A Lover's Litanies Part 11

xiv.

Yes, I will hope. I will not cease to turn My thoughts to thee, and cry to thee, and yearn As one in h.e.l.l may lift enamour'd eyes To some sweet soul beyond the central skies Whose face has slain him! For 'tis true, I swear: I have been murder'd by thy golden hair, And by the brightness of those fringed orbs That are at once my joy and my despair.

xv.

Winter is wild; but spring will come again; For there's compunction in the fever-pain That earth endures when, clamorous down the steep, The wind out-blows the curse it cannot keep.

And so, belike, thy scorn of me may change To something fairer than the fated range Of dole, and doubt, and pity, and reproof; And then my sighs may cease to seem so strange.

xvi.

For thou and I will meet and not be foes, E'en as the rue may stand beside the rose And not affront it,--as a lonely tree May guard a shrine and not upon the lea Be deem'd obtrusive,--as an errant knight May serve the sovereign of his soul's delight And not, thereby, be deem'd of less account Than he who keeps her daily in his sight.

xvii.

Reject me not that in the world of men, Among the wielders of the sword and pen I have, as 'twere, detractors by the score,-- Reject me not for faults that I deplore And fain would alter,--though, if I were wise, I'd blunt the edge thereof in some disguise Approved of thee! For I've a kind of hope That we'll be friends again ere summer dies.

xviii.

If this be true I'll greet thee with such fire That thou wilt throb thereat, as throbs a lyre, And give thine answer, too, without restraint, And neither frown at me nor fear a taint In my much zeal, that knows not any pause But, night and day, is constant to the laws Of its own making, and is fain to prove How leagued it is throughout to Honor's cause.

xix.

I will conceal from thee no thought of mine.

All will be clear as signing of a sign On marriage-scrips; and, though I tell thee so, The seas and streams of earth shall cease to flow Ere thou shalt find, in this world or the next, A love so proud, a faith so firmly s.e.x'd, As this of mine. For thou'rt the polar star To which I turn as minstrel to his text.

xx.

But woe's the hour! My heart is wounded sore, And soon may cease to take, as heretofore, Such keen delight in tears that comfort not, But evermore do seem to leave a blot On sorrow's teaching! Shall I muse thereon One season more, till hope and faith be gone?

Or must I look for comfort up in Heaven And then be slain by thee as night by dawn?

[Ill.u.s.tration: cherubs]

Tenth Litany.

GLORIA IN EXCELSIS.

Tenth Litany.

Gloria in Excelsis.

i.

O Love! O l.u.s.tre of the sunlit earth That knows thy step and revels in the worth Of thy much beauty! Is't thy will anew, Famed as thou art, to marvel that I sue With such persistence, and in such unrest Amid the frenzies of my pa.s.sion-quest?

Wilt look ungently, and without a tear, On all the pangs I bear at thy behest?

ii.

Morning and eve I cease not, when I kneel To my Redeemer for my spirit's weal And for my body's,--as becomes a man,-- Morning and eve I cease not in the span Of all my days, O thou Unconquer'd One!

To pray for thee, and do what may be done To re-acquire the friends.h.i.+p I have lost, Which is the holiest thing beneath the sun.

iii.

For what is fame that with so loud a voice O'ersways the nations? What the random choice Of sight and sound which makes the place we fill So fraught with good, so redolent of ill?

Where is the thunderstorm of yesternight That shook the clouds? And where the levin's blight That spake of chaos and the Judgment Day?

And where the wisdom of a king's delight?

iv.

Could I be kiss'd of thee, or crown'd of men, I'd choose the kiss. I'd be ordained then Lord of myself, and not the slave I seem To each new doubt. Our tryste was like a dream And yet 'twas true. For oft, by wonder-chance, We find the path to many a bright romance, And many a tilt and tourney of dear love In which the brave are vanquish'd by a glance.

v.

To lie alone with thee one little hour, And cling to thee as flower may cling to flower, With no rough thought beyond the peace thereof,-- To be thy comrade, and to don and doff The little chain that hangs about thy neck,-- To do all this, my Fair One! and to fleck Thine eyes with kisses, were a righteous deed, And not a thing for Love to hold in check.

vi.

Nay, there are dimples which I long to taste, And there's a girdle fit for Phoebe's waist Which I would loosen; for I have the skill To handle lilies; and, by Venus' will, I'd handle thee, and comfort thee therein.

For love's a sacrament I'd die to win, And not a toy nor yet a subterfuge; And not a pitfall for the feet of sin.

vii.

The searching suddenness of thy blue eyes, The flash thereof, the fire that in them lies,-- All this I yearn to,--all the soul of thee Shown in thy looks, as though to solace me In some disaster portion'd out as mine.

Where thou abidest, where thy limbs recline, Where thou'rt absorb'd in silence or in prayer, There stands a throne, there gleams a fairy shrine.

viii.

I am, indeed, more subject to thy sway Than trees are subject, in their tender way, To earth's great king revolving round the sphere.

I am thy suffering servant all the year; And when I wake thy name is on my lips, And when I sleep I feel thy finger-tips Press'd on mine eyes, as if thy wraith were there, To save my soul from night's entire eclipse.