Shall my soul
Forget the agonized message which he sent,
Bidding me come? For that accursèd robe,
Stained with the poisonous accursèd blood,
Even in the midmost flush of sacrifice
Clung to him a devouring fire, and ate
The piteous flesh from his dear limbs, and stung
His great soft soul to madness. When I came,
Knowing it was my work, he bent on me,
Wise as a god through suffering and the near
Inevitable Death, so that no word
Of mine was needed, such a tender look
Of mild reproach as smote me. 'Couldst not thou
Trust me, who never loved as I love thee?
What need was there of magical arts to draw
The love that never wavered? I have lived
As he lives who through perilous paths must pass,
And lifelong trials, striving to keep down
The brute within him, born of too much strength
And sloth and vacuous days; by difficult toils,
Labours endured, and hard-fought fights with ill,
Now vanquished, now triumphant; and sometimes,
In intervals of too long labour, finding
His nature grown too strong for him, falls prone
Awhile a helpless prey, then once again
Rises and spurns his chains, and fares anew
Along the perilous ways. Dearest, I would
That thou wert wedded to some knight who stayed
At home within thy gates, and were content
To see thee happy. But for me the fierce
Rude energies of life, the mighty thews,
The god-sent hate of Wrong, these drove me forth
To quench the thirst of battle. See, this maid,
This is the bride I destined for our son
Who grows to manhood. Do thou see to her
When I am dead, for soon I know again
The frenzy comes, and with it ceasing, death.
Go, therefore, ere I harm thee when my strength
Has lost its guidance. Thou wert rich in love,
Be now as rich in faith. Dear, for thy wrong
I do forgive thee.'

When I saw the glare
Of madness fire his eyes, and my ears heard
The groans the torture wrung from his great soul,
I fled with broken heart to the white shrine,
And knelt in prayer, but still my sad ear took
The agony of his cries.

Then I who knew
There was no hope in god or man for me
Who had destroyed my Love, and with him slain
The champion of the suffering race of men,
And knowing that my soul, though innocent
Of blood, was guilty of unfaith and vile
Mistrust, and wrapt in weakness like a cloak,
And made the innocent tool of hate and wrong,
Against all love and good; grown sick and filled
With hatred of myself, rose from my knees,
And went a little space apart, and found
A gnarled tree on the cliff, and with my scarf
Strangling myself, swung lifeless.

But in death
I found him not. For, building a vast pile
Of scented woods on Oeta, as they tell,
My hero with his own hand lighted it,
And when the mighty pyre flamed far and wide
Over all lands and seas, he climbed on it
And laid him down to die; but pitying Zeus,
Before the swift flames reached him, in a cloud
Descending, snatched the strong brave soul to heaven,
And set him mid the stars.

Wherefore am I
Of all the blameless shades within this place
The most unhappy, if of blame, indeed,
I bear no load. For what is Sin itself,
But Error when we miss the road which leads
Up to the gate of heaven? Ignorance!
What if we be the cause of ignorance?
Being blind who might have seen! Yet do I know
But self-inflicted pain, nor stain there is
Upon my soul such as they bear who know
The dreadful scourge with which the stern judge still
Lashes their sins. I am forgiven, I know,
Who loved so much, and one day, if Zeus will,
I shall go free from hence, and join my Lord,
And be with him again."

And straight I seemed,
Passing, to look upon some scarce-spent life,
Which knows to-day the irony of Fate
In self-inflicted pain.

Together clung
The ghosts whom next I saw, bound three in one
By some invisible bond. A sire of port
God-like as Zeus, to whom on either hand
A tender stripling clung. I knew them well,
As all men know them. One fair youth spake low:
"Father, it does not pain me now, to be
Drawn close to thee, and by a double bond,
With this my brother." And the other: "Nay,
Nor me, O father; but I bless the chain
Which binds our souls in union. If some trace
Of pain still linger, heed it not—'tis past:
Still let us cling to thee."

He with grave eyes
Full of great tenderness, upon his sons
Looked with the father's gaze, that is so far
More sweet, and sad, and tender, than the gaze
Of mothers,—now on this one, now on that,
Regarding them. "Dear sons, whom on the earth
I loved and cherished, it was hard to watch
Your pain; but now 'tis finished, and we stand
For ever, through all future days of time,
Symbols of patient suffering undeserved,
Endured and vanquished. Yet sad memory still
Brings back our time of trial.

For the day
Broke fair when I, the dread Poseidon's priest,
Joyous because the unholy strife was done,
And seeing the blue waters now left free
Of hostile keels—save where upon the verge
Far off the white sails faded—rose at dawn,
And white robed, and in garb of sacrifice,
And with the sacred fillet round my brows,
Stood at the altar; and behind, ye twain,
Decked by your mother's hand with new-cleansed robes,
And with fresh flower-wreathed chaplets on your curls,
Attended, and your clear young voices made
Music that touched your father's eyes with tears,
If not the careless gods. I seem to hear
Those high sweet accents mounting in the hymn
Which rose to all the blessed gods who dwelt
Upon the far Olympus—Zeus, the Lord,
And Sovereign Heré, and the immortal choir
Of Deities, but chiefly to the dread
Poseidon, him who sways the purple sea
As with a sceptre, shaking the fixed earth
With stress of thundering surges. By the shrine
The meek-eyed victim, for the sacrifice,
Stood with his gilded horns. The hymns were done,
And I in act to strike, when all the crowd
Who knelt behind us, with a common fear
Cried, with a cry that well might freeze the blood,
And then, with fearful glances towards the sea,
Fled, leaving us alone—me, the high priest,
And ye, the acolytes; forlorn of men,
Alone, but with our god.

But we stirred not:
We could not flee, who in the solemn act
Of worship, and the ecstasy which comes
To the believer's soul, saw heaven revealed,
The mysteries unveiled, the inner sky
Which meets the enraptured gaze. How should we fear
Who thus were god-encircled! So we stood
While the long ritual spent itself, nor cast
An eye upon the sea. Till as I came
To that great act which offers up a life
Before life's Lord, and the full mystery
Was trembling to completion, quick I heard
A stifled cry of agony, and knew
My children's voices. And the father's heart,
Which is far more than rite or service done
By man for god, seeing that it is divine
And comes from God to men—this rising in me,
Constrained me, and I ceased my prayer, and turned
To succour you, and lo! the awful coils
Which crushed your lives already, bound me round
And crushed me also, as you clung to me,
In common death. Some god had heard the prayer,
And lo! we were ourselves the sacrifice—
The priest, the victim, the accepted life,
The blood, the pain, the salutary loss.

Was it not better thus to cease and die
Together in one blest moment, mid the flush
And ecstasy of worship, and to know
Ourselves the victims? They were wrong who taught
That 'twas some jealous goddess who destroyed
Our lives, revengeful for discovered wiles,
Or hateful of our land. Not readily
Should such base passions sway the immortal gods;
But rather do I hold it sooth indeed
That Zeus himself it was, who pitying
The ruin he foreknew, yet might not stay,
Since mightier Fate decreed it, sent in haste
Those dreadful messengers, and bade them take
The pious lives he loved, before the din
Of midnight slaughter woke, and the fair town
Flamed pitifully to the skies, and all
Was blood and ruin. Surely it was best
To die as we did, and in death to live,
A vision for all ages of high pain
Which passes into beauty, and is merged
In one accordant whole, as discords merge
In that great Harmony which ceaseless rings
From the tense chords of life, than to have lived
Our separate lives, and died our separate deaths,
And left no greater mark than drops which rain
Upon the unbounded sea. Those hosts which fell
Before the Scæan gate upon the sand,
Nor found a bard to sing their fate, but left
Their bones to dogs and kites—were they more blest
Than we who, in the people's sight before
Ilium's unshattered towers, lay down to die
Our swift miraculous death? Dear sons, and good,
Dear children of my love, how doubly dear
For this our common sorrow; suffering weaves
Not only chains of darkness round, but binds
A golden glittering link, which though withdrawn
Or felt no longer, knits us soul to soul,
In indissoluble bonds, and draws our lives
So close, that though the individual life
Be merged, there springs a common life which grows
To such dread beauty, as has power to take
The sting from sorrow, and transform the pain
Into transcendent joy: as from the storm
The unearthly rainbow draws its myriad hues
And steeps the world in fairness. All our lives
Are notes that fade and sink, and so are merged
In the full harmony of Being. Dear sons,
Cling closer to me. Life nor Death has torn
Our lives asunder, as for some, but drawn
Their separate strands together in a knot
Closer than Life itself, stronger than Death,
Insoluble as Fate."

Then they three clung
Together—the strong father and young sons,
And in their loving eyes I saw the Pain
Fade into Joy, Suffering in Beauty lost,
And Death in Love!

By a still sullen pool,
Into its dark depths gazing, lay the ghost
Whom next I passed. In form, a lovely youth,
Scarce passed from boyhood. Golden curls were his,
And wide blue eyes. The semblance of a smile
Came on his lip—a girl's but for the down
Which hardly shaded it; but the pale cheek
Was soft as any maiden's, and his robe
Was virginal, and at his breast he bore
The perfumed amber cup which, when March comes
Gems the dry woods and windy wolds, and speaks
The resurrection.

Looking up, he said:
"Methought I saw her then, my love, my fair,
My beauty, my ideal; the dim clouds
Lifted, methought, a little—or was it
Fond Fancy only? For I know that here
No sunbeam cleaves the twilight, but a mist
Creeps over all the sky and fields and pools,
And blots them; and I know I seek in vain
My earth-sought beauty, nor can Fancy bring
An answer to my thought from these blind depths
And unawakened skies. Yet has use made
The quest so precious, that I keep it here,
Well knowing it is vain.

On the old earth
'Twas otherwise, when in fair Thessaly
I walked regardless of all nymphs who sought
My love, but sought in vain, whether it were
Dryad or Naiad from the woods or streams,
Or white-robed Oread fleeting on the side
Of fair Olympus, echoing back my sighs,
In vain, for through the mountains day by day
I wandered, and along the foaming brooks,
And by the pine-woods dry, and never took
A thought for love, nor ever 'mid the throng
Of loving nymphs who knew me beautiful
I dallied, unregarding; till they said
Some died for love of me, who loved not one.
And yet I cared not, wandering still alone
Amid the mountains by the scented pines.

Till one fair day, when all the hills were still,
Nor any breeze made murmur through the boughs,
Nor cloud was on the heavens, I wandered slow,
Leaving the nymphs who fain with dance and song
Had kept me 'midst the glades, and strayed away
Among the pines, enwrapt in fantasy,
And by the beechen dells which clothe the feet
Of fair Olympus, wrapt in fantasy,
Weaving the thin and unembodied shapes
Which Fancy loves to body forth, and leave
In marble or in song; and so strayed down
To a low sheltered vale above the plains,
Where the lush grass grew thick, and the stream stayed
Its garrulous tongue; and last upon the bank
Of a still pool I came, where was no flow
Of water, but the depths were clear as air,
And nothing but the silvery gleaming side
Of tiny fishes stirred. There lay I down
Upon the flowery bank, and scanned the deep,
Half in a waking dream.

Then swift there rose,
From those enchanted depths, a face more fair
Than ever I had dreamt of, and I knew
My sweet long-sought ideal: the thick curls,
Like these, were golden, and the white robe showed
Like this; but for the wondrous eyes and lips,
The tender loving glance, the sunny smile
Upon the rosy mouth, these knew I not,
Not even in dreams; and yet I seemed to trace
Myself within them too, as who should find
His former self expunged, and him transformed
To some high thin ideal, separate
From what he was, by some invisible bar,
And yet the same in difference. As I moved
My arms to clasp her to me, lo! she moved
Her eager arms to mine, smiled to my smile,
Looked love to love, and answered longing eyes
With longing. When my full heart burst in words,
'Dearest, I love thee,' lo! the lovely lips,
'Dearest, I love thee,' sighed, and through the air
The love-lorn echo rang. But when I longed
To answer kiss with kiss, and stooped my lips
To her sweet lips in that long thrill which strains
Soul unto soul, the cold lymph came between
And chilled our love, and kept us separate souls
Which fain would mingle, and the self-same heaven
Rose, a blue vault above us, and no shade
Of earthly thing obscured us, as we lay
Two reflex souls, one and yet different,
Two sundered souls longing to be at one.

There, all day long, until the light was gone
And took my love away, I lay and loved
The image, and when night was come, 'Farewell,'
I whispered, and she whispered back, 'Farewell,'
With oh, such yearning! Many a day we spent
By that clear pool together all day long.
And many a clouded hour on the wet grass
I lay beneath the rain, and saw her not,
And sickened for her; and sometimes the pool
Was thick with flood, and hid her; and sometimes
Some cold wind ruffled those clear wells, and left
But glimpses of her, and I rose at eve
Unsatisfied, a cold chill in my limbs
And fever at my heart: until, too soon!
The summer faded, and the skies were hid,
And my love came not, but a quenchless thirst
Wasted my life. And all the winter long
The bright sun shone not, or the thick ribbed ice
Obscured her, and I pined for her, and knew
My life ebb from me, till I grew too weak
To seek her, fearing I should see no more
My dear. And so the long dead winter waned
And the slow spring came back.

And one blithe day,
When life was in the woods, and the birds sang,
And soft airs fanned the hills, I knew again
Some gleam of hope within me, and again
With feeble limbs crawled forth, and felt the spring
Blossom within me; and the flower-starred glades,
The bursting trees, the building nests, the songs,
The hurry of life revived me; and I crept,
Ghost-like, amid the joy, until I flung
My panting frame, and weary nerveless limbs,
Down by the cold still pool.

And lo! I saw
My love once more, not beauteous as of old,
But oh, how changed! the fair young cheek grown pale,
The great eyes, larger than of yore, gaze forth
With a sad yearning look; and a great pain
And pity took me which were more than love,
And with a loud and wailing voice I cried,
'Dearest, I come again. I pine for thee,'
And swift she answered back, 'I pine for thee;'
'Come to me, oh, my own,' I cried, and she—
'Come to me, oh, my own.' Then with a cry
Of love I joined myself to her, and plunged
Beneath the icy surface with a kiss,
And fainted, and am here.

And now, indeed,
I know not if it was myself I sought,
As some tell, or another. For I hold
That what we seek is but our other self,
Other and higher, neither wholly like
Nor wholly different, the half-life the gods
Retained when half was given—one the man
And one the woman; and I longed to round
The imperfect essence by its complement,
For only thus the perfect life stands forth
Whole, self-sufficing. Worse it is to live
Ill-mated than imperfect, and to move
From a false centre, not a perfect sphere,
But with a crooked bias sent oblique
Athwart life's furrows. 'Twas myself, indeed,
Thus only that I sought, that lovers use
To see in that they love, not that which is,
But that their fancy feigns, and view themselves
Reflected in their love, yet glorified,
And finer and more pure.

Wherefore it is:
All love which finds its own ideal mate
Is happy—happy that which gives itself
Unto itself, and keeps, through long calm years,
The tranquil image in its eyes, and knows
Fulfilment and is blest, and day by day
Wears love like a white flower, nor holds it less
Though sharp winds bite, or hot suns fade, or age
Sully its perfect whiteness, but inhales
Its fragrance, and is glad. But happier still
He who long seeks a high goal unattained,
And wearies for it all his days, nor knows
Possession sate his thirst, but still pursues
The fleeting loveliness—now seen, now lost,
But evermore grown fairer, till at last
He stretches forth his arms and takes the fair
In one long rapture, and its name is Death."

Thus he; and seeing me stand grave: "Farewell.
If ever thou shouldst happen on a wood
In Thessaly, upon the plain-ward spurs
Of fair Olympus, take the path which winds
Through the close vale, and thou shalt see the pool
Where once I found my life. And if in Spring
Thou go there, round the margin thou shalt know
These amber blooms bend meekly, smiling down
Upon the crystal surface. Pluck them not.
But kneel a little while, and breathe a prayer
To the fair god of Love, and let them be.
For in those tender flowers is hid the life
That once was mine. All things are bound in one
In earth and heaven, nor is there any gulf
'Twixt things that live,—the flower that was a life,
The life that is a flower,—but one sure chain
Binds all, as now I know.

If there are still
Fair Oreads on the hills, say to them, sir,
They must no longer pine for me, but find
Some worthier lover, who can love again;
For I have found my love."

And to the pool
He turned, and gazed with lovely eyes, and showed
Fair as an angel.

Leaving him enwrapt
In musings, to a gloomy pass I came
Between dark rocks, where scarce a gleam of light,
Not even the niggard light of that dim land,
Might enter; and the soil was black and bare,
Nor even the thin growths which scarcely clothed
The higher fields might live. Hard by a cave
Which sloped down steeply to the lowest depths,
Whence dreadful sounds ascended, seated still,
Her head upon her hands, I saw a maid
With eyes fixed on the ground—not Tartarus
It was, but Hades; and she knew no pain,
Except her painful thought. Yet there it seemed,
As here, the unequal measure which awaits
The adjustment, and meanwhile, inspires the strife
Which rears life's palace walls; and fills the sail
Which bears our bark across unfathomed seas,
To its last harbour; this bore sway there too,
And 'twas a luckless shade which sat and wept
Amid the gloom, though blameless. Suddenly,
She raised her head, and lo! the long curls, writhed
Tangled, and snake-like—as the dripping hair
Of a dead girl who freed from life and shame,
From out the cruel wintry flow, is laid
Stark on the snow with dreadful staring eyes
Like hers. For when she raised her eyes to mine,
They chilled my blood, so great a woe they bore;
And as she gazed, wide-eyed, I knew my pulse
Beat slow, and my limbs stiffen. Then they wore,
At length, a softer look, and life revived
Within my breast as thus she softly spoke:

"Nay, friend, I would not harm thee. I have known
Great sorrow, and sometimes it racks me still,
And turns me into stone, and makes my eyes
As dreadful as of yore; and yet it comes
But seldom, as thou sawest, now, for Time
And Death have healing hands. Only I love
To sit within the darkness here, nor face
The throng of happier ghosts; if any ghost
Of happiness come here. For on the earth
They wronged me bitterly, and turned to stone
My heart, till scarce I knew if e'er I was
The happy girl of yore.

That youth who dreams
Up yonder by the margin of the lake,
Knew but a cold ideal love, but me
Love in unearthly guise, but bodily form,
Seized and betrayed.

I was a priestess once,
Of stern Athené, doing day by day
Due worship; raising, every dawn that came,
My cold pure hymns to take her virgin ear;
Nor sporting with the joyous company
Of youths and maids, who at the neighbouring shrine
Of Aphrodité served. Nor dance nor song
Allured me, nor the pleasant days of youth
And twilights 'mid the vines. They held me cold
Who were my friends in childhood. For my soul
Was virginal, and at the virgin shrine
I knelt, athirst for knowledge. Day by day
The long cold ritual sped, the liturgies
Were done, the barren hymns of praise went up
Before the goddess, and the ecstasy
Of faith possessed me wholly, till almost
I knew not I was woman. Yet I knew
That I was fair to see, and fit to share
Some natural honest love, and bear the load
Of children like the rest; only my soul
Was lost in higher yearnings.

Like a god,
He burst upon those pallid lifeless days,
Bringing fresh airs and salt, as from the sea,
And wrecked my life. How should a virgin know
Deceit, who never at the joyous shrine
Of Cypris knelt, but ever lived apart,
And so grew guilty? For if I had spent
My days among the throng, either my fault
Were blameless, or undone. For innocence
The tempter spreads his net. For innocence
The gods keep all their terrors. Innocence
It is that bears the burden, which for guilt
Is lightened, and the spoiler goes his way,
Uncaring, joyous, leaving her alone,
The victim and unfriended.

Was it just
In her, my mistress, who had had my youth,
To wreak such vengeance on me? I had erred,
It may be; but on him, whose was the guilt,
No heaven-sent vengeance lighted, but he sped
Away to other hearts across the deep,
Careless and free; but me, the cold stern eyes
Of the pure goddess withered; and the scorn
Of maids, despised before, and the great blank
Of love, whose love was gone—this wrung my heart,
And froze my blood; set on my brow despair,
And turned my gaze to stone, and filled my eyes
With horror, and stiffened the soft curls which once
Lay smooth and fair into such snake-like rings
As made my aspect fearful. All who saw,
Shrank from me and grew cold, and felt the warm,
Full tide of life freeze in them, seeing in me
Love's work, who sat wrapt up and lost in shame,
As in a cloak, consuming my own heart,
And was in hell already. As they gazed
Upon me, my despair looked forth so cold
From out my eyes, that if some spoiler came
Fresh from his wickedness, and looked on them,
Their glare would strike him dead; and those fair curls
Which once the accursèd toyed with, grew to be
The poisonous things thou seest; and so, with hate
Of man's injustice and the gods', who knew
Me blameless, and yet punished me; and sick
Of life and love, and loathing earth and sky,
And feeding on my sorrow, Hate at last
Left me a Fury.

Ah, the load of life
Which lives for hatred! We are made to love—
We women, and the injury which turns
The honey of our lives to gall, transforms
The angel to the fiend. For it is sweet
To know the dreadful sense of strength, and smite
And leave the tyrant dead with a glance; ay! sweet,
In that fierce lust of power, to slay the life
Which harmed not, when the suppliants' cry ascends
To ears which hate has deafened. So I lived
Long time in misery; to my sleepless eyes
No healing slumbers coming; but at length,
Zeus and the goddess pitying, I knew
Soft rest once more veiling my dreadful gaze
In peaceful slumbers. Then a blessed dream
I dreamt. For, lo! a god-like knight in mail
Of gold, who sheared with his keen flashing blade;
With scarce a pang of pain, the visage cold
Which too great sorrow left me; at one stroke
Clean from the trunk, and then o'er land and sea,
Invisible, sped with winged heels, to where,
Upon a sea-worn cape, a fair young maid,
More blameless even than I was, chained and bound,
Waited a monster from the deep and stood
In innocent nakedness. Then, as he rose,
Loathsome, from out the depths, a monstrous growth,
A creature wholly serpent, partly man,
The wrongs that I had known, stronger than death,
Rose up with such black hate in me again,
And wreathed such hissing poison through my hair,
And shot such deadly glances from my eyes,
That nought that saw might live. And the vile worm
Was slain, and she delivered. Then I dreamt
My mistress, whom I thought so stern to me,
Athené, set those dreadful staring eyes,
And that despairing visage, on her shield
Of chastity, and bears it evermore
To fright the waverer from the wrong he would,
And strike the unrepenting spoiler, dead."

Then for a little paused she, while I saw
Again her eyes grown dreadful, till once more,
And with a softer glance:

"From that blest dream
I woke not on the earth, but only here.
And now my pain is lightened since I know
My dream, which was a dream within the dream
Which is our life, fulfilled. And I have saved
Another through my suffering, and through her
A people. Oh, strange chain of sacrifice,
That binds an innocent life, and from its blood
And sorrow works out joy! Oh, mystery
Of pain and evil! wrong grown salutary,
And mighty to redeem! If thou shouldst see
A woman on the earth, who pays to-day
Like penalty of sin, and the new gods
(For after Saturn, Zeus ruled; after him
It may be there are others) love to take
The tender heart of girlhood, and to immure
Within a cold and cloistered cell the life
Which nature meant to bless, and if Love come
Hold her accursèd; or to some poor maid,
Forlorn and trusting, still the tempter comes
And works his wrong, and leaves her in despair
And shame and all abhorrence, while he goes
His way unpunished,—if thou know her eyes
Freeze thee like mine—oh! bid her lose her pain
In succouring others—say to her that Time
And Death have healing hands, and here there comes
To the forgiven transgressor only pain
Enough to chasten joy!"

And a soft tear
Trembled within her eyes, and her sweet gaze
Was as the Magdalen's, the horror gone
And a great radiance come.

Then as I passed
To upper air, I saw two figures rise
Together, one a woman with a grave
Fair face not all unhappy, and the robes
And presence of a queen; and with her walked
The fairest youth that ever maiden's dream
Conceived. And as they came, the throng of ghosts,
For these who were not wholly ghosts, arose,
And did them homage. Not the chain of love
Bound them, but such calm kinship as is bred
Of long and difficult pilgrimages borne
Through common perils by two souls which share
A common weary exile. Nor as ghosts
These showed, but rather like two lives which hung
Suspended in a trance. A halo of life
Played round them, and they brought a sweet brisk air
Tasting of earth and heaven, like sojourners
Who stayed but for awhile, and knew a swift
Release await them. First the youth it was
Who spake thus as they passed:

"Dread Queen, once more
I feel life stir within me, and my blood
Run faster, while a new strange cycle turns
And grows completed. Soon on the dear earth
Under the lively light of fuller day,
I shall revive me of my wound; and thou,
Passing with me yon cold and lifeless stream,
And the grim monster who will fawn on thee,
Shalt issue in royal pomp, and wreathed with flowers,
Upon the cheerful earth, leaving behind
A deeper winter for the ghosts who dwell
Within these sunless haunts; and I shall lie
Once more within loved arms, and thou shalt see
Thy early home, and kiss thy mother's cheek,
And be a girl again. But not for long;
For ere the bounteous Autumn spreads her hues
Of gold and purple, a cold voice will call
And bring us to these wintry lands once more,
As erst so often. Blest are we, indeed,
Above the rest, and yet I would I knew
The careless joys of old.

For in hot youth,
Oh, it was sweet to greet the balmy night
That was love's nurse, and feel the weary eyes
Closed by soft kisses,—sweet at early dawn
To wake refreshed and, scarce from loving arms
Leaping, to issue forth, with winding horn,
By dewy heath and brake, and taste the fair
Young breath of early morning; and 'twas sweet
To chase the bounding quarry all day long
With my true hounds and rapid steed, and gay
Companions of my youth, and with the eve
To turn home laden with the spoil, and take
The banquet which awaited, and sweet wine
Poured out, and kisses pressed on loving lips;
Circled by snowy arms. Oh, it was sweet
To be alive and young!

For sure it is
The gods gave not quick pulses and hot blood
And strength and beauty for no end, but would
That we should use them wisely; and the fair,
Sweet mistress of my service was, indeed,
Worthy of all observance. Oh, her eyes
When I lay bleeding! All day long we rode,
I and my youthful peers, with horse and hound,
And knew the joy of swift pursuit and toil
And peril. At the last, a fierce boar turned
At bay, and with his gleaming tusks o'erthrew
My steed, and as I fell upon the flowers,
Pierced me as with a sword. Then, as I lay,
I knew the strange slow chill which, stealing, tells
The young that it is death. Yet knew I not
Of pain or fear, only great pity, indeed,
That she should lose her love, who was so fond
And gracious. But when, lifting my dim gaze,
I saw her bend o'er me,—the lovely eyes
Suffused with tears, and her sweet smile replaced
By agonized sorrow,—for a while I stayed
Life's ebbing tide, and raised my cold, white lips,
With a faint smile, to hers. Then, with a kiss—
One long last kiss, we mingled, and I knew
No more.

But even in death, so strong is Love,
I could not wholly die; and year by year,
When the bright springtime comes, and the earth lives,
Love opens these dread gates, and calls me forth
Across the gulf. Not here, indeed, she comes,
Being a goddess and in heaven, but smooths
My path to the old earth, where still I know
Once more the sweet lost days, and once again
Blossom on that soft breast, and am again
A youth, and rapt in love; and yet not all
As careless as of yore; but seem to know
The early spring of passion, tamed by time
And suffering, to a calmer, fuller flow,
Less fitful, but more strong."

Then the sad Queen
"Fair youth, thy lot I know, for I am old
As the old earth and yet as young as is
The budding spring, and I was here a Queen,
When Love was not or Time, and to my arms
Thou camest as a little child, to dwell
Within the halls of Death, for without Death
There were nor Birth nor Love, nor would Life yearn
To lose itself within another life,
And dying, to be born. I, too, have died
For love in part, and live again through love;
For in the far-off years, when Time was young,
And Love unborn on earth, and Zeus in heaven
Ruled, a young sovereign; I, a maiden, dwelt
With dread Demeter on the lovely plains
Of sunny Sicily. There, day by day,
I sported with the maiden goddesses,
In virgin freedom. Budding age made gay
Our lightsome feet, and on the flowery slopes
We wandered daily, gathering flowers to weave
In careless garlands for our locks, and passed
The days in innocent gladness. Thought of Love
There came not to us, for as yet the earth
Was virginal, nor yet had Eros come
With his delicious pain.

And one fair morn—
Not all the ages blot it—on the side
Of Ætna we were straying. There was then
Summer nor winter, springtide nor the time
Of harvest, but the soft unfailing sun
Shone always, and the sowing time was one
With reaping; fruit and flower together sprung
Upon the trees; and blade and ripened ear
Together clothed the plains. There, as I strayed,
Sudden a black cloud down the rugged side
Of Ætna, mixed with fire and dreadful sound
Of thunder, rolled around me, and I heard
The maids who were my fellows turn and flee
With shrieks and cries for me.

But I, I knew
No terror while the god o'ershadowed me,
Hiding my life in his, nor when I wept
My flowers all withered, and my blood ran slow
Within a wintry land. Some voice there was
Which said, 'Fear not. Thou shalt return and see
Thy mother again, only a little while
Fate wills that thou shouldst tarry, and become
Queen of another world. Thou seest that all
Thy flowers are faded. They shall live again
On earth, as thou shalt, as thou livest now
The Life of Death—for what is Death but Life
Suspended as in sleep? The changeless rule
Where life was constant, and the sun o'erhead,
Blazed forth for ever, changes and is hidden
Awhile. This region which thou seest, where all
The trees are lifeless, and the flowers are dead,
Is but the self-same earth on which erewhile
Thou sportedst fancy free.'

So, without fear
I wandered on this bare land, seeing far
Upon the sky the peaks of my own hills
And crests of my own woods. Till, when I grew
Hungered, ere yet another form I saw;
Along the silent alleys journeying,
And leafless groves; a fair and mystic tree
Rose like a heart in shape, and 'mid its leaves
One golden mystic fruit with a fair seed
Hid in it. This, with childish hand, I took
And ate, and straight I knew the tree was Life,
And the fruit Death, and the hid seed was Love.

Ah, sweet strange fruit! the which if any taste
They may no longer keep their lives of old
Or their own selves unchanged, but some weird change
And subtle alchemy comes which can transmute
The blood, and mould the spirits of gods and men
In some new magical form. Not as before,
Our life comes to us, though the passion cools,
No, never as before. My mother came
Too late to seek me. She had power to raise
A life from out Death's grasp, but from the arms
Of Love she might not take me, nor undo
Love's past for all her strength. She came and sought
With fires her daughter over land and sea,
Beyond the paths of all the setting stars,
In vain, and over all the earth in vain,
Seeking whom love disguised. Then on all lands
She cast the spell of barrenness; the wheat
Was blighted in the ear, the purple grapes
Blushed no more on the vines, and all the gods
Were sorrowful, seeing the load of ill
My rape had laid on men. Last, Zeus himself,
Pitying the evil that was done, sent forth
His messenger beyond the western rim
To fetch me back to earth.

But not the same
He found me who had eaten of Love's seed,
But changed into another; nor could his power
Prevail to keep me wholly on the earth,
Or make me maid again. The wintry life
Is homelier often than the summer blaze
Of happiness unclouded; so, when Spring
Comes on the world, I, coming, cross with thee,
Year after year, the cruel icy stream;
And leave this anxious sceptre and the shades
Of those in hell, or those for whom, though blest,
No Spring comes, till the last great Spring which brings
New heavens and new earth; and lay my head
Upon my mother's bosom, and grow young,
And am a girl again.

A soft air breathes
Across the stream and fills these barren fields
With the sweet odours of the earth. I know
Again the perfume of the violets
Which bloom on Ætna's side. Soon we shall pass
Together to our home, while round our feet
The crocus flames like gold, the wind-flowers white
Wave their soft petals on the breeze, and all
The choir of flowers lift up their silent song
To the unclouded heavens. Thou, fair boy,
Shalt lie within thy love's white arms again,
And I within my mother's. Sweet is Love
In ceasing and renewal; nay, in these
It lives and has its being. Thou couldst not keep
Thy youth as now, if always on the breast
Of love too late a lingerer thou hadst known
Possession sate thee. Nor might I have kept
My mother's heart, if I had lived to ripe
And wither on the stalk. Time calls and Change
Commands both men and gods, and speeds us on
We know not whither; but the old earth smiles
Spring after Spring, and the seed bursts again
Out of its prison mould, and the dead lives
Renew themselves, and rise aloft and soar
And are transformed, clothing themselves with change
Till the last change be done."

As thus she spake,
I saw a gleam of light flash from the eyes
Of all the listening shades, and a great joy
Thrill through the realms of Death.

And then again
A youthful shade I saw, a comely boy,
With lip and cheek just touched with manly down,
And strong limbs wearing Spring; in mien and garb
A youthful chieftain, with a perfect face
Of fresh young beauty, clustered curls divine,
And chiselled features like a sculptured god,
But warm and breathing life; only the eyes,
The fair large eyes, were full of dreaming thought,
And seemed to gaze beyond the world of sight,
On a hid world of beauty. Him I stayed,
Accosting with soft words of courtesy;
And, on a bank of scentless flowers reclined,
He answered thus:

"Not for the garish sun
I long, nor for the splendours of high noon
In this dim land I languish; for of yore
Full often, when the swift chase swept along
Through the brisk morn, or when my comrades called
To wrestling, or the foot-race, or to cleave
The sunny stream, I loved to walk apart,
Self-centred, sole; and when the laughing girls
To some fair stripling's oaten melody
Made ready for the dance, I heeded not;
Nor when to the loud trumpet's blast and blare
My peers rode forth to battle. For, one eve,
In Latmos, after a long day in June,
I stayed to rest me on a sylvan hill,
Where often youth and maid were wont to meet
Towards moonrise; and deep slumber fell on me
Musing on Love, just as the ruddy orb
Rose on the lucid night, set in a frame
Of blooming myrtle and sharp tremulous plane;
Deep slumber fell, and loosed my limbs in rest.

Then, as the full orb poised upon the peak,
There came a lovely vision of a maid,
Who seemed to step as from a golden car
Out of the low-hung moon. No mortal form,
Such as ofttimes of yore I knew and clasped
At twilight 'mid the vines at the mad feast
Of Dionysus, or the fair maids cold
Who streamed in white processions to the shrine
Of the chaste Virgin Goddess; but a shape
Richer and yet more pure. No thinnest veil
Obscured her; but each exquisite limb revealed,
Gleamed like a golden statue subtly wrought
By a great sculptor on the architrave
Of some high temple-front—only in her
The form was soft and warm, and charged with life,
And breathing. As I seemed to gaze on her,
Nearer she drew and gazed; and as I lay
Supine, as in a spell, the radiance stooped
And kissed me on the lips, a chaste, sweet kiss,
Which drew my spirit with it. So I slept
Each night upon the hill, until the dawn
Came in her silver chariot from the East,
And chased my Love away. But ever thus
Dissolved in love as in a heaven-sent dream,
Whenever the bright circle of the moon
Climbed from the hills, whether in leafy June
Or harvest-tide, or when they leapt and pressed
Red-thighed the spouting must, I walked apart
From all, and took no thought for mortal maid,
Nor nimble joys of youth; but night by night
I stole, when all were sleeping, to the hill,
And slumbered and was blest; until I grew
Possest by love so deep, I seemed to live
In slumber only, while the waking day
Showed faint as any vision.

So I turned
Paler and paler with the months, and climbed
The steep with laboured steps and difficult breath,
But still I climbed. Ay, though the wintry frost
Chained fast the streams and whitened all the fields,
I sought my mistress through the leafless groves,
And slumbered and was happy, till the dawn
Returning found me stretched out, cold and stark,
With life's fire nigh burnt out. Till one clear night,
When the birds shivered in the pines, and all
The inner heavens stood open, lo! she came,
Brighter and kinder still, and kissed my eyes
And half-closed lips, and drew my soul through them,
And in one precious ecstasy dissolved
My life. And thenceforth, ever on the hill
I lie unseen of man; a cold, white form,
Still young, through all the ages; but my soul,
Clothed in this thin presentment of old days,
Walks this dim land, where never moonrise comes,
Nor day-break, but a twilight waiting-time,
No more; and, ah! how weary! Yet I judge
My lot a higher far than his who spends
His youth on swift hot pleasure, quickly past;
Or theirs, my equals', who through long calm years
Grew sleek in dull content of wedded lives
And fair-grown offspring. Many a day for them,
While I was wandering here, and my bones bleached
Upon the rocks, the sweet autumnal sun
Beamed, and the grapes grew purple. Many a day
They heaped up gold, they knelt at festivals,
They waxed in high report and fame of men,
They gave their girls in marriage; while for me
Upon the untrodden peaks, the cold, grey morn,
The snows, the rains, the winds, the untempered blaze,
Beat year by year, until I turned to stone,
And the great eagles shrieked at me, and wheeled
Affrighted. Yet I judge it better indeed
To seek in life, as now I know I sought,
Some fair impossible Love, which slays our life,
Some fair ideal raised too high for man;
And failing to grow mad, and cease to be,
Than to decline, as they do who have found
Broad-paunched content and weal and happiness:
And so an end. For one day, as I know,
The high aim unfulfilled fulfils itself;
The deep, unsatisfied thirst is satisfied;
And through this twilight, broken suddenly,
The inmost heaven, the lucent stars of God,
The Moon of Love, the Sun of Life; and I,
I who pine here—I on the Latmian hill
Shall soar aloft and find them."

With the word,
There beamed a shaft of dawn athwart the skies,
And straight the sentinel thrush within the yew
Sang out reveillé to the hosts of day,
Soldierly; and the pomp and rush of life
Began once more, and left me there alone
Amid the awaking world.

Nay, not alone.
One fair shade lingered in the fuller day,
The last to come, when now my dream had grown
Half mixed with waking thoughts, as grows a dream
In summer mornings when the broader light
Dazzles the sleeper's eyes; and is most fair
Of all and best remembered, and becomes
Part of our waking life, when older dreams
Grow fainter, and are fled. So this remained
The fairest of the visions that I knew,
Most precious and most dear.

The increasing light
Shone through her, finer than the thinnest shade,
And yet most full of beauty; golden wings,
From her fair shoulders springing, seemed to lift
Her stainless feet from the cold ground and snatch
Their wearer into air; and in her eyes
Was such fair glance as comes from virgin love,
Long chastened and triumphant. Every trace
Of earth had vanished from her, and she showed
As one who walks a saint already in life,
Virgin or mother. Immortality
Breathed from those radiant eyes which yet had passed
Between the gates of death. I seemed to hear
The Soul of mortals speaking:

"I was born
Of a great race and mighty, and was grown
Fair, as they said, and good, and kept a life
Pure from all stain of passion. Love I knew not,
Who was absorbed in duty; and the Mother
Of gods and men, seeing my life more calm
Than human, hating my impassive heart,
Sent down her perfect son in wrath to earth,
And bade him break me.

But when Eros came,
It did repent him of the task, for Love
Is kin to Duty.

And within my life
I knew miraculous change, and a soft flame
Wherefrom the snows of Duty flushed to rose,
And the chill icy flow of mind was turned
To a warm stream of passion. Long I lived
Not knowing what had been, nor recognized
A Presence walking with me through my life,
As if by night, his face and form concealed:
A gracious voice alone, which none but I
Might hear, sustained me, and its name was Love.

Not as the earthly loves which throb and flush
Round earthly shrines was mine, but a pure spirit,
Lovelier than all embodied love, more pure
And wonderful; but never on his eyes
I looked, which still were hidden, and I knew not
The fashion of his nature; for by night,
When visual eyes are blind, but the soul sees,
Came he, and bade me seek not to enquire
Or whence he came or wherefore. Nor knew I
His name. And always ere the coming day,
As if he were the Sun-god, lingering
With some too well-loved maiden, he would rise
And vanish until eve. But all my being
Thrilled with my fair unearthly visitant
To higher duty and more glorious meed
Of action than of old, for it was Love
That came to me, who might not know his name.

Thus, ever rapt by dreams divine, I knew
The scorn that comes from weaker souls, which miss,
Being too low of nature, the great joy
Revealed to others higher; nay, my sisters,
Who being of one blood with me, made choice
To tread the lower ways of daily life,
Grew jealous of me, bidding me take heed
Lest haply 'twas some monstrous fiend I loved,
Such as in fable ofttimes sought and won
The innocent hearts of maids. Long time I held
My love too dear for doubt, who was so sweet
And lovable. But at the last the sneers,
The mystery which hid him, the swift flight
Before the coming dawn, the shape concealed,
The curious girlish heart, these worked on me
With an unsatisfied thirst. Not his own words:
'Dear, I am with thee only while I keep
My visage hidden; and if thou once shouldst see
My face, I must forsake thee: the high gods
Link Love with Faith, and he withdraws himself
From the full gaze of Knowledge'—not even these
Could cure me of my longing, or the fear
Those mocking voices worked; who fain would learn
The worst that might befall.

And one sad night,
Just as the day leapt from the hills and brought
The hour when he should go: with tremulous hands,
Lighting my midnight lamp in fear, I stood
Long time uncertain, and at length turned round
And gazed upon my love. He lay asleep,
And oh, how fair he was! The flickering light
Fell on the fairest of the gods, stretched out
In happy slumber. Looking on his locks
Of gold, and faultless face and smile, and limbs
Made perfect, a great joy and trembling took me
Who was most blest of women, and in awe
And fear I stooped to kiss him. One warm drop—
From the full lamp within my trembling hand,
Or a glad tear from my too happy eyes,
Fell on his shoulder.

Then the god unclosed
His lovely eyes, and with great pity spake:
'Farewell! There is no Love except with Faith,
And thine is dead! Farewell! I come no more.'
And straightway from the hills the full red sun
Leapt up, and as I clasped my love again,
The lovely vision faded from his place,
And came no more.

Then I, with breaking heart,
Knowing my life laid waste by my own hand,
Went forth and would have sought to hide my life
Within the stream of Death; but Death came not
To aid me who not yet was meet for Death.

Then finding that Love came not back to me,
I thought that in the temples of the gods
Haply he dwelt, and so from fane to fane
I wandered over earth, and knelt in each,
Enquiring for my Love; and I would ask
The priests and worshippers, 'Is this Love's shrine?
Sirs, have you seen the god?' But never at all
I found him. For some answered, 'This is called
The Shrine of Knowledge;' and another, 'This,
The Shrine of Beauty;' and another, 'Strength;'
And yet another, 'Youth.' And I would kneel
And say a prayer to my Love, and rise
And seek another. Long, o'er land and sea,
I wandered, till I was not young or fair,
Grown wretched, seeking my lost Love; and last,
Came to the smiling, hateful shrine where ruled
The queen of earthly love and all delight,
Cypris, but knelt not there, but asked of one
Who seemed her priest, if Eros dwelt with her.

Then to the subtle-smiling goddess' self
They led me. She with hatred in her eyes:
'What! thou to seek for Love, who art grown thin
And pale with watching! He is not for thee.
What Love is left for such? Thou didst despise
Love, and didst dwell apart. Love sits within
The young maid's eyes, making them beautiful.
Love is for youth, and joy, and happiness;
And not for withered lives. Ho! bind her fast.
Take her and set her to the vilest tasks,
And bend her pride by solitude and tears,
Who will not kneel to me, but dares to seek
A disembodied love. My son has gone
And left thee for thy fault, and thou shalt know
The misery of my thralls.'

Then in her house
They bound me to hard tasks and vile, and kept
My life from honour, chained among her slaves
And lowest ministers, taking despite
And injury for food, and set to bind
Their wounds whom she had tortured, and to feed
The pitiful lives which in her prisons pent
Languished in hopeless pain. There is no sight
Of suffering but I saw it, and was set
To succour it; and all my woman's heart
Was torn with the ineffable miseries
Which love and life have worked; and dwelt long time
In groanings and in tears.

And then, oh joy!
Oh miracle! once more at length again
I felt Love's arms around me, and the kiss
Of Love upon my lips, and in the chill
Of deepest prison cells, 'mid vilest tasks,
The glow of his sweet breath, and the warm touch
Of his invisible hand, and his sweet voice,
Ay, sweeter than of old, and tenderer,
Speak to me, pierce me, hold me, fold me round
With arms Divine, till all the sordid earth
Was hued like heaven, and Life's dull prison-house
Turned to a golden palace, and those low tasks
Grew to be higher works and nobler gains
Than any gains of knowledge, and at last
He whispered softly, 'Dear, unclose thine eyes.
Thou mayst look on me now. I go no more,
But am thine own for ever.'

Then with wings
Of gold we soared, I looking in his eyes,
Over yon dark broad river, and this dim land,
Scarce for an instant staying till we reached
The inmost courts of heaven.

But sometimes still
I come here for a little, and speak a word
Of peace to those who wait. The slow wheel turns,
The cycles round themselves and grow complete,
The world's year whitens to the harvest-tide,
And one word only am I sent to say
To those dear souls, who wait here, or who now
Breathe earthly air—one universal word
To all things living, and the word is 'Love.'"

Then soared she visibly before my gaze,
And the heavens took her, and I knew my eyes
Had seen the soul of man, the deathless soul,
Defeated, struggling, purified, and blest.

Then all the choir of happy waiting shades,
Heroes and queens, fair maidens and brave youths,
Swept by me, rhythmic, slow, as if they trod
Some unheard measure, passing where I stood
In fair procession, each with a faint smile
Upon the lip, signing "Farewell, oh shade!
It shall be well with thee, as 'tis with us,
If only thou art true. The world of Life,
The world of Death, are but opposing sides
Of one great orb, and the Light shines on both.
Oh, happy happy shade! Farewell! Farewell!"
And so they passed away.