Part 3

VOICE OF THE EVENING WIND: The sun is gone, and the last, red flame Has faded away in a shimmer of rose-- A shimmer of rose that shivers to grey. The kings are glad of the dying day-- The kings are weary; the white mists close, The white mists gather to cover their shame.

THE SONGS OF QUEEN AVERLAINE.

To M. B.

PERSONS: THE KING, QUEEN AVERLAINE, THE KNIGHT ARKELD.

I. KING AND QUEEN.

1.

The day has come; at last my dream unfolds White, wondering petals with the rising sun. No other glade in Love's world-garden holds So fair a bloom from vanquished winter won.

Long, oh, so long I watched through budding hours, And, trembling, feared my dream would never wake; As, one by one, I saw star-tranced flowers Out on the night their dewy splendour shake.

But with the earliest gleam of dawn it stirred, Knowing that Love had put the dark to flight; And I must sing more glad than any bird Because the sun has filled my dream with light.

2.

Is it high noon, already, in the land? O Love, I dreamed that morn could never pass; That we might ever wander, hand in hand, As children in June-meadows plucking flowers, Through ever-waking, fresh-unfolding hours: Yet now we sink love-wearied in the grass; Yea, it is noon, high noon in all the land.

The young wind slumbers; all the little birds That sang about us in the fields of morn Are songless now; no happy flight of words On Love's lip hovers--Love has waxed to noon. Ah, God, if Love should wane to evening soon To perish in a sunless world, forlorn, And cease with the last song of weary birds!

3.

At dawn I gathered flowers of white, To garland them for your delight.

At noon I gathered flowers of blue, To weave them into joy for you.

At eve I gather purple flowers, To strew above the withered hours.

4.

She knelt at eve beside the stream, And, sighing, sang: "O waters clear, Forsaken now of joy and fear, I come to drown a withered dream.

"Unseen of day, I let it fall Within the shadow of my hair. O little dream, that bloomed so fair, The waters hide you after all!"

5.

"Is it not dawn?" she cried, and raised her head, "Or hath the sun, grey-shrouded, yesternight, Gone down with Love for ever to the dead? When Love has perished, can there yet be light?"

"Yea, it is dawn," one answered: "see the dew Quivers agleam, and all the east is white; While in the willow song begins anew." "When Love has perished, can there yet be light?"

II. AVERLAINE AND ARKELD.

1.

ARKELD: Oh, why did you lift your eyes to mine? Oh, why did you lift your drooping head?

AVERLAINE: The tangled threads of the fates entwine Our hearts that follow as children led.

ARKELD: From the utmost ends of the earth we came, As star moves starward through wildering night.

AVERLAINE: Our souls have mingled as flame with flame, Yea, they have mingled as light with light.

ARKELD: Ah God, ah God, that it never had been!

AVERLAINE: The Shadow, the Shadow that falls between!

ARKELD: The stars in their courses move through the sky Unswerving, unheeding, cold and blind.

AVERLAINE: Why did you linger nor pass me by Where the cross-roads meet in the ways that wind?

ARKELD: I saw your eyes from the dusk of your hair Flame out with sorrow and yearning love.

AVERLAINE: And I, who wandered with grey despair, Looking up, saw heaven in blossom above.

ARKELD: Ah God, ah God, that it never had been!

AVERLAINE: The Shadow, the Shadow that falls between!

ARKELD: May we not go as we came, alone, Unto the ends of the earth anew?

AVERLAINE: May we draw afresh from the rose new-blown The golden sunlight, the crystal dew?

ARKELD: Yea, love between us has bloomed as a rose Out of the desert under our feet.

AVERLAINE: May we forget how the red heart glows, Forget that the dew on the petals is sweet?

ARKELD: Ah God, ah God, that it never had been!

AVERLAINE: The Shadow, the Shadow that falls between!

ARKELD: Have the ages brought us together that we Might tremble, start at shadows, and cry?

AVERLAINE: Yea, it has been, and ever will be Till Sorrow be slain or Love's self die.

ARKELD: Stronger than Sorrow is Love; and Hate, The brother of Love, shall end our Sorrow.

AVERLAINE: The Shadow is strong with the strength of Fate, And, slain, would rise from the grave to-morrow.

ARKELD: Ah God, ah God, that it never had been!

AVERLAINE: The Shadow, the Shadow for ever between!

2.

AVERLAINE: Yea, we must part, and tear with ruthless hands The golden web wherein, too late, Love strove To weave us joy and bind us heart to heart.

ARKELD: Yea, we must part, and strew on desert-sands Petal by petal all the rose of Love, And part for ever where the cross-ways part.

AVERLAINE: Yea, we must part, and never turn our eyes From strange horizons, desolate and far, Though Love cry ever: "Turn but once, sad heart!"

ARKELD: Yea, we must part, and under alien skies Must follow after some cold, gleaming star, And roam, as north and south winds roam, apart.

AVERLAINE: Yea, we must part, ere Love be grown too strong And we too helpless to resist his might; While each may go with pure, unshamed heart.

ARKELD: Yea, we must part; and though we do Love wrong, He will the more subdue us in our flight, And hold us each more surely his, apart.

III. QUEEN AVERLAINE.

1.

O love, I bade you go; and you have borne The summer with you from the valley-lands; The poppy-flame has perished from the corn; And in the chill, wan light of early morn The reapers come in doleful, starveling bands, To bind the blackened sheaves with listless hands; For rain has put their sowing-toil to scorn.

O Love, I bade you go; and autumn brings Bleak desolation; yet within my heart Unquenched and fierce the flame you kindled springs; For, echoing all day long, the courtyard rings As loud it rang when, rending Love apart, Your white horse cantered--swift and keen to start-- Into a world of other queens and kings.

2.

I bade you go; ah, wherefore are you gone? How could you leave me dark and desolate, O Sun of Love, that for brief summer shone? Mine eyes are ever on the western gate, Half-wishing, half-foredreading your return. Return, O Love, return!

I cannot live without you; through the dark I stretch blind hands to you across the world; All day on unknown battle-fields I mark Your sword's red course, your banner blue unfurled; Yet never, in my day-dreams, you return. Return, O Love, return!

Nay, you are gone: O Love, I bade you go. I would not have you come again to be A stranger in this house of silent woe, Where, being all, you would be naught to me. Mine, mine in dreams, but lost if you return; Oh, nevermore return!

3.

"To-day a wandering harper came With outland tales of deeds of fame; I hearkened from the noonday bright Until the failing of the light, The while he sang of joust and fight; Yet never once I caught your name.

Oh, whither, whither are you gone, Whose name victorious ever shone Above all knights of other lands? Across what wilderness of sands? By what dead sea-deserted strands? On what far quest of Love forlorn?

I loved you when men called you Lord Arkeld, the never-sleeping sword; Yet now, when all your might is furled, And you no longer crest the world, More are you mine than when you hurled Destruction on the embattled horde.

4.

Oh, deeper in the silent house The silence falls; Only the stir of bat or mouse About the walls.

No cry, no voice in any room, No gust of breath; As if, within the clutch of doom, We waited death.

5.

The King is dead; No longer now The cold eyes gleam Beneath his brow.

O cold, grey eyes, Wherein the light Of Love at dawn Seemed clear and bright,

No true Love burned Your cold desire, Which mirrored but My own heart's fire.

6.

The King died yesterday.... Ah, no, he died When young Love perished long, so long ago; And on his throne, as marble at my side, Has reigned a carven image, cold as snow, Though all men bowed before it, crying: "King!"

Too late, too late the chains which held me fall; Rock-bound, I bade the victor-knight go by; And now, when time has loosed me from the thrall, I know not where he tarries, 'neath what sky He waits the winter's end, the dawn of spring.

7.

Spring comes no more for me: though young March blow To flame the larches, and from tree to tree The green fire leap, till all the woodlands glow-- Though every runnel, filled to overflow, Bear sea-ward, loud and brown with melted snow, Spring comes no more for me!

Spring comes no more for me: though April light The flame of gorse above the peacock sea; Though in an interweaving mesh of white The seagulls hover 'neath the cliff's sheer height; Though, hour by hour, new joys are winged for flight, Spring comes no more for me!

Spring comes no more for me: though May will shake White flame of hawthorn over all the lea, Till every thick-set hedge and tangled brake Puts on fresh flower of beauty for her sake; Though all the world from winter-sleep awake, Spring comes no more for me!

8.

I wandered through the city till I came Within the vast cathedral, cool and dim; I looked upon the windows all aflame With blazoned knights and saints and seraphim.

I looked on kings in purple, gold and blue, On martyrs high before whom all men bow; Until a gleam of light my footsteps drew Before a shining seraph, on whose brow

A little flame, for ever pure and white, Unwavering burns--the symbol of our love; And as I knelt before him in the night, He looked, compassionate, on me from above.

9.

I heard a harper 'neath the castle walls Sing, for night-shelter in the house of thralls, A song of hapless lovers; in the shade I paused awhile, unseen of man or maid.

Taking his harp, he touched the moaning strings, And sang of queens unloved and loveless kings; His song shot through my fluttering heart like flame Till, wondering, I heard him breathe your name.

Oh, then I knew how all the deathless wrong Time wrought of old is but a harper's song; And all the hopeless sorrow of long years An idle tale to win a stranger's tears.

Yea, in the song of Love's immortal dead Our love was told; with shuddering heart I fled, And strove to pass upon my way unseen, But song was hushed with whispers: "Lo, the Queen!"

10.

Was it for this we loved, O Time, to be Among Love's deathless through eternity, Set high on lone, divided peaks above The sheltered summer-valley, broad and green? Was it for this our joy and grief have been, Our barren day-dreams, dream-deserted nights-- That valley-lovers, looking up, might see How vain is Love among the starry heights, And, loving, sigh: "How vain a thing is Love!"?

O Love, that we had found thee in the shade Where, all day long, the deep, leaf-hidden glade Hears but the moan of some forsaken dove, Or the clear song of happy, nameless streams; Where, all night long, the August moonlight gleams Through warm, green dusk, no longer cold and white! O Love, that we had found thee, unafraid, One summer morn, and followed thee till night, As unknown valley-lovers follow Love!

11.

I have grown old, awaiting spring's return, And, now spring comes, I stand like winter grey In a young world; yet warm within me burn The morning-fires Love kindled in youth's day.

I have grown old; the young folk look on me With sighs, and wonder that I once was fair, And whisper one another: "Is this she? Did summer ever light that winter hair?

"Ah, she is old; yet, she, too, once was young: Yea, loved as we love even, for men tell How bright her beauty burned on every tongue, And how a knightly stranger loved her well.

"Yet Love grows old that beats so young and warm; His leaping fires in dust and ashes fail; Shall we, too, wither in the winter-storm, And wander thus one April, old and frail?"

Love grows not old, O lovers, though youth die, And bodily beauty perish as the flower; Though all things fail, though spring and summer fly, Love's fire burns quenchless till the last dark hour.

12.

O valley-lovers, think you love, Being all of joy, knows naught of sorrow? A day, a night Of swift delight That fears no dread, grey-dawning morrow?

O valley-lovers, think you love Knows only laughter, naught of weeping? A rose-red fire Of warm desire For ever burning, never sleeping?

O lovers, little know ye Love. Love is a flame that feeds on sorrow-- A lone star bright Through endless night That waits a never-dawning morrow.

13.

"Thus would I sing of life, Ere I must yield my breath: Though broken in the strife, I sought not after death. Though ruthless years have scourged My soul with sorrow's brands, And, day by day, have urged My feet o'er desert-sands; Yet would I rather tread Again the bitter trail, Than lie, calm-browed and pale, Among the loveless dead.

No pang would I forego, No stab of suffering, No agony of woe, If I to life might cling; If I might follow still, For evermore, afar, O'er barren dale and hill, My Love's unfading star. Yea, now, with failing breath, Thus would I sing of life: Though broken in the strife, I sought not after death.

14.

Darkness has come upon me in the end; Darkness has come upon me like a friend, Yet undesired; why comest thou, O night, To seal mine eyes for ever from the light?

Darkness has come upon me; yet a star Burns through the night and beckons me from far. Look up, O eyes, unfaltering, without fear; O morning-star of Love, the dawn is near!

THE GOLDEN HELM.

The Golden Helm

I.

Across his stripling shoulders Geoffrey felt The knighting-sword fall lightly, and he heard The King's voice bid him rise; and at the word He rose, new-flushed with knighthood, swiftly grown To sudden manhood, though, but now, he knelt A vigil-wearied squire before the throne. He paused one moment while the people turned To look on him with eyes that kindled bright, Seeing his face aglow with strange, new light; Yet them he saw not where they watched amazed, And, though like azure flames Queen Hild's eyes burned, Beyond the shadow of the throne he gazed To where, in kindred rapture, young Christine Stood, tremulous and white, in wind-flower grace-- Beneath her thick, dark hair, her happy face Pale-gleaming 'midst the ruddy maiden-throng; But, following Geoffrey's eyes, the trembling Queen Now bade the harpers rouse the air with song: From pulsing throat and silver-throbbing string The music soared, light-winged, and, fluttering, fell; When, startled as one waking from a spell, Geoffrey stepped back among the waiting knights; While knelt another squire before the King. In Queen Hild's eyes yet hovered stormy lights, Beneath her glooming brows, as waters gleam Under snow-laden skies; the summer day For her in that brief glance had shivered grey, Empty of light and song. She only heard The King and knights as people of a dream; Yet keenly Geoffrey's lightest, laughing word Stung to the quick, and stabbed her quivering life, Till from each shuddering wound the red joy flowed; And, though a ruddy fire on each cheek glowed, She felt her drained heart within her cold; Then all at once a hot thought stirred new strife Within her breast, and suddenly grown old And wise in treacherous imagining, She pressed her thin lips to a bitter smile, And strove with laughing mask to hide the guile That, slowly welling, through her body poured Cold-blooded life that feels no arrowy sting Of joy or hope, nor thrust of pity's sword. To Christine, where she yet enraptured stood, Hild, turning, spake kind words, and coldly praised The new-made knight. Each word Christine amazed Drank in with joyous heart and eager ears; To her it seemed ne'er lived a Queen so good; And love's swift rapture filled her eyes with tears. For her true heart, the day-long pageant moved Round Geoffrey's shining presence; king and knight But shone for her with pale, reflected light. As tranced planets circling round the sun, About the radiant head of her beloved The dim throngs moved until the day was done. When lucent gold suffused the cloudless west, And lingering thrush-notes failed in drowsy song, She left, at last, the weary maiden-throng, To stray alone through dew-hung garden-glades; And all the love unsealed within her breast Flowed out from her to light the darkest shades. Her quivering maiden-body could not hold The sudden welling of love's loosened flood; Through all her limbs it gushed, and in her blood It stormed each throbbing pulse with blissful ache; It seemed to spray the utmost glooms with gold, And scatter glistening dews in every brake. While yet she moved in rapture unafraid Among the lilies, down the Grey Nun's Walk, She heard behind the snapping of a stalk, And stayed transfixed, nor dared to turn her head, But stood a solitary, trembling maid-- Forlorn and frail, with all her courage fled. Thus Geoffrey found her as, hot-foot, he pressed To pour about her all the glowing tide Day-pent within his heart; the flood-gates wide, His love swept over her, sea after sea, Until life almost swooned within her breast, And she seemed like to drown in ecstasy. Yet, as the tempest sank in calm at last, She rose from out the foam of love, new-born-- As Venus from the irised surf of morn-- To such triumphant beauty, Geoffrey, thralled, Before her stood in wonder rooted fast; Even his love within him bowed appalled In tongueless worship as he gazed on her; While, lily-like, the tranced flowers among, She stood, love-radiant, and above her hung The canopy of star-enkindling night; Though, when again she moved with joyous stir, He sprang to her in love's unchallenged might.

II.

All night, beside her slumbering lord, the Queen Tossed sleepless--every aching sense astrain With tingling wakefulness that racked like pain Her weary limbs; all night, in wide-eyed dread, She watched the slow hours moving dark between The glimmering window and the curtained bed. The fitful calling of the owl, all night, Struck like the voice of terror on her ears; With brushing wings, about her taloned fears Fluttered till dawn: when, as the summer gloom, Grey-quivering, spilt in silver-showering light, She rose and stood within the dawning room, Shivering and pale--her long, unbraided hair Each moment quickening to a livelier gold About her snowy shoulders; yet, more cold Than the still gleam of winter-frozen meres, Her blue eyes shone with strange, unseeing stare, As though they sought to pierce some mist of fears; And, when she turned, the old familiar things Unknown and alien seemed to her sight-- Outworn and faded in the morning light The rose-embroidered tapestries, and frail The painted Love that hung on irised wings Above the sleeping King. Dark-browed and pale She looked upon her lord, and fresh despair With dreadful calm through all her being stole, And froze with icy breath the flickering soul That strove within her. Evil courage steeled Her heart once more, as, combing back her hair, She watched the waking world of wood and field: Hay-harvesters with long scythes flashing white; The dewy-browsing deer; the blue smoke-curl Above some woodland hut; a kerchiefed girl Driving the kine afield with loitering pace. But, as a youthful rider came in sight, She from the casement turned with darkening face, And looked not out again, and fiercely pressed Her white teeth in her quivering underlip, To stifle the wild cry that strove to slip From her strained throat; with clutching hands she sought To stay the throbbing tumult of her breast That fluttered like a bird in meshes caught.