NOVEMBER PROTHALAMION
Rubicund Autumn, red as a cardinal, clasps his hands in the wine-chill air,
Shaking down gold from the tattered leafiness, waving his torch till the sky’s aflare,
Stars that sparkle like steel in a swordhilt burn the black water of night’s lagoons,
Out in the frost-rimed waste of the corn-field are yellow pumpkins bigger than moons!
Pilfer the nightingale’s throat, my jackdaw Muse of the rebel and dark pretends,
Steal one note from the silver babble that tells all Heaven a lark ascends!
Stretch but a claw toward the dream-voiced pipes that Pan left whispering under a tree!
Flute thou the tune to the rapturous dancers, let Io Hymen your cadence be!
“Io Hymen!”, a chorus of voices sung in the temple of Love the bright,
“Eros, lord of the honey and flame, we bring you guests for your hall to-night!
Grant them such marriage of heart and purpose as mates the hand to the perfect sword,
The lips of courage, the eyes of truth, and the body of ecstasy, Eros, Lord!
Grant that their years like rocketing gems of a necklace snapped at the throat of a priest,
Differ from each by the color and shape, but in ardor and excellence none are least!
Loose on them Trouble and Pain, swift leopards, to be taught and tamed by their crystal wills!
Fling to them mountains to overcome that their feet may be glad on the necks of the hills!
Every immortal must put on dust at a time all know or he is not God,
These shall take seizin of Death together, the dream shall break in the crumbling sod.
But they shall inherit the resurrection, when Death has unloosened his strangling cord!
Since they have endured they shall see your face where there is but Eternity, Eros, Lord!”
Therefore, Muse of the motley garments, indolent thief of obscure Romance,
Puff your cheeks to your penny whistle! fillip the feet of the flying dance!
Blow out your soul in a torrent of music—even the trees are like lamps ablaze!
This is the song of the red-leaf wedding that ended the jack-o’-lantern days!