing things with taloned wings—
Christ Jesus, let me wake!
The huge walls writhe and shake
O'er hissing things with taloned wings—
Christ Jesus, let me wake!
Then rattling in the night
His iron visor slips—
In rotting mail a death's-head pale
Kisses my loathing lips.
His iron visor slips—
In rotting mail a death's-head pale
Kisses my loathing lips.
Two hell-fierce lusts its eyes,
Sharp-pointed like a knife,
That flaming seem to say, "No dream!
No dream! the truth of Life!"
Sharp-pointed like a knife,
That flaming seem to say, "No dream!
No dream! the truth of Life!"
THE EVE OF ALL-SAINTS.
1.
This is the tale they tell,
Of an Hallowe'en;
This is the thing that befell
Me and the village Belle,
Beautiful Aimee Dean.
Of an Hallowe'en;
This is the thing that befell
Me and the village Belle,
Beautiful Aimee Dean.
2.
Did I love her?—God and she,
They know and I!
And love was the life of me—
Whatever else may be,
Would God that I could die!
They know and I!
And love was the life of me—
Whatever else may be,
Would God that I could die!
That All-Saints' eve was dim;
The frost lay white
Under strange stars and a slim
Moon in the graveyard grim,
An Autumn ghost of light.
The frost lay white
Under strange stars and a slim
Moon in the graveyard grim,
An Autumn ghost of light.
4.
They told her: "Go alone,
With never a word,
To the burial plot's unknown
Grave with the grayest stone,
When the clock on twelve is heard;
With never a word,
To the burial plot's unknown
Grave with the grayest stone,
When the clock on twelve is heard;
5.
"Three times around it pass,
With never a sound;
Each time a wisp of grass
And myrtle pluck, and pass
Out of the ghostly ground;
With never a sound;
Each time a wisp of grass
And myrtle pluck, and pass
Out of the ghostly ground;
"And the bridegroom that's to be
At smiling wait,
With a face like mist to see,
With graceful gallantry
Will bow you to the gate."
At smiling wait,
With a face like mist to see,
With graceful gallantry
Will bow you to the gate."
7.
She laughed at this, and so
Bespoke us how
To the burial place she'd go:—
And I was glad to know,
For I'd be there to bow.
Bespoke us how
To the burial place she'd go:—
And I was glad to know,
For I'd be there to bow.
8.
An acre from the farm
The homestead graves
Lay walled from sun and storm;
Old cedars of priestly form
Around like sentinel slaves.
The homestead graves
Lay walled from sun and storm;
Old cedars of priestly form
Around like sentinel slaves.
I loved, but never could say
Such words to her,
And waited from day to day,
Nursing the hope that lay
Under the doubts that were.—
Such words to her,
And waited from day to day,
Nursing the hope that lay
Under the doubts that were.—
10.
She passed 'neath the iron arch
Of the legended ground,
And the moon like a twisted torch
Burned over one lonesome larch;
She passed with never a sound.
Of the legended ground,
And the moon like a twisted torch
Burned over one lonesome larch;
She passed with never a sound.
11.
Three times had the circle traced,
Three times had bent
To the grave that the myrtle graced;
Three times, then softly faced
Homeward, and slowly went.
Three times had bent
To the grave that the myrtle graced;
Three times, then softly faced
Homeward, and slowly went.
Had the moonlight changed me so?
Or fear undone
Her stepping strange and slow?
Did she see and did not know?
Or loved she another one?
Or fear undone
Her stepping strange and slow?
Did she see and did not know?
Or loved she another one?
13.
Who knows?—She turned to flee
With a face so white
That it haunts and will haunt me;
The wind blew gustily,
The graveyard gate clanged tight.
With a face so white
That it haunts and will haunt me;
The wind blew gustily,
The graveyard gate clanged tight.
14.
Did she think it me or—what,
Clutching her dress?
Her face so pinched that not
A star in a stormy spot
Shows half as much distress.
Clutching her dress?
Her face so pinched that not
A star in a stormy spot
Shows half as much distress.
Did I speak? did she answer aught?
O God! had I said
"Aimee, 't is I!" but naught!—
And the mist and the moon distraught
Stared with me on her—dead....
O God! had I said
"Aimee, 't is I!" but naught!—
And the mist and the moon distraught
Stared with me on her—dead....
16.
This is the tale they tell
Of the Hallowe'en;
This is the thing that befell
Me and the village Belle,
Beautiful Aimee Dean.
Of the Hallowe'en;
This is the thing that befell
Me and the village Belle,
Beautiful Aimee Dean.
MATER DOLOROSA.
The nuns sing, "ora pro nobis,"
The lancets glitter above;
And the beautiful Virgin whose robe is
Woven of infinite love,
Infinite love and sorrow,
Prays for them there on high;—
Who has most need of her prayers,—to-morrow
Shall tell them,—they or I?
The lancets glitter above;
And the beautiful Virgin whose robe is
Woven of infinite love,
Infinite love and sorrow,
Prays for them there on high;—
Who has most need of her prayers,—to-morrow
Shall tell them,—they or I?
Up in the hills together
We loved, where the world seemed true;
Our world of the whin and heather,
Our skies of a nearer blue,
A blue from which one borrows
A faith that helps one die—
O Mother, sweet Mother of Sorrows,
None needs such more than I!
We loved, where the world seemed true;
Our world of the whin and heather,
Our skies of a nearer blue,
A blue from which one borrows
A faith that helps one die—
O Mother, sweet Mother of Sorrows,
None needs such more than I!
We lived, we loved unwedded—
Love's sin and its shame that slays!—
No ill of the year we dreaded,
No day of its coming days;
Its coming days, their many
Trials by morn and night,
And I know no land, not any,
Where love's lilies grow so white!
Love's sin and its shame that slays!—
No ill of the year we dreaded,
No day of its coming days;
Its coming days, their many
Trials by morn and night,
And I know no land, not any,
Where love's lilies grow so white!
Was he false to me, my Mother!
Or I to him, my God!—
Who gave thee right, O brother!
To take God's right and rod!
God's rod of avenging morrows,
And the life here in my side!
O Mother, God's Mother of Sorrows,
For both I would have died!
Or I to him, my God!—
Who gave thee right, O brother!
To take God's right and rod!
God's rod of avenging morrows,
And the life here in my side!
O Mother, God's Mother of Sorrows,
For both I would have died!
THE OLD INN.
1.
Red-winding from the sleepy town,
One takes the lone, forgotten lane
Straight through the hills. A brush-bird brown
Bubbles in thorn-flowers sweet with rain;
Light shivers sink the gleaming grain;
The cautious drip of higher leaves
The lower dips that drip again.—
Above the tangled tops it heaves
Its gables and its haunted eaves.
One takes the lone, forgotten lane
Straight through the hills. A brush-bird brown
Bubbles in thorn-flowers sweet with rain;
Light shivers sink the gleaming grain;
The cautious drip of higher leaves
The lower dips that drip again.—
Above the tangled tops it heaves
Its gables and its haunted eaves.
2.
One creeper, gnarled to bloomlessness,
O'er-forests all its eastern wall;
The sighing cedars rake and press
Dark boughs along the panes they sprawl;
While, where the sun beats, breaks a drawl
Of hiving wasps; one bushy bee,
Gold-dusty, hurls along the hall
To hum into a crack.—To me
The shadows seem too scared to flee.
O'er-forests all its eastern wall;
The sighing cedars rake and press
Dark boughs along the panes they sprawl;
While, where the sun beats, breaks a drawl
Of hiving wasps; one bushy bee,
Gold-dusty, hurls along the hall
To hum into a crack.—To me
The shadows seem too scared to flee.
3.
Of ragged chimneys martins make
Huge pipes of music; twittering here
Build, breed, and roost.—My footfalls wake
Strange stealing echoes, till I fear
I'll meet my pale self coming near;
My phantom face as in a glass;
Or one men murdered, buried—where?
Dim in gray, stealthy glimmer, pass
With lips that seem to moan "Alas."
Huge pipes of music; twittering here
Build, breed, and roost.—My footfalls wake
Strange stealing echoes, till I fear
I'll meet my pale self coming near;
My phantom face as in a glass;
Or one men murdered, buried—where?
Dim in gray, stealthy glimmer, pass
With lips that seem to moan "Alas."
LAST DAYS.
Aye! heartbreak of the tattered hills,
And mourning of the raining sky!
Heartbreak and mourning, since God wills,
Are mine, and God knows why!
And mourning of the raining sky!
Heartbreak and mourning, since God wills,
Are mine, and God knows why!
The brutal wind that herds the storm
In hail-big clouds that freeze along,
As this gray heart are doubly warm
With thrice the joy of song.
In hail-big clouds that freeze along,
As this gray heart are doubly warm
With thrice the joy of song.
I held one dearer than each day
Of life God sets in limpid gold—
What thief hath stole that gem away
To leave me poor and old!
Of life God sets in limpid gold—
What thief hath stole that gem away
To leave me poor and old!
The heartbreak of the hills be mine,
Of trampled twig and mired leaf,
Of rain that sobs through thorn and pine
An unavailing grief!
Of trampled twig and mired leaf,
Of rain that sobs through thorn and pine
An unavailing grief!
THE ROMANZA.
In a kingdom of mist and moonlight,
Or ever the world was known,
Past leagues of unsailed water,
There reigned a king with a daughter
That shone like a starry stone.
Or ever the world was known,
Past leagues of unsailed water,
There reigned a king with a daughter
That shone like a starry stone.
The day grew out o' the moonlight;
But never a day was there.
The king was wise as hoary,
And his daughter, like the glory
Of seven kingdoms, fair.
But never a day was there.
The king was wise as hoary,
And his daughter, like the glory
Of seven kingdoms, fair.
And the night dimmed over the moonlight,—
And ever the mist was gray,—
With slips of dull stars, bluer
Where the princess met her wooer,
A page like the month o' May.
And ever the mist was gray,—
With slips of dull stars, bluer
Where the princess met her wooer,
A page like the month o' May.
In her eyes the mist, and the moonlight
In hair of a crumpled gold;
By day they wooed a-hawking,
A-hawking laughed, a-mocking
The good, white king and old.
In hair of a crumpled gold;
By day they wooed a-hawking,
A-hawking laughed, a-mocking
The good, white king and old.
On the sea the mist, and the moonlight
Poured pale to the lilies' tips;—
At eve, when the hawks were feeding,
In courts to the kennels leading,
He kissed her mouth and lips.
Poured pale to the lilies' tips;—
At eve, when the hawks were feeding,
In courts to the kennels leading,
He kissed her mouth and lips.
On towers the mist, and the moonlight
On a dead face staring up;—
His kingly couch was ready,
But and her hand was steady
Giving the poisoned cup.
On a dead face staring up;—
His kingly couch was ready,
But and her hand was steady
Giving the poisoned cup.
MY ROMANCE.
If it so befalls that the midnight hovers
In mist no moonlight breaks,
The leagues of years my spirit covers,
And myself myself forsakes.
In mist no moonlight breaks,
The leagues of years my spirit covers,
And myself myself forsakes.
And I live in a land of stars and flowers,
White cliffs by a silver sea;
And the pearly points of her opal towers
From the mountains beckon me.
White cliffs by a silver sea;
And the pearly points of her opal towers
From the mountains beckon me.
And I think that I know that I hear her calling
From a casement bathed with light—
The music of waters in waters falling
To palms from a rocky height.
From a casement bathed with light—
The music of waters in waters falling
To palms from a rocky height.
And I feel that I think my love's awaited
By the romance of her charms;
That her feet are early and mine belated
In a world that chains my arms.
By the romance of her charms;
That her feet are early and mine belated
In a world that chains my arms.
But I break my chains and the rest is easy—
In the shadow of the rose
Snow-white, that blooms in her garden breezy,
We meet and no one knows.
In the shadow of the rose
Snow-white, that blooms in her garden breezy,
We meet and no one knows.
To dream sweet dreams and kiss sweet kisses;
The world—it may live or die;
The world that forgets, the soul that misses
The life that has long gone by.
The world—it may live or die;
The world that forgets, the soul that misses
The life that has long gone by.
We speak old vows that have long been spoken,
And weep a long-gone woe,—
For you must know our hearts were broken
Hundreds of years ago.
And weep a long-gone woe,—
For you must know our hearts were broken
Hundreds of years ago.
THE EPIC.
"To arms!" the battle bugles blew.
The daughter of their Earl was she,
Lord of a thousand swords and true;
He but a squire of low degree.
The daughter of their Earl was she,
Lord of a thousand swords and true;
He but a squire of low degree.
The horns of war blew up to horse:
He kissed her mouth; her face was white;
"God grant they bear thee back no corse!"—
"God give I win my spurs to-night!"
He kissed her mouth; her face was white;
"God grant they bear thee back no corse!"—
"God give I win my spurs to-night!"
Each watch-tower's blazing beacon scarred
A blood-blot in the wounded dark:
She heard knights gallop battleward,
And from the turret leaned to mark.
A blood-blot in the wounded dark:
She heard knights gallop battleward,
And from the turret leaned to mark.
"My God, deliver me and mine!
My child! my God!" all night she prayed:
She saw the battle beacons shine;
She saw the battle beacons fade.
My child! my God!" all night she prayed:
She saw the battle beacons shine;
She saw the battle beacons fade.
THE BLIND HARPER.
And thus it came my feet were led
To wizard walls that hairy hung
Old as their rock the moss made dead;
And, like a ditch of fire flung
Around it, uncouth flowers red
Thrust spur and fang and tongue.
To wizard walls that hairy hung
Old as their rock the moss made dead;
And, like a ditch of fire flung
Around it, uncouth flowers red
Thrust spur and fang and tongue.
And here I harped. Did dead men list?
Or was it hollow hinges gnarred
Huge, iron scorn in donjon-twist?
And when I thought a face sword-scarred
Would curse me, lo! a woman kissed
At me hands ringed and starred.
Or was it hollow hinges gnarred
Huge, iron scorn in donjon-twist?
And when I thought a face sword-scarred
Would curse me, lo! a woman kissed
At me hands ringed and starred.
And so I sang; for she had leaned
Rare beauty to me, dark and tall;
I sang of Love, whose Court is queened
Of Aliénor the virginal,
Nor saw how rolled on me a fiend
Wolf-eyeballs from the wall.
Rare beauty to me, dark and tall;
I sang of Love, whose Court is queened
Of Aliénor the virginal,
Nor saw how rolled on me a fiend
Wolf-eyeballs from the wall.
Oh, how I sang! until she laughed
Red lips that made lute harmony;
I sang of knights who fought and quaffed
To Love's own paragon, Marie—
Nor saw the suzerain whose shaft
Was bowed and bent on me.
Red lips that made lute harmony;
I sang of knights who fought and quaffed
To Love's own paragon, Marie—
Nor saw the suzerain whose shaft
Was bowed and bent on me.
And I had harped until she wept;
But when I sang of Ermengarde
Of Anjou,—where her Court is kept
By brave, by beauty, and by bard,—
She turned a raven there and swept
Me, like a fury, 'ward.
But when I sang of Ermengarde
Of Anjou,—where her Court is kept
By brave, by beauty, and by bard,—
She turned a raven there and swept
Me, like a fury, 'ward.
A bleeding beak had pierced my sight;
A crimson claw each cheek had lined;
One glimpse: wild walls of threatening night
Heaped raven battlements behind
A moat of blazing serpents bright—
And then I wandered blind.
A crimson claw each cheek had lined;
One glimpse: wild walls of threatening night
Heaped raven battlements behind
A moat of blazing serpents bright—
And then I wandered blind.
ELPHIN.
The eve was a burning copper,
The night was a boundless black
Where wells of the lightning crumbled
And boiled with blazing rack,
When I came to the coal-black castle
With the wild rain on my back.
The night was a boundless black
Where wells of the lightning crumbled
And boiled with blazing rack,
When I came to the coal-black castle
With the wild rain on my back.
Thrice under its goblin towers,
Where the causey of rock was laid,
Thrice, there at its spider portal,
My scornful bugle brayed,
But never a warder questioned,—
An owl's was the answer made.
Where the causey of rock was laid,
Thrice, there at its spider portal,
My scornful bugle brayed,
But never a warder questioned,—
An owl's was the answer made.
When the heaven above was blistered
One scald of blinding storm,
And the blackness clanged like a cavern
Of iron where demons swarm,
I rode in the court of the castle
With the shield upon my arm.
One scald of blinding storm,
And the blackness clanged like a cavern
Of iron where demons swarm,
I rode in the court of the castle
With the shield upon my arm.
My sword unsheathed and certain
Of the visor of my casque,
My steel steps challenged the donjon
My gauntlet should unmask;
But never a knight or varlet
To stay or slay or ask.
Of the visor of my casque,
My steel steps challenged the donjon
My gauntlet should unmask;
But never a knight or varlet
To stay or slay or ask.
My heels on the stone ground iron,
My fists on the bolts clashed steel;—
In the hall, the roar of the torrent,
In the turret, the thunder's peal;—
And I found her there in the turret
Alone by her spinning-wheel.
My fists on the bolts clashed steel;—
In the hall, the roar of the torrent,
In the turret, the thunder's peal;—
And I found her there in the turret
Alone by her spinning-wheel.
She spun the flax of a spindle,
And I wondered on her face;
She spun the flax of a spindle,
And I marvelled on her grace;
She spun the flax of a spindle,
And I watched a little space.
And I wondered on her face;
She spun the flax of a spindle,
And I marvelled on her grace;
She spun the flax of a spindle,
And I watched a little space.
But nerves of my manhood weakened;
The heart in my breast was wax;
Myself but the hide of an image
Out-stuffed with the hards of flax:—
She spun and she smiled a-spinning
A spindle of blood-red flax.
The heart in my breast was wax;
Myself but the hide of an image
Out-stuffed with the hards of flax:—
She spun and she smiled a-spinning
A spindle of blood-red flax.
She spun and she laughed a-spinning
The blood of my veins in a skein;
But I knew how the charm was mastered,
And snapped in the hissing vein;
So she wove but a fiery scorpion
That writhed from her hands again....
The blood of my veins in a skein;
But I knew how the charm was mastered,
And snapped in the hissing vein;
So she wove but a fiery scorpion
That writhed from her hands again....
Fleeing in rain and in tempest,
Saw by the cataract's bed,—
Cancers of ulcerous fire,
Wounds of a bloody red,—
Its windows glare in the darkness
Eyes of a dragon's head.
Saw by the cataract's bed,—
Cancers of ulcerous fire,
Wounds of a bloody red,—
Its windows glare in the darkness
Eyes of a dragon's head.
PRE-ORDINATION.
She bewitched me in my childhood,
And the witch's charm is hidden—
Far beyond the wicked wildwood
I shall find it, I am bidden.
And the witch's charm is hidden—
Far beyond the wicked wildwood
I shall find it, I am bidden.
She commands me, she who bound me
With soft sorcery to follow;
In a golden snare who wound me
To her bosom's snowy hollow....
With soft sorcery to follow;
In a golden snare who wound me
To her bosom's snowy hollow....
Comes a night-dark stallion sired
Of the wind; a mare his mother
Whom Thessalian madness fired,
And the hurricane his brother.
Of the wind; a mare his mother
Whom Thessalian madness fired,
And the hurricane his brother.
Then my soul delays no longer:
Though the night around is scowling,
Keenly mount him blacker, stronger
Than the tempest that is howling.
Though the night around is scowling,
Keenly mount him blacker, stronger
Than the tempest that is howling.
At our ears wild shadows whistle;
Brazen forks the lightning o'er us
Flames; and huge the thunder's missile
Bursts behind us, drags before us.
Brazen forks the lightning o'er us
Flames; and huge the thunder's missile
Bursts behind us, drags before us.
Over fire-scorched fields of stubble;
Iron forests dark with wonder;
Evil marshes black with trouble;
Nightmare torrents thundering under:
Iron forests dark with wonder;
Evil marshes black with trouble;
Nightmare torrents thundering under:
In the thorn that past us races,
Harelipped hags like crows are rocking;
Stunted oaks have dwarf-like faces
Gnarled that leer an impish mocking:
Harelipped hags like crows are rocking;
Stunted oaks have dwarf-like faces
Gnarled that leer an impish mocking:
Rocks, in which the storm is hooting,
Thrust a humpbacked murder over;
Bristling heaths, dead thistles shooting,
Raven-haunted gibbets cover:
Thrust a humpbacked murder over;
Bristling heaths, dead thistles shooting,
Raven-haunted gibbets cover:
Each and all are passed, like water
Under-rolled into a cavern,
Till we see the Devil's daughter
Waiting at the Devil's tavern.
Under-rolled into a cavern,
Till we see the Devil's daughter
Waiting at the Devil's tavern.
And we stay; I drain the beaker
In her hand; the draught is fire;
World-remembrances grow weaker,
And my spirit, one desire.
In her hand; the draught is fire;
World-remembrances grow weaker,
And my spirit, one desire.
Course it! course it! Darkness passes
Like an uprolled banner tattered;
Walled before us mountain masses
Rise like centuries unscattered.
Like an uprolled banner tattered;
Walled before us mountain masses
Rise like centuries unscattered.
And the storm flies ragged. Slowly
Comes a moon of copper-color,
And the evil night grows holy,
Mists the wild ride growing duller.
Comes a moon of copper-color,
And the evil night grows holy,
Mists the wild ride growing duller.
In the round moon's angry scanning,
Demon-swift cross spider arches
Of the web-thick bridges spanning
Chasms of her kingdom's marches.
Demon-swift cross spider arches
Of the web-thick bridges spanning
Chasms of her kingdom's marches.
We have reached her kingdom, olden
As the sea that sighs its sadness;
Rocks and trees and sands are golden,
And the air a golden gladness.
As the sea that sighs its sadness;
Rocks and trees and sands are golden,
And the air a golden gladness.
Shapely ingots are the flowers,
And the waters, amber brightness;
Gold-bright, song-birds in the bowers
Sing with eyes of diamond whiteness.
And the waters, amber brightness;
Gold-bright, song-birds in the bowers
Sing with eyes of diamond whiteness.
And she meets me with a chalice
Like the Giamschid ruby burning,
And I drain it without malice,
To her towers of topaz turning.
Like the Giamschid ruby burning,
And I drain it without malice,
To her towers of topaz turning.
Many hundred years forgetting
All that's earth: within her power
I possess her: naught regretting
Since each year is as an hour.
All that's earth: within her power
I possess her: naught regretting
Since each year is as an hour.
AT THE STILE.
Young Harry leapt over the stile and kissed her,
Over the stile the stars a-winking;
He thought it was Mary—'t was Mary's sister—
And love hath a way of thinking.
Over the stile the stars a-winking;
He thought it was Mary—'t was Mary's sister—
And love hath a way of thinking.
"Thy pail, sweetheart, I will take and carry."—
Over the stile the stars hang yellow.—
"Just to the spring, my sweetheart Harry."—
And love is a heartless fellow.
Over the stile the stars hang yellow.—
"Just to the spring, my sweetheart Harry."—
And love is a heartless fellow.
"Thou saidst me yea when the frost did shower
Over the stile from stars a-shiver."—
"I say thee nay now the cherry-trees flower,
And love is taker and giver."
Over the stile from stars a-shiver."—
"I say thee nay now the cherry-trees flower,
And love is taker and giver."
"O false! thou art false to me, sweetheart!"—
Over the stile the stars a-glister.
"To thee, the stars, and myself, sweetheart,
I never was aught save Mary's sister.
Over the stile the stars a-glister.
"To thee, the stars, and myself, sweetheart,
I never was aught save Mary's sister.
"Sweet Mary's sister and thou my Harry,
Her Harry and mine, but mine the weeping:
In a month or twain you two will marry—
And I in my grave be sleeping."
Her Harry and mine, but mine the weeping:
In a month or twain you two will marry—
And I in my grave be sleeping."
Alone among the meadows of millet,
Over the stile the stars pursuing,
Some tears in her pail as she stoops to fill it—
And love hath a way of doing.
Over the stile the stars pursuing,
Some tears in her pail as she stoops to fill it—
And love hath a way of doing.
THE ALCALDE'S DAUGHTER.
The times they had kissed and parted
That night were over a score;
Each time that the cavalier started,
Each time she would swear him o'er,
That night were over a score;
Each time that the cavalier started,
Each time she would swear him o'er,
"Thou art going to Barcelona!—
To make Naxera thy bride!
Seduce the Lady Yöna!—
And thy lips have lied! have lied!
To make Naxera thy bride!
Seduce the Lady Yöna!—
And thy lips have lied! have lied!
"I love thee! I love thee, thou knowest!
And thou shalt not give away
The love to my life thou owest;
And my heart commands thee stay!—
And thou shalt not give away
The love to my life thou owest;
And my heart commands thee stay!—
"I say thou hast lied and liest!—
For where is there war in the state?—
Thou goest, by Heaven the highest!
To choose thee a fairer mate.
For where is there war in the state?—
Thou goest, by Heaven the highest!
To choose thee a fairer mate.
"Wilt thou go to Barcelona
When thy queen in Toledo is?
To wait on the haughty Yöna,
When thou hast these lips to kiss?"
When thy queen in Toledo is?
To wait on the haughty Yöna,
When thou hast these lips to kiss?"
And they stood in the balcony over
The old Toledo square:
And weeping she took for her lover
A red rose out of her hair.
The old Toledo square:
And weeping she took for her lover
A red rose out of her hair.
And they kissed farewell; and higher
The moon made amber the air:
And she drew for the traitor and liar
A stiletto out of her hair....
The moon made amber the air:
And she drew for the traitor and liar
A stiletto out of her hair....
When the night-watch lounged through the quiet
With the stir of halberds and swords,
Not a bravo was there to defy it,
Not a gallant to brave with words.
With the stir of halberds and swords,
Not a bravo was there to defy it,
Not a gallant to brave with words.
One man, at the corner's turning,
Quite dead. And they stoop or stand—
In his heart a dagger burning,
And a red rose crushed in his hand.
Quite dead. And they stoop or stand—
In his heart a dagger burning,
And a red rose crushed in his hand.
AT THE CORREGIDOR'S.
To Don Odora says Donna De Vine:
"I yield to thy long endeavor!—
At my balcony be on the stroke of nine,
And, Signor, am thine forever!"
"I yield to thy long endeavor!—
At my balcony be on the stroke of nine,
And, Signor, am thine forever!"
This beauty but once had the Don descried
As she quit the confessional; followed;
"What a foot for silk! a face for a bride—
Hem—!" the rest Odora swallowed.
As she quit the confessional; followed;
"What a foot for silk! a face for a bride—
Hem—!" the rest Odora swallowed.
And with vows as soft as his oaths were sweet
Her heart he barricaded;
And pressed this point with a present meet,
And that point serenaded.
Her heart he barricaded;
And pressed this point with a present meet,
And that point serenaded.
What else could the enemy do but yield
To a handsome importuning!
A gallant blade with a lute for shield
All night at her lattice mooning!
To a handsome importuning!
A gallant blade with a lute for shield
All night at her lattice mooning!
"Que es estrella! O lily of girls!
Here's that for thy fierce duenna:
A purse of pistoles and a rosary o' pearls
And gold as yellow as henna.
Here's that for thy fierce duenna:
A purse of pistoles and a rosary o' pearls
And gold as yellow as henna.
"She will drop from thy balcony's rail, my sweet!
My seraph! this silken ladder;
And then—sweet then!—my soul at thy feet
No lover of lovers gladder!"
My seraph! this silken ladder;
And then—sweet then!—my soul at thy feet
No lover of lovers gladder!"
And the end of it was!—But I will not say
How he won to the room of the lady:—
Ah! to love is life and to live is gay,
For the rest—a maravedi!
How he won to the room of the lady:—
Ah! to love is life and to live is gay,
For the rest—a maravedi!
Now comes her betrothed from the wars, and he,
A Count of the Court Castilian,
A Don Diabolus, sword at knee,
And moustaches—uncivilian.
A Count of the Court Castilian,
A Don Diabolus, sword at knee,
And moustaches—uncivilian.
And his is a jealous love; and—for
He marks that this marriage makes sadder—
He watches, and sees a robber to her,
Or gallant, ascend a ladder.
He marks that this marriage makes sadder—
He watches, and sees a robber to her,
Or gallant, ascend a ladder.
So he pushes inquiry unto her room,
With his naked sword demanding—
An Alquazil with the face of Doom,
Sure of a stout withstanding.
With his naked sword demanding—
An Alquazil with the face of Doom,
Sure of a stout withstanding.
And weapon to weapon they foined and fought;
Diabolus' thrusts were vicious;
Three thrusts to the floor Odora had brought,
A fourth was more malicious,
Diabolus' thrusts were vicious;
Three thrusts to the floor Odora had brought,
A fourth was more malicious,
Through the offered bosom of Donna De Vine—
And this is the Count's condition ...
Was he right, was he wrong? the question is mine,
To judge—for the Inquisition.
And this is the Count's condition ...
Was he right, was he wrong? the question is mine,
To judge—for the Inquisition.