I
Love dwelled with me with music on her lips;
Beauty has quickened me to passion; prayer
Has cried from me before I was aware
When grief was scourging me with scarlet whips.
The gods gave me to follies false and fair;
Made me the object of immortal quips,
But I am recompensed with comradeships
That gods themselves would be content to share.
The time of play has been, of wisdom, is;
Yet who can say which is the truly wise?
Enough that I have stayed Love with a kiss,
That Beauty has found welcome in my eyes;
Though the long poplar path leads dark before,
Up to the white inevitable door.
II
Invoking not the worship of the crowd
As Hadrian divulged Antinous
Would I denote Thy sanctity, not thus
Should Love's deep litany be cried aloud.
There is a mountain set apart for us
Where I have hid Thy soul as in a cloud,
And there I dedicate as I have vowed
My secret voice,—all else were impious.
Remote and undiscovered, rest secure
Where I have set Thee up, that I may keep
My faith of God-in-Thee unblent and pure;
That I may be at one with Thee in sleep;
That waking as a mortal, I may leap
Into immortal dreams where love is sure.
III
And yet think not that I desire to seal
Your earthly beauty from the eyes of praise,
The Soul I worship hath its holy-days,
But being God is manifestly real.
The flesh resplendent in a lover's gaze
Hath too its triumph; the divine ideal
Is dual and can wonderfully reveal
Itself in dust enriched by subtle ways.
You are no shadow, for in you combine
Earth-music and a spirit's sanctity,
And both are exquisite, and both are mine…
For holier men a Beatrice, for me
The joyous sense of your reality,
Not half so saintly,—but far more divine.