1
MUSE.
Will Love again awake,
That lies asleep so long?
POET.
O hush! ye tongues that shake
The drowsy night with song.
MUSE.
It is a lady fair
Whom once he deigned to praise,
That at the door doth dare
POET.
She must be fair of face,
As bold of heart she seems,
If she would match her grace
With the delight of dreams.
MUSE.
Her beauty would surprise
Gazers on Autumn eves,
Who watched the broad moon rise
Upon the scattered sheaves.
POET.
O sweet must be the voice
He shall descend to hear,
Who doth in Heaven rejoice
His most enchanted ear.
MUSE.
The smile, that rests to play
Upon her lip, foretells
What musical array
POET.
And yet her smiles have danced
In vain, if her discourse
Win not the soul entranced
In divine intercourse.
MUSE.
She will encounter all
This trial without shame,
Her eyes men Beauty call,
And Wisdom is her name.
POET.
Throw back the portals then,
Ye guards, your watch that keep,
Love will awake again
That lay so long asleep.
2
A PASSER-BY
Whither, O splendid ship, thy white sails crowding,
Leaning across the bosom of the urgent West,
That fearest nor sea rising, nor sky clouding,
Whither away, fair rover, and what thy quest?
Ah! soon, when Winter has all our vales opprest,
When skies are cold and misty, and hail is hurling,
Wilt thóu glíde on the blue Pacific, or rest
In a summer haven asleep, thy white sails furling.
I there before thee, in the country that well thou knowest,
Already arrived am inhaling the odorous air:
I watch thee enter unerringly where thou goest,
And anchor queen of the strange shipping there,
Thy sails for awnings spread, thy masts bare:
Nor is aught from the foaming reef to the snow-capped, grandest
Peak, that is over the feathery palms more fair
Than thou, so upright, so stately, and still thou standest.
And yet, O splendid ship, unhailed and nameless,
I know not if, aiming a fancy, I rightly divine
That thou hast a purpose joyful, a courage blameless,
Thy port assured in a happier land than mine.
But for all I have given thee, beauty enough is thine,
As thou, aslant with trim tackle and shrouding,
From the proud nostril curve of a prow’s line
In the offing scatterest foam, thy white sails crowding.
3
LATE SPRING EVENING
I saw the Virgin-mother clad in green,
Walking the sprinkled meadows at sundown;
While yet the moon’s cold flame was hung between
The day and night, above the dusky town:
I saw her brighter than the Western gold,
Whereto she faced in splendour to behold.
Her dress was greener than the tenderest leaf
That trembled in the sunset glare aglow:
Herself more delicate than is the brief,
Pink apple-blossom, that May showers lay low,
And more delicious than’s the earliest streak
The blushing rose shows of her crimson cheek.
As if to match the sight that so did please,
A music entered, making passion fain:
Three nightingales sat singing in the trees,
And praised the Goddess for the fallen rain;
Which yet their unseen motions did arouse,
Or parting Zephyrs shook out from the boughs.
And o’er the treetops, scattered in mid air,
The exhausted clouds, laden with crimson light
Floated, or seemed to sleep; and, highest there,
One planet broke the lingering ranks of night;
Daring day’s company, so he might spy
The Virgin-queen once with his watchful eye.
And when I saw her, then I worshipped her,
And said,—O bounteous Spring, O beauteous Spring,
Mother of all my years, thou who dost stir
My heart to adore thee and my tongue to sing,
Flower of my fruit, of my heart’s blood the fire,
Of all my satisfaction the desire!
How art thou every year more beautiful,
Younger for all the winters thou hast cast:
And I, for all my love grows, grow more dull,
Decaying with each season overpast!
In vain to teach him love must man employ thee,
The more he learns the less he can enjoy thee.
4
WOOING
I know not how I came,
New on my knightly journey,
To win the fairest dame
That graced my maiden tourney.
Chivalry’s lovely prize
With all men’s gaze upon her,
Why did she free her eyes
On me, to do me honour?
Ah! ne’er had I my mind
With such high hope delighted,
Had she not first inclined,
And with her eyes invited.
But never doubt I knew,
Having their glance to cheer me,
Until the day joy grew
Too great, too sure, too near me.
When hope a fear became,
And passion, grown too tender,
Now trembled at the shame
Of a despised surrender;
And where my love at first
Saw kindness in her smiling,
I read her pride, and cursed
The arts of her beguiling.
Till winning less than won,
And liker wooed than wooing,
Too late I turned undone
Away from my undoing;
And stood beside the door,
Whereto she followed, making
My hard leave-taking more
Hard by her sweet leave-taking.
Her speech would have betrayed
Her thought, had mine been colder:
Her eyes distress had made
A lesser lover bolder.
But no! Fond heart, distrust,
Cried Wisdom, and consider:
Go free, since go thou must;—
And so farewell I bid her.
And brisk upon my way
I smote the stroke to sever,
And should have lost that day
My life’s delight for ever:
But when I saw her start
And turn aside and tremble;—
Ah! she was true, her heart
I knew did not dissemble.