Collected Poems Volume I Part 29

Nearer he came and nearer! Her face was like a light!

Her eyes grew wide for a moment; she drew one last deep breath, Then her finger moved in the moonlight, Her musket shattered the moonlight, Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him--with her death.

VIII

He turned; he spurred to the West; he did not know who stood Bowed, with her head o'er the musket, drenched with her own red blood!

Not till the dawn he heard it, his face grew grey to hear How Bess, the landlord's daughter, The landlord's black-eyed daughter, Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.

IX

Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky, With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high!

Blood-red were his spurs i' the golden noon; wine-red was his velvet coat, When they shot him down on the highway, Down like a dog on the highway, And he lay in his blood on the highway, with the bunch of lace at his throat.

X

_And still of a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees, When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas, When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor, A highwayman comes riding-- Riding--riding-- A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door._

XI

_Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard; He taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred; He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there But the landlord's black-eyed daughter, Bess, the landlord's daughter, Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair._

THE HAUNTED PALACE

Come to the haunted palace of my dreams, My crumbling palace by the eternal sea, Which, like a childless mother, still must croon Her ancient sorrows to the cold white moon, Or, ebbing tremulously, With one pale arm, where the long foam-fringe gleams, Will gather her rustling garments, for a s.p.a.ce Of m.u.f.fled weeping, round her dim white face.

A princess dwelt here once: long, long ago This tower rose in the sunset like a prayer; And, through the witchery of that cas.e.m.e.nt, rolled In one soft cataract of faery gold Her wonder-woven hair; Her face leaned out and took the sacred glow Of evening, like the star that listened, high Above the gold clouds of the western sky.

Was there no prince behind her in the gloom, No crimson shadow of his rich array?

Her face leaned down to me: I saw the tears Bleed through her eyes with the slow pain of years, And her mouth yearned to say-- "Friend, is there any message, from the tomb Where love lies buried?" But she only said-- "Oh, friend, canst thou not save me from my dead?

"Canst thou not minister to a soul in pain?

Or hast thou then no comfortable word?

Is there no faith in thee wherewith to atone For his unfaith who left me here alone, Heart-sick with hope deferred; Oh, since my love will never come again, Bring'st thou no respite through the desolate years, Respite from these most unavailing tears?"

Then saw I, and mine own tears made response, Her woman's heart come breaking through her eyes; And, as I stood beneath the tower's grey wall, She let the soft waves of her deep hair fall Like flowers from Paradise Over my fevered face: then all at once Pity was pa.s.sion; and like a sea of bliss Those waves rolled o'er me drowning for her kiss.

Seven years we dwelt together in that tower, Seven years in that old palace by the sea, And sitting at that cas.e.m.e.nt, side by side, She told me all her pain: how love had died Now for all else but me; Yet how she had loved that other: like a flower Her red lips parted and with low sweet moan She pressed their tender suffering on mine own.

And always with vague eyes she gazed afar, Out through the cas.e.m.e.nt o'er the changing tide; And slowly was my heart's hope brought to nought That some day I should win each wandering thought And make her my soul's bride: Still, still she gazed across the cold sea-bar; Ay; with her hand in mine, still, still and pale, Waited and watched for the unreturning sail.

And I, too, watched and waited as the years Rolled on; and slowly was I brought to feel How on my lips she met her lover's kiss, How my heart's pulse begat an alien bliss; And cold and hard as steel For me those eyes were, though their tender tears Were salt upon my cheek; and then one night I saw a sail come through the pale moonlight.

And like an alien ghost I stole away, And like a breathing lover he returned; And in the woods I dwelt, or sometimes crept Out in the grey dawn while the lovers slept And the great sea-tides yearned Against the iron sh.o.r.es; and faint and grey The tower and the shut cas.e.m.e.nt rose above: And on the earth I sobbed out all my love.

At last, one royal rose-hung night in June, When the warm air like purple Hippocrene Brimmed the dim valley and sparkled into stars, I saw them cross the foam-lit sandy bars And dark pools, glimmering green, To bathe beneath the honey-coloured moon: I saw them swim out from that summer sh.o.r.e, Kissed by the sea, but they returned no more.

And into the dark palace, like a dream Remembered after long oblivious years, Through the strange open doors I crept and saw As some poor pagan might, with reverent awe, And deep adoring tears, The moonlight through that painted window stream Over the soft wave of their vacant bed; There sank I on my knees and bowed my head,

For as a father by a cradle bows, Remembering two dead children of his own, I knelt; and by the cry of the great deep Their love seemed like a murmuring in their sleep, A little fevered moan, A little tossing of childish arms that shows How dreams go by! "If I were G.o.d," I wept, "I would have pity on children while they slept."

The days, the months, the years drift over me; This is my habitation till I die: Nothing is changed; they left that open book Beside the window. Did he sit and look Up at her face as I Looked while she read it, and the enchanted sea With rich eternities of love unknown Fulfilled the low sweet music of her tone?

So did he listen, looking in her face?

And did she ever pause, remembering so The heart that bore the whole weight of her pain Until her own heart's love returned again?

In the still evening glow I sit and listen in this quiet place, And only hear--like notes of phantom birds-- Their perished kisses and little broken words.

_Come to the haunted palace of my dreams, My crumbling palace by the eternal sea, Which, like a childless mother, still must croon Her ancient sorrows to the cold white moon, Or, ebbing tremulously, With one pale arm, where the long foam-fringe gleams, Will gather her rustling garments, for a s.p.a.ce Of m.u.f.fled weeping, round her dim white face._

THE SCULPTOR

This is my statue: cold and white It stands and takes the morning light!

The world may flout my hopes and fears, Yet was my life's work washed with tears Of blood when this poor hand last night Finished the pain of years.

Speak for me, patient lips of stone, Blind eyes my lips have rested on So often when the o'er-weary brain Would grope to human love again, And found this grave cold mask alone And the tears fell like rain.

Ay; is this all? Is this the brow I fondled, never wondering how It lived--the face of pain and bliss That through the marble met my kiss?

Oh, though the whole world praise it now, Let no man dream it is!

They blame; they cannot blame aright Who never knew what infinite Deep loss must shame me most of all!

They praise; like earth their praises fall Into a tomb. The hour of light Is flown beyond recall.

Yet have I seen, yet have I known, And oh, not tombed in cold white stone The dream I lose on earth below; And I shall come with face aglow And find and claim it for my own Before G.o.d's throne, I know.

SUMMER

(AN ODE)