Undertones Part 6

I.

While sunset burns and stars are few, And roses scent the fading light, And like a slim urn, dripping dew, A spirit carries through the night, The pearl-pale moon hangs new,-- I think of you, of you.

II.

While waters flow, and soft winds woo The golden-hearted bud with sighs; And, like a flower an angel threw, Out of the momentary skies A star falls burning blue,-- I dream of you, of you.

III.

While love believes, and hearts are true, So let me think, so let me dream; The thought and dream so wedded to Your face, that, far apart, I seem To see each thing you do, And be with you, with you.

FAeRY MORRIS

I.

The winds are whist; and, hid in mist, The moon hangs o'er the wooded height; The bushy bee, with unkempt head, Hath made the sunflower's disk his bed, And sleeps half-hid from sight.

The owlet makes us melody-- Come dance with us in Faery, Come dance with us to-night.

II.

The dew is damp; the glow-worm's lamp Blurs in the moss its tawny light; The great gray moth sinks, half-asleep, Where, in an elfin-laundered heap, The lily-gowns hang white.

The crickets make us minstrelsy-- Come dance with us in Faery, Come dance with us to-night.

III.

With scents of heat, dew-chilled and sweet, The new-cut hay smells by the bight; The ghost of some dead pansy bloom, The b.u.t.terfly dreams in the gloom, Its pied wings folded tight.

The world is lost in fantasy,-- Come dance with us in Faery, Come dance with us to-night.

THE WORLD'S DESIRE

The roses of voluptuousness Wreathe her dark locks and hide her eyes; Her limbs are flower-like nakedness, Wherethrough the fragrant blood doth press, The blossom-blood of Paradise.

She stands with Lilith finger tips, With Lilith hands; and gathers up The wild wine of all life; and sips With Lilith-laughter-lightened lips The soul as from a crystal cup.

What though she cast the cup away!

The empty bowl that flashed with wine!

Her curled lips' kiss, that stained the clay, Her fingers' touch--shall not these stay, That made its nothingness divine?

Through one again shall live the glow, Immortalizing, of her touch; And through the other, sweet to know How life swept flame once 'neath the snow Of her mooned b.r.e.a.s.t.s,--and this is much!

THE UNATTAINABLE

Mark thou! a shadow crowned with fire of h.e.l.l.

Man holds her in his heart as night doth hold The moonlight memories of day's dead gold; Or as a winter-withered asphodel In its dead loveliness holds scents of old.

And looking on her, lo, he thinks 'tis well.

Who would not follow her whose glory sits, Imperishably lovely on the air?

Who, from the arms of Earth's desire, flits With eyes defiant and rebellions hair?-- Hers is the beauty that no man shall share.

He who hath seen, what shall it profit him?

He who doth love, what shall his pa.s.sion gain?

When disappointment at her cup's bright brim Poisons the pleasure with the hemlock pain?

Hers is the pa.s.sion that no man shall drain.

How long, how long since Life hath touched her eyes, Making their night clairvoyant! And how long Since Love hath kissed her lips and made them wise, Binding her brow with prophecy and song!

Hope clad her nakedness in lovely lies, Giving into her hands the right of wrong!

Lo! in her world she sets pale tents of thought, Unearthly bannered; and her dreams' wild bands Besiege the heavens like a twilight fraught With recollections of lost stars. She stands Radiant as Lilith given from G.o.d's hands.

The golden rose of patience at her throat Drops fragrant petals--as a pensive tune Drops its surrendered sweetness note by note;-- And from her hands the buds of hope are strewn, Moon-flowers, mothered of the barren moon.

So in her flowers man seats him at her feet In star-faced wors.h.i.+p, knowing all of this; And now to him to die seems very sweet, Fed with the fire of her look and kiss; While in his heart the blood's tumultuous beat Drowns, in her own, the drowsing serpent's hiss.

He who hath dreamed but of her world shall give All of his soul unto her restlessly: He who hath seen but her far face shall live No more for things we name reality: Such is the power of her tyranny.

He, whom she wins, hath nothing 'neath the sun; Forgetting all that she may not forget He loves her, who still feeds his soul upon Dreams and desires, and doubt and vain regret,-- Life's bitter bread his heart's fierce tears make wet.

What word of wisdom hast thou, Life, to wake Him now! or song of magic now to dull The dreams he lives in! or what charm to break The spell that makes her evil beautiful!

What charm to show her beauty hides a snake, Whose basilisk eyes burn dark behind a skull.

REMEMBERED

Here in the dusk I see her face again As then I knew it, ere she fell asleep; Renunciation glorifying pain Of her soul's inmost deep.

I shall not see its like again! the brow Of pa.s.sive marble, purely aureoled,-- As some pale lily in the afterglow,-- With supernatural gold.

As if a rose should speak and, somehow heard By some strange sense, the unembodied sound Grow visible, her mouth was as a word A sweet thought falters 'round.