O ye that know the fairy throng,
And heed their secret under-song;
In flower or leaf's still ecstasy
Of birth and bud their passion see,
In wind or calm, in driving rain
Or frozen snow discern them strain
To utter and to be; who lie
At dawn in dewy brakes to spy
The rapture of their flying feet—
Follow me now those coursers fleet,
Sucked in their wake, down ruining
Through channelled night, where only sing
The shrill gusts streaming through the hair
Of them who sway and bend them there,
And peer in vain with shielded eyes
To rend the dark. Clinging it lies,
Thick as wet gossamer that shrouds
October brushwoods, or low clouds
That from the mountain tops roll down
Into the lowland vales, to drown
Men's voices and to choke their breath
And make a silence like to death.
But this was hot and dry; it came
And smote them, like the gush of flame
Fanned in a smithy, that outpours
And floods with fire the open doors.
Downward their course was, swift as flight
Of meteor flaring through the night,
Steady and dreadful, with no sound
Of wheels or hoofs upon the ground,
Nor jolt, nor jar; for once past through
Earth's portals, steeds and chariot flew
On wings invisible and strong
And even-oaring, such as throng
The nights when birds of passage sweep
O'er cities and the folk asleep:
Such was their awful flight. Afar
Showed Hades glimmering like a star
Seen red through fog: and as they sped
To that, the frontiers of the dead
Revealed their sullen leagues and bare,
And sad forms flitting here and there,
Or clustered, waiting who might come
Their empty ways with news of home.
Yet all one course at length must hold,
Or late or soon, and all be tolled
By Charon in his dark-prowed boat.
Thither was swept the chariot
And crossed dry-wheeled the coiling flood
Of Styx, and o'er the willow wood
And slim gray poplars which do hem
The further shore, Hell's diadem—
So by the tower foursquare and great
Where King Aïdoneus keeps his state
And rules his bodyless thralls they stand.
And heed their secret under-song;
In flower or leaf's still ecstasy
Of birth and bud their passion see,
In wind or calm, in driving rain
Or frozen snow discern them strain
To utter and to be; who lie
At dawn in dewy brakes to spy
The rapture of their flying feet—
Follow me now those coursers fleet,
Sucked in their wake, down ruining
Through channelled night, where only sing
The shrill gusts streaming through the hair
Of them who sway and bend them there,
And peer in vain with shielded eyes
To rend the dark. Clinging it lies,
Thick as wet gossamer that shrouds
October brushwoods, or low clouds
That from the mountain tops roll down
Into the lowland vales, to drown
Men's voices and to choke their breath
And make a silence like to death.
But this was hot and dry; it came
And smote them, like the gush of flame
Fanned in a smithy, that outpours
And floods with fire the open doors.
Downward their course was, swift as flight
Of meteor flaring through the night,
Steady and dreadful, with no sound
Of wheels or hoofs upon the ground,
Nor jolt, nor jar; for once past through
Earth's portals, steeds and chariot flew
On wings invisible and strong
And even-oaring, such as throng
The nights when birds of passage sweep
O'er cities and the folk asleep:
Such was their awful flight. Afar
Showed Hades glimmering like a star
Seen red through fog: and as they sped
To that, the frontiers of the dead
Revealed their sullen leagues and bare,
And sad forms flitting here and there,
Or clustered, waiting who might come
Their empty ways with news of home.
Yet all one course at length must hold,
Or late or soon, and all be tolled
By Charon in his dark-prowed boat.
Thither was swept the chariot
And crossed dry-wheeled the coiling flood
Of Styx, and o'er the willow wood
And slim gray poplars which do hem
The further shore, Hell's diadem—
So by the tower foursquare and great
Where King Aïdoneus keeps his state
And rules his bodyless thralls they stand.
Dark ridge and hollow showed the land
Fold over fold, like waves of soot
Fixt in an anguish of pursuit
For evermore, so far as eye
Could range; and all was hot and dry
As furnace is which all about
Etna scorcheth in days of drouth,
And showeth dun and sinister
That fair isle linked to main so fair.
Nor tree nor herbage grew, nor sang
Water among the rocks: hard rang
The heel on metal, or on crust
Grew tender, or went soft in dust;
Neither for beast nor bird nor snake
Was harbourage; nor could such slake
Their thirst, nor from the bitter heat
Hide, since the sun not furnished it;
But airless, shadowless and dense
The land lay swooning, dead to sense
Beneath that vault of stuprous black,
Motionless hanging, without wrack
Of cloud to break and pass, nor rent
To hint the blue. Like the foul tent
A foul night makes, it sagged; for stars
Showed hopeless faces, with two scars
In each, their eyes' immortal woe,
Ever to seek and never know:
In all that still immensity
These only moved—these and the sea,
Which dun and sullen heaved, with surge
And swell unseen, save at the verge
Where fainted off the black to gray
And showed such light as on a day
Of sun's eclipse men tremble at.
Fold over fold, like waves of soot
Fixt in an anguish of pursuit
For evermore, so far as eye
Could range; and all was hot and dry
As furnace is which all about
Etna scorcheth in days of drouth,
And showeth dun and sinister
That fair isle linked to main so fair.
Nor tree nor herbage grew, nor sang
Water among the rocks: hard rang
The heel on metal, or on crust
Grew tender, or went soft in dust;
Neither for beast nor bird nor snake
Was harbourage; nor could such slake
Their thirst, nor from the bitter heat
Hide, since the sun not furnished it;
But airless, shadowless and dense
The land lay swooning, dead to sense
Beneath that vault of stuprous black,
Motionless hanging, without wrack
Of cloud to break and pass, nor rent
To hint the blue. Like the foul tent
A foul night makes, it sagged; for stars
Showed hopeless faces, with two scars
In each, their eyes' immortal woe,
Ever to seek and never know:
In all that still immensity
These only moved—these and the sea,
Which dun and sullen heaved, with surge
And swell unseen, save at the verge
Where fainted off the black to gray
And showed such light as on a day
Of sun's eclipse men tremble at.
Here the dead people moved or sat,
Casting no shadow, hailing none
Boldly; but in fierce undertone
They plied each other, or on-sped
Their way with signal of the head
For answer, or arms desperate
Flung up, or shrug disconsolate.
And this the quest of every one:
"What hope have ye?" And answer, "None."
Never passed shadow shadow but
That answer got to question put.
In that they lived, in that, alas!
Lovely and hapless, Thou must pass
Thy days, with this for added lot—
Aching, to nurse things unforgot.
Casting no shadow, hailing none
Boldly; but in fierce undertone
They plied each other, or on-sped
Their way with signal of the head
For answer, or arms desperate
Flung up, or shrug disconsolate.
And this the quest of every one:
"What hope have ye?" And answer, "None."
Never passed shadow shadow but
That answer got to question put.
In that they lived, in that, alas!
Lovely and hapless, Thou must pass
Thy days, with this for added lot—
Aching, to nurse things unforgot.
Remember'd joy, Hypsipyle!
The Oread choir, the Oread glee:
The nimble air of quickening hills,
The sweet dawn light that floods and fills
The hollowed valleys; the dawn wind
That bids the world wake, and on blind
Eyelids of sleeping mortals lays
Cool palms that urge them see and praise
The Day-God coming with the sun
To hearten toil! He warned you run
And hide your beauties deep in brake
Of fern or briar, or reed of lake,
Or in wet crevice of the rock,
There to abide until the clock
You reckon by, with shadowy hands,
Lay benediction on the lands
And landsmen, and the eve-jar's croak
Summon ye, lightfoot fairy folk,
To your activity full tide
Over the empty earth and wide.
Here be your food, fair nymph, and coy
Of mortal ken—remember'd joy!
The Oread choir, the Oread glee:
The nimble air of quickening hills,
The sweet dawn light that floods and fills
The hollowed valleys; the dawn wind
That bids the world wake, and on blind
Eyelids of sleeping mortals lays
Cool palms that urge them see and praise
The Day-God coming with the sun
To hearten toil! He warned you run
And hide your beauties deep in brake
Of fern or briar, or reed of lake,
Or in wet crevice of the rock,
There to abide until the clock
You reckon by, with shadowy hands,
Lay benediction on the lands
And landsmen, and the eve-jar's croak
Summon ye, lightfoot fairy folk,
To your activity full tide
Over the empty earth and wide.
Here be your food, fair nymph, and coy
Of mortal ken—remember'd joy!
Remember'd joy! Ah, stormy nights,
Ah, the mad revel when wind fights
With wind, and slantwise comes the rain
And shatters at the window-pane,
To wake the hind, who little knows
Whose fingers drum those passionate blows,
Nor what swift indwellers of air
Ye be who hide in forms so fair
Your wayward motions, cruel to us,
While lovely, and dispiteous!
Ah, nights of flying scud and rout
When scared the slim young moon rides out
In her lagoon of open sky,
Or older, marks your revelry
As calm and large she oars above
Your drifting lives of ruth or love.
Boon were those nights of dusted gold
And glint of fireflies! Boon the cold
And witching frost! All's one, all's one
To thee, whose nights and days go on
Now in one span of changeless dusk
On one earth, crackling like the husk
Of the dropt mast in winter wood:
Remember'd joy—'tis all thy food,
Hypsipyle, to whose fond sprite
I vow my praise while I have light.
Ah, the mad revel when wind fights
With wind, and slantwise comes the rain
And shatters at the window-pane,
To wake the hind, who little knows
Whose fingers drum those passionate blows,
Nor what swift indwellers of air
Ye be who hide in forms so fair
Your wayward motions, cruel to us,
While lovely, and dispiteous!
Ah, nights of flying scud and rout
When scared the slim young moon rides out
In her lagoon of open sky,
Or older, marks your revelry
As calm and large she oars above
Your drifting lives of ruth or love.
Boon were those nights of dusted gold
And glint of fireflies! Boon the cold
And witching frost! All's one, all's one
To thee, whose nights and days go on
Now in one span of changeless dusk
On one earth, crackling like the husk
Of the dropt mast in winter wood:
Remember'd joy—'tis all thy food,
Hypsipyle, to whose fond sprite
I vow my praise while I have light.
Dumbly she wandered there, as pale
With lack of light, with form as frail
As those poor hollow congeners
Whose searching eyes encountered hers,
Petitioning as mute as she
Some grain of hope, where none might be,
Daring not yet to voice their moan
To her whose case was not their own;
For where they go like breath in a shell
That wails, my love goes quick in Hell.
With lack of light, with form as frail
As those poor hollow congeners
Whose searching eyes encountered hers,
Petitioning as mute as she
Some grain of hope, where none might be,
Daring not yet to voice their moan
To her whose case was not their own;
For where they go like breath in a shell
That wails, my love goes quick in Hell.
Alas, for her, the sweet and slim!
Slowly she pines; her eyes grow dim
With seeking; her smooth, sudden breasts
Hang languidly; those little nests
For kisses which her dimples were,
In cheeks graved hollow now by care
Vanish, and sharply thrusts her chin,
And sharp her bones of arm and shin.
Reproach she looks, about, above,
Denied her light, denied her love,
Denied for what she sacrificed,
Doomed to be fruitless agonist.
(O God, and I must see her fade,
Must see and anguish—in my shade!)
Nor help nor comfort gat she now
From her whose need called forth her vow;
For close in arms Queen Koré dwelt
In that great tower Aïdoneus built
To cherish her; deep in his bed,
Loved as the Gods love whom they wed;
Turned from pale maiden to pale wife,
Pale now with love's insatiate strife
First to appease, and then renew
The wild desire to mingle two
Natures, to long, to seek, to shun,
To have, to give, to make two one
That must be two if they would each
Learn all the lore that love can teach.
So strove the mistress, while the maid
Went alien among the dead,
Unspoken, speaking none, but watcht
By them who knew themselves outmatcht
By her, translated whole, nor guessed
What miseries gnawed within that breast,
Which could be toucht, which could give meat
To babe; which was not eye-deceit
As theirs, poor phantoms. So went she
Grudged but unscathed beside the sea,
Or sat alone by that sad strand
Nursing her worn cheek in her hand;
And did not mark, as day on day
Lengthened the arch of changeless gray,
How she was shadowed, how to her
Stretcht arms another prisoner;
Nor knew herself desirable
By any thankless guest of Hell—
Withal each phantom seemed no less
Whole-natured to her heedlessness.
Slowly she pines; her eyes grow dim
With seeking; her smooth, sudden breasts
Hang languidly; those little nests
For kisses which her dimples were,
In cheeks graved hollow now by care
Vanish, and sharply thrusts her chin,
And sharp her bones of arm and shin.
Reproach she looks, about, above,
Denied her light, denied her love,
Denied for what she sacrificed,
Doomed to be fruitless agonist.
(O God, and I must see her fade,
Must see and anguish—in my shade!)
Nor help nor comfort gat she now
From her whose need called forth her vow;
For close in arms Queen Koré dwelt
In that great tower Aïdoneus built
To cherish her; deep in his bed,
Loved as the Gods love whom they wed;
Turned from pale maiden to pale wife,
Pale now with love's insatiate strife
First to appease, and then renew
The wild desire to mingle two
Natures, to long, to seek, to shun,
To have, to give, to make two one
That must be two if they would each
Learn all the lore that love can teach.
So strove the mistress, while the maid
Went alien among the dead,
Unspoken, speaking none, but watcht
By them who knew themselves outmatcht
By her, translated whole, nor guessed
What miseries gnawed within that breast,
Which could be toucht, which could give meat
To babe; which was not eye-deceit
As theirs, poor phantoms. So went she
Grudged but unscathed beside the sea,
Or sat alone by that sad strand
Nursing her worn cheek in her hand;
And did not mark, as day on day
Lengthened the arch of changeless gray,
How she was shadowed, how to her
Stretcht arms another prisoner;
Nor knew herself desirable
By any thankless guest of Hell—
Withal each phantom seemed no less
Whole-natured to her heedlessness.
Midway her round of solitude
She used to haunt a dead sea-wood
Where among boulders lifeless trees
Stuck rigid fingers to the breeze—
That stream of faint hot air that flits
Aimless at noon. 'Tis there she sits
Hour after hour, and as a dove
Croons when her breast is ripe for love,
So sings this exile, quiet, sad chants
Of love, yet knows not what she wants;
And singing there in undertone,
Is one day answered by the moan
Of hidden mourner; but no fear
Hath she for sound so true, though near;
Nay, but sings out her elegy,
Which, like an echo, answers he.
Again she sings; he suits her mood,
Nor breaks upon her solitude:
So she, choragus, calls the tune,
And as she leads he follows soon.
As bird with bird vies in the brake,
She sings no note he will not take—
As when she pleads, "Ah, my lost love,
The night is dark thou art not of,"
Quick cometh answering the phrase,
"O love, let all our nights be days!"
This, rapt, with beating heart, she heeds
And follows, "Sweet love, my heart bleeds!
Come, stay the wound thyself didst give";
Then he, "I come to bid thee live."
And so they carol, and her heart
Swells to believe his counterpart,
And strophé striketh clear, which he
Caps with his brave antistrophe;
And as a maiden waxes bold,
And opens what should not be told
When all her auditory she sees
Within her mirror, so to trees
And rocks, and sullen sounding main
She empties all her passioned pain;
And "love, love, love," her burden is,
And "I am starving for thee," his.
Moved, melted, all on fire she stands,
Holding abroad her quivering hands,
Raises her sweet eyes faint with tears
And dares to seek him whom she hears;
And from her parted lips a sigh
Stealeth, as knowing he is nigh
And her fate on her—then she'd shun
That which she seeks; but the thing's done.
She used to haunt a dead sea-wood
Where among boulders lifeless trees
Stuck rigid fingers to the breeze—
That stream of faint hot air that flits
Aimless at noon. 'Tis there she sits
Hour after hour, and as a dove
Croons when her breast is ripe for love,
So sings this exile, quiet, sad chants
Of love, yet knows not what she wants;
And singing there in undertone,
Is one day answered by the moan
Of hidden mourner; but no fear
Hath she for sound so true, though near;
Nay, but sings out her elegy,
Which, like an echo, answers he.
Again she sings; he suits her mood,
Nor breaks upon her solitude:
So she, choragus, calls the tune,
And as she leads he follows soon.
As bird with bird vies in the brake,
She sings no note he will not take—
As when she pleads, "Ah, my lost love,
The night is dark thou art not of,"
Quick cometh answering the phrase,
"O love, let all our nights be days!"
This, rapt, with beating heart, she heeds
And follows, "Sweet love, my heart bleeds!
Come, stay the wound thyself didst give";
Then he, "I come to bid thee live."
And so they carol, and her heart
Swells to believe his counterpart,
And strophé striketh clear, which he
Caps with his brave antistrophe;
And as a maiden waxes bold,
And opens what should not be told
When all her auditory she sees
Within her mirror, so to trees
And rocks, and sullen sounding main
She empties all her passioned pain;
And "love, love, love," her burden is,
And "I am starving for thee," his.
Moved, melted, all on fire she stands,
Holding abroad her quivering hands,
Raises her sweet eyes faint with tears
And dares to seek him whom she hears;
And from her parted lips a sigh
Stealeth, as knowing he is nigh
And her fate on her—then she'd shun
That which she seeks; but the thing's done.
Hollow-voiced, dim, spake her a shade,
"O thou that comest, nymph or maid—
If nymph, then maiden, since for aye
Virgin is immortality,
Nor love can change what Death cannot—
Look on me by love new-begot;
Look on me, child new-born, nor start
To see my form who knowest my heart;
For it is thine. O Mother and Wife,
Take then my love—thou gavest it life!"
"O thou that comest, nymph or maid—
If nymph, then maiden, since for aye
Virgin is immortality,
Nor love can change what Death cannot—
Look on me by love new-begot;
Look on me, child new-born, nor start
To see my form who knowest my heart;
For it is thine. O Mother and Wife,
Take then my love—thou gavest it life!"
So spake one close: to whom she lent
The wonder of her eyes' content—
That lucent gray, as if moonlight
Shone through a sapphire in the night—
And saw him faintly imaged, rare
As wisp of cloud on hillside bare,
A filamental form, a wraith
Shaped like that man who in the faith
Of one puts all his hope: who stood
Trembling in her near neighbourhood,
A thing of haunted eyes, of slim
And youthful seeming; yet not dim,
Yet not unmanly in his fashion
Of speech, nor impotent of passion—
The which his tones gave earnest of
And his aspéct of hopeless love;
Who, drawing nearer, came to stand
So close beside her that one hand
Lit on her shoulder—yet no touch
She felt: "O maiden overmuch,"
He grieved, "O body far too sweet
For such as I, frail counterfeit
Of man, who yet was once a man,
Cut off before the midmost span
Of mortal life was but half run,
Or ere to love he had found one
Like thee—yet happy in that fate,
That waiting, he is fortunate:
For better far in Hell to fare
With thee than commerce otherwhere,
Sharing the snug and fat outlook
Of bed and board and ingle-nook
With earth-bound woman, earth-born child.
Nay, but high love is free and wild
And centreth not in mortal things;
But to the soul giveth he wings,
And with the soul strikes partnership,
So may two let corruption slip
And breasting level, with far eyes
Lifted, seek haven in the skies,
Untrammel'd by the earthly mesh.
O thou," said he, "of fairy flesh,
Immortal prisoner, take of me
Love! 'tis my heritage in fee;
For I am very part thereof,
And share the godhead."
So his love
Pled he with tones in love well-skilled
Which on her bosom beat and thrilled,
And pierced. No word nor look she had
To voice her heart, or sad or glad.
Rapt stood she, wooed by eager word
And by her need, whose cry she heard
Above his crying; but she guessed
She was desired, beset, possessed
Already, handfasted to sight,
And yielding so, her heart she plight.
The wonder of her eyes' content—
That lucent gray, as if moonlight
Shone through a sapphire in the night—
And saw him faintly imaged, rare
As wisp of cloud on hillside bare,
A filamental form, a wraith
Shaped like that man who in the faith
Of one puts all his hope: who stood
Trembling in her near neighbourhood,
A thing of haunted eyes, of slim
And youthful seeming; yet not dim,
Yet not unmanly in his fashion
Of speech, nor impotent of passion—
The which his tones gave earnest of
And his aspéct of hopeless love;
Who, drawing nearer, came to stand
So close beside her that one hand
Lit on her shoulder—yet no touch
She felt: "O maiden overmuch,"
He grieved, "O body far too sweet
For such as I, frail counterfeit
Of man, who yet was once a man,
Cut off before the midmost span
Of mortal life was but half run,
Or ere to love he had found one
Like thee—yet happy in that fate,
That waiting, he is fortunate:
For better far in Hell to fare
With thee than commerce otherwhere,
Sharing the snug and fat outlook
Of bed and board and ingle-nook
With earth-bound woman, earth-born child.
Nay, but high love is free and wild
And centreth not in mortal things;
But to the soul giveth he wings,
And with the soul strikes partnership,
So may two let corruption slip
And breasting level, with far eyes
Lifted, seek haven in the skies,
Untrammel'd by the earthly mesh.
O thou," said he, "of fairy flesh,
Immortal prisoner, take of me
Love! 'tis my heritage in fee;
For I am very part thereof,
And share the godhead."
So his love
Pled he with tones in love well-skilled
Which on her bosom beat and thrilled,
And pierced. No word nor look she had
To voice her heart, or sad or glad.
Rapt stood she, wooed by eager word
And by her need, whose cry she heard
Above his crying; but she guessed
She was desired, beset, possessed
Already, handfasted to sight,
And yielding so, her heart she plight.
Thus was her mating: of the eyes
And ears, and her love half surmise,
Detected by her burning face
Which saw, not felt, his fierce embrace.
For on her own she knew no hand
When caging it he seemed to stand,
And round her waist felt not the warm
Sheltered peace of the belting arm
She saw him clasp withal. When rained
His words upon her, or eyes strained
As though her inmost shrine to pierce
Where hid her heart of hearts, her ears
Conceived, although her body sweet
Might never feel a young life beat
And leap within it. Ah, what cry
That mistress e'er heard poet sigh
Could voice thy beauty? Or what chant
Of music be thy ministrant?
Since thou art Music, poesy
Must both thy spouse and increase be!
And ears, and her love half surmise,
Detected by her burning face
Which saw, not felt, his fierce embrace.
For on her own she knew no hand
When caging it he seemed to stand,
And round her waist felt not the warm
Sheltered peace of the belting arm
She saw him clasp withal. When rained
His words upon her, or eyes strained
As though her inmost shrine to pierce
Where hid her heart of hearts, her ears
Conceived, although her body sweet
Might never feel a young life beat
And leap within it. Ah, what cry
That mistress e'er heard poet sigh
Could voice thy beauty? Or what chant
Of music be thy ministrant?
Since thou art Music, poesy
Must both thy spouse and increase be!
In the hot dust, where lizards crouch
And pant, he made her bridal couch;
Thither down drew her to his side
And, phantom, taught her to be bride
With words so ardent, looks so hot
She needs must feel what she had not,
Guess herself in beleaguered bed
And throb response. Thus she was wed.
As she whom Zeus loved in a cloud,
So lay she in her lover's shroud,
And o'er her members crept the chill
We know when mist creeps up a hill
Out of the vale at eve. As grows
The ivy, rooting as it goes,
In such a quick close envelope
She lay aswoon, nor guessed the scope
Nor tether of his hot intent,
Nor what to that inert she lent,
Save when at last with half-turned head
And glimmering eyes, encompasséd
She saw herself, a bride possest
By ghostly bridegroom, held and prest
To unfelt bosom, saw his mouth
Against her own, which to his drouth
Gave no allay that she could sense,
Nor took of her sweet recompense.
So moved by pity, stirred by rue,
Out of their onslaught young love grew.
Love that with delicate tongues of fire
Can kindle hearts inflamed desire
In her for him who needed it;
And so she claimed and by eyes' wit
Had what she would: and now made war,
Being, as all sweet women are,
Prudes till Love calls them, and then fierce
In love's high calling. Thus with her ears
She fed on love, and to her eyes
Lent deeds of passionate emprise—
Till at the last, the shadowy strife
Ended, she owned herself all wife.
And pant, he made her bridal couch;
Thither down drew her to his side
And, phantom, taught her to be bride
With words so ardent, looks so hot
She needs must feel what she had not,
Guess herself in beleaguered bed
And throb response. Thus she was wed.
As she whom Zeus loved in a cloud,
So lay she in her lover's shroud,
And o'er her members crept the chill
We know when mist creeps up a hill
Out of the vale at eve. As grows
The ivy, rooting as it goes,
In such a quick close envelope
She lay aswoon, nor guessed the scope
Nor tether of his hot intent,
Nor what to that inert she lent,
Save when at last with half-turned head
And glimmering eyes, encompasséd
She saw herself, a bride possest
By ghostly bridegroom, held and prest
To unfelt bosom, saw his mouth
Against her own, which to his drouth
Gave no allay that she could sense,
Nor took of her sweet recompense.
So moved by pity, stirred by rue,
Out of their onslaught young love grew.
Love that with delicate tongues of fire
Can kindle hearts inflamed desire
In her for him who needed it;
And so she claimed and by eyes' wit
Had what she would: and now made war,
Being, as all sweet women are,
Prudes till Love calls them, and then fierce
In love's high calling. Thus with her ears
She fed on love, and to her eyes
Lent deeds of passionate emprise—
Till at the last, the shadowy strife
Ended, she owned herself all wife.
High mating of the mind! O love,
Since this must be, on this she throve!
Remember'd joy, Hypsipyle,
Since this must be, O love, let be!
Since this must be, on this she throve!
Remember'd joy, Hypsipyle,
Since this must be, O love, let be!
1911.
OREITHYIA
Oreithyia, by the North Wind carried
To stormy Thrace from Athens where you tarried
Down by Ilissus all a blowy day
Among the asphodels, how rapt away
Thither, and in what frozen bed wert married?
To stormy Thrace from Athens where you tarried
Down by Ilissus all a blowy day
Among the asphodels, how rapt away
Thither, and in what frozen bed wert married?
"I was a King's tall daughter still unwed,
Slim and desirable my locks to shed
Free from the fillet. He my maiden belt
Undid with busy fingers hid but felt,
And made me wife upon no marriage bed.
Slim and desirable my locks to shed
Free from the fillet. He my maiden belt
Undid with busy fingers hid but felt,
And made me wife upon no marriage bed.
"As idly there I lay alone he came
And blew upon my side, and beat a flame
Into my cheeks, and kindled both my eyes.
I suffered him who took no bodily guise:
The light clouds know whether I was to blame.
And blew upon my side, and beat a flame
Into my cheeks, and kindled both my eyes.
I suffered him who took no bodily guise:
The light clouds know whether I was to blame.
"Into my mouth he blew an amorous breath;
I panted, but lay still, as quiet as death.
The whispering planes and sighing grasses know
Whether it was the wind that loved me so:
I know not—only this, 'O love,' he saith,
I panted, but lay still, as quiet as death.
The whispering planes and sighing grasses know
Whether it was the wind that loved me so:
I know not—only this, 'O love,' he saith,
"'O long beset with love, and overloved,
O easy saint, untempted and unproved,
O walking stilly virgin ways in hiding,
Come out, thou art too choice for such abiding!
She never valued ease who never roved.
O easy saint, untempted and unproved,
O walking stilly virgin ways in hiding,
Come out, thou art too choice for such abiding!
She never valued ease who never roved.
"'Thou mayst not see thy lover, but he now
Is here, and claimeth thy low moonlit brow,
Thy wonderful eyes, and lips that part and pout,
And polished throat that like a flower shoots out
From thy dark vesture folded and crossed low.'
Is here, and claimeth thy low moonlit brow,
Thy wonderful eyes, and lips that part and pout,
And polished throat that like a flower shoots out
From thy dark vesture folded and crossed low.'
"With that he had his way and went his way;
For Gods have mastery, and a maiden's nay
Grows faint ere it is whispered all. I sped
Homeward with startled face and tiptoe tread,
And up the stair, and in my chamber lay.
For Gods have mastery, and a maiden's nay
Grows faint ere it is whispered all. I sped
Homeward with startled face and tiptoe tread,
And up the stair, and in my chamber lay.
"Crouching I lay and quaked, and heard the wind
Wail round the house like a mad thing confined,
And had no rest; turn wheresoe'er I would
This urgent lover stormed my solitude
And beat against the haven of my mind.
Wail round the house like a mad thing confined,
And had no rest; turn wheresoe'er I would
This urgent lover stormed my solitude
And beat against the haven of my mind.
"And over all a clamour and dis-ease
Filled earth and air, and shuddered in my knees
So that I could not stand, but by the wall
Leaned pitifully breathing. Still his call
Volleyed against the house and tore the trees.
Filled earth and air, and shuddered in my knees
So that I could not stand, but by the wall
Leaned pitifully breathing. Still his call
Volleyed against the house and tore the trees.
"Then out my turret-window as I might
I leaned my body to the blind wet night;
That eager lover leapt me, circled round,
Wreathed, folded, held me prisoner, wrapt and bound
In manacles of terror and delight.
I leaned my body to the blind wet night;
That eager lover leapt me, circled round,
Wreathed, folded, held me prisoner, wrapt and bound
In manacles of terror and delight.
"That night he sealed me to him, and I went
Thenceforth his leman, submiss and content;
So from the hall and feast, whenas I heard
His clear voice call, I flitted like a bird
That beats the brake, and garnered what he lent.
Thenceforth his leman, submiss and content;
So from the hall and feast, whenas I heard
His clear voice call, I flitted like a bird
That beats the brake, and garnered what he lent.
"I was no maid that was no wife; my days
Went by in dreams whose lights are golden haze
And skies are crimson. Laughing not, nor crying,
I strayed all witless with my loose hair flying,
Bearing that load that women think their praise.
Went by in dreams whose lights are golden haze
And skies are crimson. Laughing not, nor crying,
I strayed all witless with my loose hair flying,
Bearing that load that women think their praise.
"And felt my breasts grow heavy with that food
That women laugh to feel and think it good;
But I went shamefast, hanging down my head,
With girdle all too strait to serve my stead,
And bore an unguessed burden in my blood.
That women laugh to feel and think it good;
But I went shamefast, hanging down my head,
With girdle all too strait to serve my stead,
And bore an unguessed burden in my blood.
"There was a winter night he came again
And shook the window, till cried out my pain
Unto him, saying, 'Lord, I dare not live!
Lord, I must die of that which thou didst give!
Pity me, Lord!' and fell. The winter rain
And shook the window, till cried out my pain
Unto him, saying, 'Lord, I dare not live!
Lord, I must die of that which thou didst give!
Pity me, Lord!' and fell. The winter rain
"Beat at the casement, burst it, and the wind
Filled all the room, and swept me white and blind
Into the night. I heard the sound of seas
Beleaguer earth, I heard the roaring trees
Singing together. We left them far behind.
Filled all the room, and swept me white and blind
Into the night. I heard the sound of seas
Beleaguer earth, I heard the roaring trees
Singing together. We left them far behind.
"And so he bore me into stormy Thrace,
Me and my load, and kissed back to my face
The sweet new blood of youth, and to my limbs
The wine of life; and there I bore him twins,
Zethes and Calaïs, in a rock-bound place."
Me and my load, and kissed back to my face
The sweet new blood of youth, and to my limbs
The wine of life; and there I bore him twins,
Zethes and Calaïs, in a rock-bound place."
Oreithyia, by the North Wind carried
To stormy Thrace, think you of how you tarried
And let him woo and wed? "Ah, no, for now
He's kissed all Athens from my open brow.
I am the Wind's wife, wooed and won and married."
To stormy Thrace, think you of how you tarried
And let him woo and wed? "Ah, no, for now
He's kissed all Athens from my open brow.
I am the Wind's wife, wooed and won and married."
1897.
CLYTIÉ
Hearken, O passers, what thing
Fortuned in Hellas. A maid,
Lissom and white as the roe,
Lived recess'd in a glade.
Clytié, Hamadryad,
She was called that I sing—
Flower so fair, so frail, that to bring her a woe,
Surely a pitiful thing!
Fortuned in Hellas. A maid,
Lissom and white as the roe,
Lived recess'd in a glade.
Clytié, Hamadryad,
She was called that I sing—
Flower so fair, so frail, that to bring her a woe,
Surely a pitiful thing!
A wild bright creature of trees,
Brooks, and the sun among leaves,
Clytié, grown to be maid:
Ah, she had eyes like the sea's
Iris of green and blue!
White as sea-foam her brows,
And her hair reedy and gold:
So she grew and waxt supple and fit to be spouse
In a king's palace of old.
Brooks, and the sun among leaves,
Clytié, grown to be maid:
Ah, she had eyes like the sea's
Iris of green and blue!
White as sea-foam her brows,
And her hair reedy and gold:
So she grew and waxt supple and fit to be spouse
In a king's palace of old.
All in a kirtle of green,
With her tangle of red-gold hair,
In the live heart of an oak,
Clytié, harbouring there,
Thronéd there as a queen,
Clytié wondering woke:
Ah, child, what set thee too high for thy sweet demesne,
And who ponder'd the doleful stroke?
With her tangle of red-gold hair,
In the live heart of an oak,
Clytié, harbouring there,
Thronéd there as a queen,
Clytié wondering woke:
Ah, child, what set thee too high for thy sweet demesne,
And who ponder'd the doleful stroke?
For the child that was maiden grown,
The queen of the forest places,
Clytié, Hamadryad,
Tired of the joy she had,
And the kingdom that was her own;
And tired of the quick wood-races,
And joy of herself in the pool when she wonder'd down,
And tired of her budded graces.
The queen of the forest places,
Clytié, Hamadryad,
Tired of the joy she had,
And the kingdom that was her own;
And tired of the quick wood-races,
And joy of herself in the pool when she wonder'd down,
And tired of her budded graces.
And the child lookt up to the Sun
And the burning track of his car
In the broad serene above her:
"O King Sun, be thou my lover,
For my beauty is just begun.
I am fresh and fair as a star;
Come, lie where the lilies are:
Behold, I am fair and dainty and white all over,
And I waste in the wood unknown!"
And the burning track of his car
In the broad serene above her:
"O King Sun, be thou my lover,
For my beauty is just begun.
I am fresh and fair as a star;
Come, lie where the lilies are:
Behold, I am fair and dainty and white all over,
And I waste in the wood unknown!"
Rose-flusht, daring, she strain'd
Her young arms up, and she voiced
The wild desire of her heart.
The woodland heard her, the faun,
The satyr, and things that start,
Peering, heard her; the dove, crooning, complain'd
In the pine-tree by the lawn.
Only the runnel rejoiced
In his rushy hollow apart
To see her beauty flash up
White and red as the dawn.
Her young arms up, and she voiced
The wild desire of her heart.
The woodland heard her, the faun,
The satyr, and things that start,
Peering, heard her; the dove, crooning, complain'd
In the pine-tree by the lawn.
Only the runnel rejoiced
In his rushy hollow apart
To see her beauty flash up
White and red as the dawn.
Sorrow, ye passers-by,
The quick lift of her word,
The crimson blush of her pride!
Heard her the heavens' lord
In his flaming seat in the sky:
"Overbold of her years that will not be denied;
She would be the Sun-God's bride!"
His brow it was like the flat of a sword,
And levin the glance of his side.
The quick lift of her word,
The crimson blush of her pride!
Heard her the heavens' lord
In his flaming seat in the sky:
"Overbold of her years that will not be denied;
She would be the Sun-God's bride!"
His brow it was like the flat of a sword,
And levin the glance of his side.
And he bent unto her, and his mouth
Burnt her like coals of fire;
He gazed with passionate eyes,
Like flame that kindles and dries,
And his breath suckt hers as the white rage of the South
Draws life; his desire
Was like to a tiger's drouth.
What shall the slim maiden avail?
Alas, and alas for her youth!
Burnt her like coals of fire;
He gazed with passionate eyes,
Like flame that kindles and dries,
And his breath suckt hers as the white rage of the South
Draws life; his desire
Was like to a tiger's drouth.
What shall the slim maiden avail?
Alas, and alas for her youth!
Tremble, O maids, that would set
Your love-longing to the Sun!
For Clytié mourn, and take heed
How she loved her king and did bleed
Ere kissing had yet begun.
For lo! one shaft from his terrible eyes she met,
And it burnt to her soul, and anon
She paled, and the fever-fret
Did bite to her bones; and wan
She fell to rueing the deed.
Your love-longing to the Sun!
For Clytié mourn, and take heed
How she loved her king and did bleed
Ere kissing had yet begun.
For lo! one shaft from his terrible eyes she met,
And it burnt to her soul, and anon
She paled, and the fever-fret
Did bite to her bones; and wan
She fell to rueing the deed.
Mark ye, maidens, and cower!
Lo, for an end of breath,
Clytié, hardy and frail,
Anguisht after her death.
For the Sun-flower droops and is pale
When her king hideth his power,
And ever draggeth the woe of her piteous tale,
As a woman that laboureth
Yet never reacheth the hour:
So Clytié yearns to the Sun, for her wraith
Moans in the bow'd sunflower.
Lo, for an end of breath,
Clytié, hardy and frail,
Anguisht after her death.
For the Sun-flower droops and is pale
When her king hideth his power,
And ever draggeth the woe of her piteous tale,
As a woman that laboureth
Yet never reacheth the hour:
So Clytié yearns to the Sun, for her wraith
Moans in the bow'd sunflower.
Clytié, Hamadryad,
Called was she that I sing:
Flower so fair and frail that to work her this woe,
Surely a pitiful thing!
Called was she that I sing:
Flower so fair and frail that to work her this woe,
Surely a pitiful thing!
1894.
LAI OF GOBERTZ[1]
Of courteous Limozin wight,
Gobertz, I will indite:
From Poicebot had he his right
Of gentlehood;
Made monk in his own despite
In San Léonart the white,
Withal to sing and to write
Coblas he could.
Gobertz, I will indite:
From Poicebot had he his right
Of gentlehood;
Made monk in his own despite
In San Léonart the white,
Withal to sing and to write
Coblas he could.
Learning had he, and rare
Music, and gai saber:
No monk with him to compare
In that monast'ry.
Full lusty he was to bear
Cowl and chaplet of hair
God willeth monks for to wear
For sanctity.
Music, and gai saber:
No monk with him to compare
In that monast'ry.
Full lusty he was to bear
Cowl and chaplet of hair
God willeth monks for to wear
For sanctity.
There in dortoir as he lay,
To this Gobertz, by my fay,
Came fair women to play
In his sleep;
Then he had old to pray,
Fresh and silken came they,
With eyen saucy and gray
That set him weep.
To this Gobertz, by my fay,
Came fair women to play
In his sleep;
Then he had old to pray,
Fresh and silken came they,
With eyen saucy and gray
That set him weep.
May was the month, and soft
The singing nights; up aloft
The quarter moon swam and scoffed
His unease.
Rose this Gobertz, and doffed
His habit, and left that croft,
Crying Eleison oft
At Venus' knees.
The singing nights; up aloft
The quarter moon swam and scoffed
His unease.
Rose this Gobertz, and doffed
His habit, and left that croft,
Crying Eleison oft
At Venus' knees.
Heartly the road and the town
Mauléon, over the down,
Sought he, and the renown
Of Savaric;
To that good knight he knelt down,
Asking of him in bown
Almesse of laurel crown
For his music.
Mauléon, over the down,
Sought he, and the renown
Of Savaric;
To that good knight he knelt down,
Asking of him in bown
Almesse of laurel crown
For his music.
Fair him Savaric spake,
"If coblas you know to make,
Song and music to wake
For your part,
Horse and lute shall you take
Of Jongleur, lightly forsake
Cloister for woodland brake
With good heart."
"If coblas you know to make,
Song and music to wake
For your part,
Horse and lute shall you take
Of Jongleur, lightly forsake
Cloister for woodland brake
With good heart."
Down the high month of May
Now rideth Gobertz his way
To Aix, to Puy, to Alais,
To Albi the old;
In Toulouse mindeth to stay
With Count Simon the Gay,
There to abide what day
Love shall hold.
Now rideth Gobertz his way
To Aix, to Puy, to Alais,
To Albi the old;
In Toulouse mindeth to stay
With Count Simon the Gay,
There to abide what day
Love shall hold.
Shrill riseth his song:
Cobla, lai, or tenzon,
None can render him wrong
In that meinie—
Love alone, that erelong
Showed him in all that throng
Of ladies Tibors the young,
None but she.
Cobla, lai, or tenzon,
None can render him wrong
In that meinie—
Love alone, that erelong
Showed him in all that throng
Of ladies Tibors the young,
None but she.
She was high-hearted and fair,
Low-breasted, with hair
Gilded, and eyes of vair
In burning face:
On her Gobertz astare,
Looking, stood quaking there
To see so debonnair
Hold her place.
Low-breasted, with hair
Gilded, and eyes of vair
In burning face:
On her Gobertz astare,
Looking, stood quaking there
To see so debonnair
Hold her place.
Proud donzela and free,
To clip nor to kiss had she
Talént, nor for minstrelsy
Was she fain;
Mistress never would be,
Nor master have; but her fee
She vowed to sweet Chastity,
Her suzerain.
To clip nor to kiss had she
Talént, nor for minstrelsy
Was she fain;
Mistress never would be,
Nor master have; but her fee
She vowed to sweet Chastity,
Her suzerain.
Then this Gobertz anon
Returneth to Mauléon,
To Savaric maketh moan
On his knees.
Other pray'r hath he none
Save this, "Sir, let me begone
Whence I came, since fordone
My expertise."
Returneth to Mauléon,
To Savaric maketh moan
On his knees.
Other pray'r hath he none
Save this, "Sir, let me begone
Whence I came, since fordone
My expertise."
Quod Savaric, "Hast thou sped
So ill in amors?" Answeréd
This Gobertz, "By my head,
She scorneth me."
"Hauberc and arms then, instead
Of lute and begarlanded
Poll, take you," he said,
"For errantry."
So ill in amors?" Answeréd
This Gobertz, "By my head,
She scorneth me."
"Hauberc and arms then, instead
Of lute and begarlanded
Poll, take you," he said,
"For errantry."
Now rides he out, a dubbed knight,
The Spanish road, for to fight
Paynimry; day and night
Urgeth he;
In Saragoza the bright,
And Pampluna with might
Seeketh he what respite
For grief there be.
The Spanish road, for to fight
Paynimry; day and night
Urgeth he;
In Saragoza the bright,
And Pampluna with might
Seeketh he what respite
For grief there be.
War-dimmed grew his gear,
Grim his visage; in fear
Listened Mahound his cheer
Deep in Hell.
Fled his legions to hear
Gobertz the knight draw near.
Now he closeth the year
In Compostell.
Grim his visage; in fear
Listened Mahound his cheer
Deep in Hell.
Fled his legions to hear
Gobertz the knight draw near.
Now he closeth the year
In Compostell.
Offering there hath he made
Saint James, candles him paid,
Gold on the shrine hath laid;
Now Gobertz
Is for Toulouse, where that maid
Tibors wonned unafraid
Of Love and his accolade
That breaketh hearts.
Saint James, candles him paid,
Gold on the shrine hath laid;
Now Gobertz
Is for Toulouse, where that maid
Tibors wonned unafraid
Of Love and his accolade
That breaketh hearts.
He rode north and by east,
Nor rider spared he nor beast,
Nor tempered spur till at least
Forth of Spain;
Not for mass-bell nor priest,
For fast-day nor yet for feast
Stayed he, till voyage ceased
In Aquitaine.
Nor rider spared he nor beast,
Nor tempered spur till at least
Forth of Spain;
Not for mass-bell nor priest,
For fast-day nor yet for feast
Stayed he, till voyage ceased
In Aquitaine.
Now remaineth to tell
What this Gobertz befell
When that he sought hostel
In his land.
Dined he well, drank he well,
Envy then had somedeal
With women free in bordel
For to spend.
What this Gobertz befell
When that he sought hostel
In his land.
Dined he well, drank he well,
Envy then had somedeal
With women free in bordel
For to spend.
In poor alberc goeth he
Where bought pleasure may be,
Careless proffereth fee
For his bliss.
O Gobertz, look to thee.
Such a sight shalt thou see
Will make the red blood to flee
Thy heart, ywis.
Where bought pleasure may be,
Careless proffereth fee
For his bliss.
O Gobertz, look to thee.
Such a sight shalt thou see
Will make the red blood to flee
Thy heart, ywis.
Fair woman they bring him in
Shamefast in her burning sin,
All afire is his skin
Par amors.
Look not of her look to win,
Dare not lift up her chin,
Gobertz; in that soiled fond thing
Lo, Tibors!
Shamefast in her burning sin,
All afire is his skin
Par amors.
Look not of her look to win,
Dare not lift up her chin,
Gobertz; in that soiled fond thing
Lo, Tibors!
"O love, O love, out, alas!
That it should come to this pass,
And thou be even as I was
In green youth,
Whenas delight and solace
Served I with wantonness,
And burned anon like the grass
To this ruth!"
That it should come to this pass,
And thou be even as I was
In green youth,
Whenas delight and solace
Served I with wantonness,
And burned anon like the grass
To this ruth!"
But then lift she her sad eyes,
Gray like wet morning skies,
That wait the sun to arise,
Tears to amend.
"Gobertz, amic," so she cries,
"By Jesus' agonies
Hither come I by lies
Of false friend.
Gray like wet morning skies,
That wait the sun to arise,
Tears to amend.
"Gobertz, amic," so she cries,
"By Jesus' agonies
Hither come I by lies
Of false friend.
"Sir Richart de Laund he hight,
Who fair promised me plight
Of word and ring, on a night
Of no fame;
So then evilly bright
Had his will and delight
Of me, and fled unrequite
For my shame!
Who fair promised me plight
Of word and ring, on a night
Of no fame;
So then evilly bright
Had his will and delight
Of me, and fled unrequite
For my shame!
"Alas, and now to my thought
Flieth the woe that I wrought
Thee, Gobertz, that distraught
Thou didst fare.
Now a vile thing of nought
Fare I that once was so haught
And free, and could not be taught
By thy care."
Flieth the woe that I wrought
Thee, Gobertz, that distraught
Thou didst fare.
Now a vile thing of nought
Fare I that once was so haught
And free, and could not be taught
By thy care."
But Gobertz seeth no less
Her honour and her sweetness,
Soon her small hand to kiss
Taketh he,
Saying, "Now for that stress
Drave thee here thou shalt bless
God, for so ending this
Thy penury."
Her honour and her sweetness,
Soon her small hand to kiss
Taketh he,
Saying, "Now for that stress
Drave thee here thou shalt bless
God, for so ending this
Thy penury."
Yet she would bid him away,
Seeking her sooth to say,
In what woful array
She was cast.
"Nay," said he, "but, sweet may,
Here must we bide until day:
Then to church and to pray
Go we fast."
Seeking her sooth to say,
In what woful array
She was cast.
"Nay," said he, "but, sweet may,
Here must we bide until day:
Then to church and to pray
Go we fast."
Now then to all his talént,
Seeing how he was bent,
Him the comfort she lent
Of her mind.
Cried Gobertz, well content,
"If love by dreariment
Cometh, that was well spent,
As I find."
Seeing how he was bent,
Him the comfort she lent
Of her mind.
Cried Gobertz, well content,
"If love by dreariment
Cometh, that was well spent,
As I find."
Thereafter somewhat they slept,
When to his arms she had crept
For comfort, and freely wept
Sin away.
Up betimes then he leapt,
Calling her name: forth she stept
Meek, disposed, to accept
What he say.
When to his arms she had crept
For comfort, and freely wept
Sin away.
Up betimes then he leapt,
Calling her name: forth she stept
Meek, disposed, to accept
What he say.
By hill road taketh he her
To the gray nuns of Beaucaire,
There to shred off her hair
And take veil.
Himself to cloister will fare
Monk to be, with good care
For their two souls. May his pray'r
Them avail!
To the gray nuns of Beaucaire,
There to shred off her hair
And take veil.
Himself to cloister will fare
Monk to be, with good care
For their two souls. May his pray'r
Them avail!
1911.