WHITE SWAN SAILING.
FROM THE RUSSIAN.
White swan, sailing all the day,
Peering in the wave below
As thou sailest proud and slow,
Round and round, and to and fro,
Seekest thou another, say?
Seest thou, in vaults below,
Through the wave inscrutable,
Joy of heaven or woe of hell?
Cruel swan, why mock me so?
Scornful sailing to and fro,
Answering not my questionings,
While above thy snowy breast
Rises haughty neck and crest.
Sure, beneath thy folded wings,
Knowledge lies of many things—
Secrets that I long to know.
Voices of the hollow wave,
Whispering as from a grave,
Murmur to thy listening ear
Secrets that I fain would hear.
Lo, I see another crest
Mirrored in the wave below,
And a bosom white as snow
Sails majestical and slow,
Unto thine ’tis closely pressed;
Face to face and breast to breast,
Two white swans majestic go
Round and round and to and fro.
Peering through the hollow wave
As into an open grave,
Lo, I see another there;
Find the face and form of one,
Thought of whom I fain would shun
More than all beneath the sun;
Find a face already where
Time’s inexorable touch
Leaveth traces overmuch,
And steely fingers soon will tear,
Rending cruel furrows there.
Peering through the hollow wave,
Wistfully as in a grave,
Could I see another breast
As it was in Long Ago
(Or perhaps I dreamed it so),
Where my own might hope to rest;
Not of mine the counterpart,
But a bosom white as snow,
Proud, but tender, pressed to mine,
As thy double unto thine;
Would the rapture slay me, say?
Swelling, welling from my heart,
Soul and body rend apart?
Would the rapture slay me? nay,
Such a death were sweeter bliss
Than I find in life like this.