Part 2

Sweet they fluttered to our shoulders, She, my girl, the fairest girl, And I took her for a plaything, Face of flower and heart of pearl.

Round my neck she clung and pleaded, But I told her to be wise; Said no sailor could be faithful, And his love was ever lies.

Then she turned and left me silent, Stepping weary, stepping slow; Merry was I to have won her, And I laughed to see her go.

Now ’tis done--I have lost her, Seas between us thunder wide, “Dear,” I said, “I shall forget you,” And God knows that I have lied!

Many girls have smiled upon me, Up and down the Northern coast, But their kisses only taunt me With the kiss that I have lost.

Oh! You’re killing me by inches, Velvet lips and eyes of brown, For it’s love I left behind me, Down in Maldonado town.

THE CHOICE

The long well rose above me, a slim shaft, With wet, black walls, and high aloft the light Round as a moon intensified my night. I ate the air and bitterly I quaffed The death damp; nor my pleading nor my craft Availed to aid me in my desperate plight: The vista of high heaven the only sight To see, and at my woe high heaven had laughed.

Suddenly the darkness deepened, and a face Gloomed on the opening, terrible and grim An Afreet! In his hands he held disgrace And direst poverty and ruinous strife. “Choose now between,” he cried, “calm Death by him And Life empoisoned,” yet I cried, “Give Life.”

THE BROOK

I have a little brook in the deeps of my heart. What does it matter if the day be chill or clear, Coloured like a tourmaline and wingèd like a dart, Voiced like a nightingale, it sings all the year.

Small bright herbs on the banks of the stream, Moon-pale primroses, and tapestries of fern, This is the reality and life is just a dream, Iridescent bubble that the moon tides turn.

AT THE END OF THE WORLD

To the world’s end, to the world’s end, Did I wander seeking you, And wide was the water and dark was the fell, With Time at my heels like a hound of hell, And the worst still left to do.

To the world’s end, to the world’s end, And the void to verify. They told me of a tale of love supreme. “Sometimes,” I cried, “I have caught the gleam, I shall seek it tho’ I die.”

At the world’s end, at the world’s end, At the end of the endless mile, Nothing to see but the silent snow-- I turned with my tears to your heart, and lo! Love was with me all the while!

THE GYPSY

O, she was most precious, as the wind’s self was fair. What did I give her when I had her on my knee? Red kisses for her coral lips, and a red comb for her hair. She took my gifts, she took my heart, and fled away from me.

O, but she was fanciful, she found a savage mate, He scorned her, he spurned her, he drove her from his door; She cuddled in his inglenook and laughed at all his hate, She took his curses, took his blows, and never left him more.

BOY O’ DREAMS

Must I leave you in the mountains, Boy o’ dreams, Must I leave you where the fountains Toss the silver of their streams, Where the trees are clothed in samite, And the little broken moon Is a symbol and an answer, Like the reading of a rune?

May I take you to the city, Boy o’ dreams, Where your heart will break with pity At the lethargy that seems Only half alive to living, Only enemy to mirth, Where the dusty facts will blind you To the fancies of the earth?

I must take you--but I’ll keep you, Boy o’ dreams, Where no alien winds shall sweep you, In a secret place that gleams, With the light of your own laughter, Yours the vessel, yours the chart, And we’ll brave the storm together. You, the captain of my heart.

BALLAD OF THE SLAVE

The helot got him a hempen cord, A slave of love was he, “She made me dance to her circumstance-- In the air one dances free!”

She sits on a throne of ivory Serene in her silver gown, “Ah, woe,” he cried, “but the world is wide, But ’tis straight where I lie down.

“She mocked, she scorned, and she hated me, She shall pity me not,” he said; “Too late for the nether way of hate, I may flout her when I’m dead.”

Out in the dark of the moonless sky, The rope was round his neck, “’Tis the torque of gold from her throat so cold, Why should I rue or reck?”

Tighter tangled the hempen cord; “’Tis her fingers hot with fire, In a tempest of fear she draws me near,-- Now dying is not so dire!”

Black, more black grew the empty void, “And I but a broken reed, For there’s only her face in this grisly place“-- But his love stood there indeed!

Close to her heart she took his head, And she kissed him back to breath, “You are mine by right of that line of white, You are mine--by Life and Death!”

FOAM

I have dallied with wantons, made mad by their passionate wine, Time, like a golden ball, I have tossed to the wastes of the air. I have whispered with Beauty, whose song has been sister to mine, Laughed with the long late hours who lie with the stars in their hair.

Like the spume on the crest of the wave blowing back to the sea, Cast from the depths beneath, now to riot and dance in the light, I have flung you the foam of my heart, to be mask unto me, Caught to my heart again from the doom of your fugitive sight.

THE SEAL

The document of day is folded down, Night, the great lawyer, takes the waiting sheet, And o’er the murky shadows of the town Sets his red seal, to make the deed complete.

RELEASE

I asked to be released, I did not know ’Twas hate, not love, that would not let me go. Vengeance had burned your image on my mind, I gazed and gazed until my eyes were blind. Now--neither pride nor love has set me free, But happy chance--in wonderful degree.

Shackled by memory, a prey to fear, Once you were mine by the black load I bore, But now, released, I lose you--O my Dear, Ever, irrevocably mine no more!

SIN, THE SWORD

Sin was a terrible and ruddy sword, My hands were only lilies, only made To lay against his lips, and so I prayed Another weapon. Willingly I poured On his strong heart the gifts that could accord With my life’s fact, but Ah! the gifts were weighed And all found wanting--and I was afraid Of love which was so dreadfully my lord. He showed me the magnificence, the height To be attained for those who dare to seek, For those who dare the wonder and delight. I might attain--I might--but if I should!-- I was afraid, my fainting heart was weak, And so, Love help me, I was only--good!

FANTASTIC SPRING

Wear a lure fantastical, Farthingales of Spring, Till the out-worn city hearts Dance for you and sing.

Lime us with grotesque desires, Warm with green and gold; Apathetic we have grown, Tired and hard and old.

Draw us gently to your truth, Calm our hopes and fears; Till at last the grass blades speak To attentive ears.

SONG

We only ask for sunshine, We did not want the rain; But see the flowers that spring from showers All up and down the plain.

We beg the gods for laughter, We shrink, we dread the tears; But grief’s redress is happiness, Alternate through the years.

CONTRAST

Steady stand the ilex trees, All the leaves are still, Motionless the opal haze Drowses on the hill.

There a marble statue waits Patient of the hours, Ringed about with silent sun Over dreamy flowers.

Nature mirrors perfect peace, Round me everywhere, Only in my heart is found Torment and despair.

THE PRICE

We are so tired of merely being human, Loving or loved, the sweet imperfect woman. Masters, you know not what your lips have missed, On the rose mouths you keep but to be kissed.

We are Astarte, we are Lilith, we Know the blue veils which you have named the sea Cover the eyes of Isis; that the sky Is the white body of Neith, arched so on high.

Ours is a secret language, when we smile, Dreams are denied at birth, all to beguile Your earthy substance. Ah, at what fell cost We pay you, so our heritage is lost.

THE KING’S DAUGHTER

She was the fairest of the King’s fair daughters, Gold and rubies glittered on her hands; Her voice was the lilting of a rain of silver waters, And her lovers were as endless as her lands.

Down thro’ the birch wood with her maidens all about her, So virginal she came with dainty tread, At my eyes she was silent,--could a gypsy turn and flout her: Love I looked and love I spoke, till white grew red.

Free she was as fair, she forgot her father’s palace, Left her lands to wander at my side; She is crowned with forest leaves, with my two curved hands for chalice: Spring and love must bring a gypsy to his bride.

LAIS

You are white as the moths of Twilight, You are secret as mist and dew, And your down-dropped eyes Are eternally wise, Strange sins have wrought their hue.

Mother of men and women, They are ghosts, not men you have bred; In infinite scorn Their bodies were born While their souls were worse than dead.

We are what your lips have made us, Empty, and bitterly old; Our faith has lied, Oh, barren bride, And the fires of the world are cold.

THE HERITAGE

How shall the present verify the past? Like flames we strove, still onward, upward rising, Spurning the singing continents--at last, Wrecked on this fatal day of our devising.

Nurtured by lunar rainbows, chill and sweet, Our fancy was a gossamer of beauty; Now like a web it drags about our feet, Named with the symbols drear of fact and duty.

We who were heirs to Egypt, India’s child, Suckled by Greece, and cradled by Cathay, How tacitly we waive this breeding wild, Deny our parents in our deeds to-day.

Let us awake--obedient to our dreams, Let us embrace huge issues, comprehending The scheme entire--Great Beauty’s birth, which seems The glorious urge for life, unchecked, unending.

THE MONK IN HIS GARDEN

The air is heavy with a mist of spice, Vervain and agrimony, clove and rue, Have I not paid, have I not paid the price? How shall these tempters torture me anew?

I close my eyes and dream the incense drifts Over the monstrance, and the acolyte Swings the gold censer. Then the vision lifts: I know the poisonous joys I have to fight.

Day with its flowers and yellow butterflies, Holds for my heart no pain, the wind is free That blows upon my garden from far skies, Yet may I hold it in white chastity.

But night!--and the still air!--Ah, God above, Have I the strength to wage thy war anew? Blot out my senses or I die for love,-- Vervain and agrimony, clove and rue!

BIANCA

The orchard apples hung above, Golden and red and green. Her face beneath was ripe for love, Cat-eyed with sparks between.

Simples she came to gather there With hands of ivory; Gold fillets bound her golden hair; Her gown was cramosie.

She plucked the herbs with subtle grace, Derisive in her deed. Was there no Prince to read her face, No Prince with Beauty’s need?

Her hands with cassia buds were sweet: “Come, love,” her young heart cried, The Prince with delicate swift feet, Was even at her side!

Her tamed white leopard leaped in fear, Love beckons love so soon. They gathered no more simples there, The long late afternoon.

FREE

Beyond the hill the hearth fires burn, A hundred flags in air, But one which tossed but yesterday Is dead, one hearth is bare.

The wife whose fingers fed the fire Grew weary of the play, A lad laughed thro’ the open door And stole my dear away.

And now alone I face the road; No hearth, no home for me. And yet--Ah Life!--come sun, come rain, My beggar soul is free.

BLACK AND GOLD

Round her knees her lovers yearned, She who sat in black and gold, What recked she who begged or burned, Sister to the gods of old.

Darkness was her pedigree, Light her ever living flame, Lovers die for such as she, Paying for her smiles with shame.

Round her head the music floats, Black by night and gold by day; These are Time’s inchoate notes, Calling, “Sister, come away.”

Bride of eager-blooded gods, Wife to man’s primeval age, What to her shall serve these clods Save to irk her pilgrimage?

THE ANSWER

The themes of women! Mounting up the sky, Beating the air with tremulous weak wings, How shall so small a matter win so high, The vain sweet goal of their imaginings?

Striving for Beauty, dark philosophy, Or the obscure and purple deeps of truth, How shall they know their one great verity, The answer to their queries and their youth?

Simple vain themes of women! Only this One theme may lift their wings to goals above,-- To spill their hearts out blindly in a kiss, An infinite surrendering to love.

PEACE

Night thundered down the valley From off the rocky steeps, Like wind it broke the silences That light divinely keeps.

As low dark clouds concealing The things one dare not see, So grimly dark and ominous Hung low each shadowy tree.

Night, the dread terror-master, What wordless woe he weaves! Suddenly peace, and all the air Is scented with green leaves.

BARNABAS

They all are dead but Barnabas; he’ll wait, With his old groping hands and haggard eyes, Which nothing in the world can now surprise, Till the last leaf whirls thro’ the clanging gate Of the last sunrise. Did he learn too late? Maybe, that one may hear the moans and cries That ring by night, and yet be calm and wise. And teach the women how a man can hate!

I did not think a soul could live so long, And be so little. He remembers youth With a wry smile of disbelief; the wrong Was this, he squeezed the fruit so dry So long ago; and now must live, forsooth Because a woman will not let him die.

LOST DREAMS

Coming thro’ the porch of dreams To the portal of the day, Vacant all the ether seems With a grief that leaves her grey.

In a threnody of sighs, With the cloud wreaths ’round her face, Morning veils her heavy eyes, Weeping for her vanished grace.

Ah! in gaining lusty Dawn, Life, and pleasant facts of light, Why must we, the darkness gone, Lose the dreams that haunt the night?

LADY OF LIGHT

Light of the World, what are violets but eyes of you, Perfume, your hair blowing back on the breeze, Ah, but the fugitive dainty surprise of you, Pricking in green on the blossomy trees.

Give me the sun of your smile to be fire to me, Give me the moon when the passion is gone, Give me the light to be dream and desire to me Down the dark alleys that lead to the dawn.

SONG

You are the dawning of dreams. You are the end of desire. You are the gladness and glory that seems Dauntless, to urge and aspire.

Cradle my soul on your wings, Cradle my head on your breast. Teach me the ardour that conquers and sings. Grant me your infinite rest.

THE GYPSY BLOOD

Because the lover cares for daffodils Must we be stranger to the passion flower, Or slight the iris, dewy from a shower? The gypsy heather bloom upon the hill Strikes fiercely on a gypsy heart, and thrills New argosies of dreams to sail the hours. No rosy perfume blown from garden bowers May bear the subtle perfume this distills.

Must we forego the dreamy twilight stars Because the true-love lives for morning sun? Love dare not hold the sense behind such bars. The moon drips scented petals on our hair, And gypsy hearts to gypsy flowers must run While life is everything, tho’ love be fair.

AND YET

Inadequate and void, the days Are not more tired than tears; And yet, how long, how long the ways, Down the bare lane of years.

The bird that flutters from the nest Is fused of fire and spring, And yet how soon the throbbing breast Will lose the life to sing.

How long the lane, how soon ’tis past, Rough road, dark sky above, And yet, dear heart, there’s home at last, With light, and life, and love!

THRO’ THE PLEACHED ALLEYS

Thro’ the pleached alley in my garden of the Spring Merry leaves tossed over me with elfish whispering. I was not alone, alone, for Love with blowing hair Touched my hands and touched my heart, dancing everywhere.

Darting round about my steps, as a swallow slips, How she laughed and laughed at me, with little rosy lips, Ghostly wise she kissed my eyes, her mouth was chill as snow, For she had died, my Love had died, so very long ago.