ISI-COLLIN.
1878—.
TO THE MUSE.
Skilful the rune of symbols to unravel,
And mute avowals hearkened unawares,
Before the light from lips of flowers fares
With chosen petals I have strown the gravel.
She I awaited came not to the lawn,
And, solitary, I have chased all night
The lilac's and the lily's breath in flight,
And drunk it deeply in the brimful dawn.
Upon the sand these flowers that I have strown
My foot has crushed them down with cruel force,
And I am kneeling near the mirroring source,
Where I have sought her mouth and kissed mine own.
But now I know, and sing with fire renewed
Thy mercy, and thy beauty, and thy youth
Eternal, and I love thee without ruth,
Whom Sappho the divine and Virgil wooed.
I have all odours to perfume thee here,
And dyes for mouth and eyes, and I will make
Thy looks more luminous, and deep, and clear
Than the stainless azure bathing in this lake.
Come with thy too red lips and painted eyes!
My senses wait for thee in these bright bowers,
Where they are flowering with the soul of flowers,
O mother of fables and of lyric lies,
O courtesan! Come where these willows wave,
Lie by the water, I would have thee bare,
With nothing round thine ample shoulders save
All the sun's gold vibrating in thy hair.
A DREAM.
Dream of the far hours when
We were exiled beyond the pale
Of our happiness; draw again
Over our love that ancient veil.
Offer your lips to the evening breeze
That sings among the branches and passes,
Lay back your head on my knees,
Where the river the willow glasses.
Rest in my hands your head
Tired with the weight of the autumn in its tresses red,
And dream!
(A fabulous sunset bleeds
In the calm water wherein,
Among the reeds,
Our double shadow grows thin,
Bathed in the sunset's red,
And the radiant gold of your head.)
Dream of your virginal spirit's plight,
When I opened your robe in our wedding night.
(The noise of a wing that lags
Dies in the waterflags.
And the shadows which descend
With the afterglow,
Mysterious and slow,
Stay on the bank and o'er the waters bend
Their faces of silence.)
Dream of our love, of our joys,
And in the shadow sing them low;
At the rim of your naked lips
My voice shall ambush your voice.
(The moonbeams slow and white
Linger on the forest tops,
Fall and glide on the river they light,
And now a veil of radiance drops
On our protecting willow....)
Dream, this is the hour of snow.