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第7章 I. HERSELF(7)

They looked on us, and knew us and were known;While fast together, alive from the abyss, Clung the soul-wrung implacable close kiss;And pity of self through all made broken moan Which said, 'For once, for once, for once alone!'

And still Love sang, and what he sang was this:--III 'O ye, all ye that walk in Willow-wood, That walk with hollow faces burning white;What fathom-depth of soul-struck widowhood, What long, what longer hours, one lifelong night, Ere ye again, who so in vain have wooed Your last hope lost, who so in vain invite Your lips to that their unforgotten food, Ere ye, ere ye again shall see the light!

Alas! the bitter banks in Willowwood, With tear-spurge wan, with blood-wort burning red:

Alas! if ever such a pillow could Steep deep the soul in sleep till she were dead,--Better all life forget her than this thing, That Willowwood should hold her wandering!'

IV So sang he: and as meeting rose and rose Together cling through the wind's wellaway Nor change at once, yet near the end of day The leaves drop loosened where the heart-stain glows,--So when the song died did the kiss unclose;

And her face fell back drowned, and was as grey As its grey eyes; and if it ever may Meet mine again I know not if Love knows.

0nly I know that I leaned low and drank A long draught from the water where she sank, Her breath and all her tears and all her soul:

And as I leaned, I know I felt Love's face Pressed on my neck with moan of pity and grace, Till both our heads were in his aureole.

WITHOUT HER

What of her glass without her? The blank grey There where the pool is blind of the moon's face.

Her dress without her? The tossed empty space Of cloud-rack whence the moon has passed away.

Her paths without her? Day's appointed sway Usurped by desolate night. Her pillowed place Without her? Tears, ah me! for love's good grace, And cold forgetfulness of night or day.

What of the heart without her? Nay, poor heart, Of thee what word remains ere speech be still?

A wayfarer by barren ways and chill, Steep ways and weary, without her thou art, Where the long cloud, the long wood's counterpart, Sheds doubled darkness up the labouring hill.

LOVE'S FATALITY

Sweet Love,-- but oh! most dread Desire of Love Life-thwarted. Linked in gyves I saw them stand, Love shackled with Vain-longing, hand to hand:

And one was eyed as the blue vault above:

But hope tempestuous like a fire-cloud hove I' the other s gaze, even as in his whose wand Vainly all night with spell-wrought power has spann'd The unyielding caves of some deep treasure-trove.

Also his lips, two writhen flakes of flame, Made moan: 'Alas 0 Love, thus leashed with me!

Wing-footed thou, wing-shouldered, once born free:

And I, thy cowering self, in chains grown tame, Bound to thy body and soul, named with thy name, Life's iron heart, even Love's Fatality.'

STILLBORN LOVE

The hour which might have been yet might not be, Which man's and woman's heart conceived and bore Yet whereof life was barren,--on what shore Bides it the breaking of Time's weary sea?

Bondchild of all consummate joys set free, It somewhere sighs and serves, and mute before The house of Love, hears through the echoing door His hours elect in choral consonancy.

But lo! what wedded souls now hand in hand Together tread at last the immortal strand With eyes where burning memory lights love home?

Lo! how the little outcast hour has turned And leaped to them and in their faces yearned: --'I am your child: 0 parents, ye have come!'

TRUE WOMAN

To be a sweetness more desired than Spring;

A bodily beauty more acceptable Than the wild rose-tree's arch that crowns the fell;To be an essence more environing Than wine's drained juice; a music ravishing More than the passionate pulse of Philomel; -To be all this 'neath one soft bosom's swell That is the flower of life:--how strange a thing!

How strange a thing to be what Man can know But as a sacred secret! Heaven's own screen Hides her soul's purest depth and loveliest glow;Closely withheld, as all things most unseen,--The wave-bowered pearl, the heart-shaped seal of green That flecks the snowdrop underneath the snow.

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