Chapter 9

So saying, she bethought her suddenly-- Or feigned to have bethought her suddenly-- How she had left the lute that afternoon Lying upon an arbour-seat, when she Grew tired of fingering the strings of it-- Down in the garden, where she wont to walk, Her lute loquacious to the trees' deaf trunks. And Angelo, right glad to render her Such little graceful offices of love, And gladder yet with hope to hear her sing Who had denied his asking many a time, Awaited not another word, but rose And said, "Myself will bring it," and before She could assent or disapprove, was gone.

Scarce had he left the chamber when behold His wife uprose, and his young stranger-guest Uprose, and in a trice they cast their arms About each other, kissed each other, called Each other _dear_ and _love_, till Lucia said: "Why cam'st thou not before, my Ugo, whom I loved, who lovedst me, for many a day, For many a paradisal day, ere yet I saw that lean fool with the grizzled beard Who's gone a-questing for his true wife's lute?" And he made answer: "I had come erenow, But that my father, dying, left a load Of cumbrous duties I had needs perform-- Dry, peevish, crabbèd business at the best, Impertinences indispensable, Accumulated dulness, if you will, Such as I would not irk your ears withal: Howbeit I came at last, and nigh a week Have tarried in the region hereabouts, Unknown--and yearning for one glimpse of you, One word, one kiss from you, if even it were One only and the last; until, to-day, Roaming the neighbouring forest, I espied Your husband, guessed it was your husband, feigned I was a traveller who had lost myself Among the woods, received from him--ah, now You laugh, and truly 'tis a famous jest-- A courteous invitation to his house, Deemed it were churlish to refuse, and so-- And so am here, your Ugo, with a heart The loyal subject of your sovereign heart, As in old days." Therewith he sat him down, And softly drawing her upon his knee Made him a zone of her lascivious arms.

But thus encinctured hardly had he sat A moment, when, returning, Angelo Stood at the threshold of the room, and held The door half opened, and so standing saw The lovers, and they saw not him; for half The chamber lay in shadow, by no lamp Lighted, or window to admit the moon: And there the entrance was, and Angelo.

And listening to their speech a little space, The fugitive brief moments were to him A pyramid of piled eternities. For while he hearkened, Ugo said: "My love, Answer me this one question, which may seem Idle, yet is not;--how much lov'st thou me?" And she replied: "I love thee just as much As I do hate my husband, and no more." Then he: "But prithee how much hatest thou Thy husband?" And she answered: "Ev'n as much As I love thee. To hate him one whit more Than that, were past the power of Lucia's hate." And Ugo: "If thou lovest me so much, Grant me one gift in token of thy love." Then she: "What would'st thou?" And he answered her: "Even thyself; no poorer gift will I." But Lucia said: "Nay, have I not bestowed My love, which is my soul, my richer self? My poorer self, which is my body, how Can I bestow, when 'tis not in mine own Possession, being his property forsooth, Who holds the ecclesiastic title-deed?... Yet--but I know not ... if I grant this boon, Bethink thee, how wilt carry hence the gift? Quick. For the time is all-too brief to waste." And Ugo spake with hurrying tongue: "Right so: To-morrow, therefore, when the sun hath set, Quit thou the castle, all alone, and haste To yonder tarn that lies amid the trees Haply a furlong westward from your house-- The gloomy lakelet fringed with pines--and there Upon the hither margin thou shalt find Me, and two with me, mounted all, and armed, With a fourth steed to bear thee on his back: And thou shalt fly with me, my Lucia, till Thou reach my castle in the mountain'd North, Whose mistress I will make thee, and mine own." Then Lucia said: "But how if Angelo Pursue and overtake us?" Whereupon Ugo replied: "Pursue he may,--o'ertake He shall not, save he saddle him the wind. Besides--to grant the impossible--if he _Were_ to o'ertake us, he could only strive To win you back with argument; wherein My servants, at their master's bidding, could Debate with him on more than equal terms: Cold steel convinces warmest disputants. Or, if to see the bosom marital Impierced, would make your own consorted heart Bleed sympathetic, some more mild--" But she, The beauteous Fury, interrupted him With passionate-pallid lips: "Reproach me not Beforehand--even in jest reproach me not-- With imputation of such tenderness For _him_ and _his_ life--when thou knowest how I hate, hate, hate him,--when thou knowest how I wish, and wish, and wish, that he were dead."

Then Angelo bethought him of his vow; And stepping forward stood before the twain; And from his girdle plucked a dagger forth; And spake no word, but pierced his own heart through.

THE QUESTIONER

I asked of heaven and earth and sea, Saying: "O wondrous trinity, Deign to make answer unto me, And tell me truly what ye be." And they made answer: "Verily, The mask before His face are we, Because 'tis writ no man can see His face and live;"--so spake the three. Then I: "O wondrous trinity, A mask is but a mockery-- Make answer yet again to me And tell if aught besides are ye." And they made answer: "Verily, The robe around His form are we, That sick and sore mortality May touch its hem and healèd be." Then I: "O wondrous trinity, Vouchsafe once more to answer me, And tell me truly, what is He Whose very mask and raiment ye?" But they replied: "Of Time are we, And of Eternity is He. Wait thou, and ask Eternity; Belike his mouth shall answer thee."

THE RIVER

I

As drones a bee with sultry hum When all the world with heat lies dumb, Thou dronest through the drowsèd lea, To lose thyself and find the sea.

As fares the soul that threads the gloom Toward an unseen goal of doom, Thou farest forth all witlessly, To lose thyself and find the sea.

II

My soul is such a stream as thou, Lapsing along it heeds not how; In one thing only unlike thee,-- Losing itself, it finds no sea.

Albeit I know a day shall come When its dull waters will be dumb; And then this river-soul of Me, Losing itself, shall find the sea.

CHANGED VOICES

Last night the seawind was to me A metaphor of liberty, And every wave along the beach A starlit music seemed to be.

To-day the seawind is to me A fettered soul that would be free, And dumbly striving after speech The tides yearn landward painfully.

To-morrow how shall sound for me The changing voice of wind and sea? What tidings shall be borne of each? What rumour of what mystery?

A SUNSET

Westward a league the city lay, with one Cloud's imminent umbrage o'er it: when behold, The incendiary sun Dropped from the womb o' the vapour, rolled 'Mongst huddled towers and temples, 'twixt them set Infinite ardour of candescent gold, Encompassed minaret And terrace and marmoreal spire With conflagration: roofs enfurnaced, yet Unmolten,--columns and cupolas flanked with fire, Yet standing unconsumed Of the fierce fervency,--and higher Than all, their fringes goldenly illumed, Dishevelled clouds, like massed empurpled smoke From smouldering forges fumed: Till suddenly the bright spell broke With the sun sinking through some palace-floor And vanishing wholly. Then the city woke, Her mighty Fire-Dream o'er, As who from out a sleep is raised Of terrible loveliness, lasting hardly more Than one most monumental moment; dazed He looketh, having come Forth of one world and witless gazed Into another: ev'n so looked, for some Brief while, the city--amazed, immobile, dumb.

A SONG OF THREE SINGERS

I

Wave and wind and willow-tree Speak a speech that no man knoweth; Tree that sigheth, wind that bloweth, Wave that floweth to the sea: Wave and wind and willow-tree.

Peerless perfect poets ye, Singing songs all songs excelling, Fine as crystal music dwelling In a welling fountain free: Peerless perfect poets three!

II

Wave and wind and willow-tree Know not aught of poets' rhyming, Yet they make a silver-chiming Sunward-climbing minstrelsy, Soother than all songs that be.

Blows the wind it knows not why, Flows the wave it knows not whither, And the willow swayeth hither Swayeth thither witlessly, Nothing knowing save to sigh.

LOVE'S ASTROLOGY

I know not if they erred Who thought to see The tale of all the times to be, Star-character'd; I know not, neither care, If fools or knaves they were.

But this I know: last night On me there shone _Two stars_ that made all stars look wan And shamèd quite, Wherefrom the soul of me Divined her destiny.

THREE FLOWERS

I made a little song about the rose And sang it for the rose to hear, Nor ever marked until the music's close A lily that was listening near.

The red red rose flushed redder with delight, And like a queen her head she raised. The white white lily blanched a paler white, For anger that she was not praised.

Turning I left the rose unto her pride, The lily to her enviousness, And soon upon the grassy ground espied A daisy all companionless.

Doubtless no flattered flower is this, I deemed; And not so graciously it grew As rose or lily: but methought it seemed More thankful for the sun and dew.

_Dear love, my sweet small flower that grew'st among The grass, from all the flowers apart,-- Forgive me that I gave the rose my song, Ere thou, the daisy, hadst my heart!_

THREE ETERNITIES

Lo, thou and I, my love, And the sad stars above,-- Thou and I, I and thou! Ah could we lie as now Ever and aye, my love, Hand within hand, my love, Heart within heart, my dove, Through night and day For ever!

Lo, thou and I, my love, Up in the sky above, Where the sun makes his home And the gods are, my love, One day may wander from Star unto star, my love,-- Soul within soul, my love, Yonder afar For ever!

Lo, thou and I, my love, Some time shall lie, my love, Knowing not night from day, Knowing not toil from rest,-- Breast unto breast, my love, Even as now for aye: Clay within clay, my love, Clay within clay For ever!

LOVE OUTLOVED

I

Love cometh and love goeth, And he is wise who knoweth Whither and whence love flies: But wise and yet more wise Are they that heed not whence he flies or whither Who hither speeds to-day, to-morrow thither; Like to the wind that as it listeth blows, And man doth hear the sound thereof, but knows Nor whence it comes nor whither yet it goes.

II

O sweet my sometime loved and worshipt one A day thou gavest me That rose full-orbed in starlike happiness And lit our heaven that other stars had none:-- Sole as that westering sphere companionless When twilight is begun And the dead sun transfigureth the sea: A day so bright Methought the very shadow, from its light Thrown, were enough to bless (Albeit with but a shadow's benison) The unborn days its dark posterity. Methought our love, though dead, should be Fair as in life, by memory Embalmed, a rose with bloom for aye unblown. But lo the forest is with faded leaves And our two hearts with faded loves bestrown, And in mine ear the weak wind grieves And uttereth moan: "Shed leaves and fallen, fallen loves and shed, And those are dead and these are more than dead; And those have known The springtime, these the lovetime, overthrown, With all fair times and pleasureful that be." And shall not we, O Time, and shall not we Thy strong self see Brought low and vanquishèd, And made to bow the knee And bow the head To one that is when thou and thine are fled, The silent-eyed austere Eternity?

III

Behold a new song still the lark doth sing Each morning when he riseth from the grass, And no man sigheth for the song that was, The melody that yestermorn did bring. The rose dies and the lily, and no man mourns That nevermore the selfsame flower returns: For well we know a thousand flowers will spring, A thousand birds make music on the wing. Ay me! fair things and sweet are birds and flowers, The scent of lily and rose in gardens still, The babble of beakèd mouths that speak no ill: And love is sweeter yet than flower or bird, Or any odor smelled or ditty heard-- Love is another and a sweeter thing. But when the music ceaseth in Love's bowers, Who listeneth well shall hear the silence stirred With aftermoan of many a fretful string: For when Love harpeth to the hollow hours, His gladdest notes make saddest echoing.

VANISHINGS

As one whose eyes have watched the stricken day Swoon to its crimson death adown the sea, Turning his face to eastward suddenly Sees a lack-lustre world all chill and gray,-- Then, wandering sunless whitherso he may, Feels the first dubious dumb obscurity, And vague foregloomings of the Dark to be, Close like a sadness round his glimmering way; So I, from drifting dreambound on and on About strange isles of utter bliss, in seas Whose waves are unimagined melodies, Rose and beheld the dreamless world anew: Sad were the fields, and dim with splendours gone The strait sky-glimpses fugitive and few.

BEETHOVEN

O Master, if immortals suffer aught Of sadness like to ours, and in like sighs And with like overflow of darkened eyes Disburden them, I know not; but methought, What time to day mine ear the utterance caught Whereby in manifold melodious wise Thy heart's unrestful infelicities Rose like a sea with easeless winds distraught, That thine seemed angel's grieving, as of one Strayed somewhere out of heaven, and uttering Lone moan and alien wail: because he hath Failed to remember the remounting path, And singing, weeping, can but weep and sing Ever, through vasts forgotten of the sun.

GOD-SEEKING

God-seeking thou hast journeyed far and nigh. On dawn-lit mountain-tops thy soul did yearn To hear His trailing garments wander by; And where 'mid thunderous glooms great sunsets burn, Vainly thou sought'st His shadow on sea and sky; Or gazing up, at noontide, could'st discern Only a neutral heaven's indifferent eye And countenance austerely taciturn.

Yet whom thou soughtest I have found at last; Neither where tempest dims the world below Nor where the westering daylight reels aghast In conflagrations of red overthrow: But where this virgin brooklet silvers past, And yellowing either bank the king-cups blow.

SKYFARING

Drifting through vacant spaces vast of sleep, One overtook me like a flying star And whirled me onward in his glistering car. From shade to shade the wingèd steeds did leap, And clomb the midnight like a mountain-steep; Till that vague world where men and women are, Ev'n as a rushlight down the gulfs afar, Paled and went out, upswallowed of the deep.

Then I to that ethereal charioteer: "O whither through the vastness are we bound? O bear me back to yonder blinded sphere!" Therewith I heard the ends of night resound; And, wakened by ten thousand echoes, found That far-off planet lying all-too near.

End of Project Gutenberg's The Poems of William Watson, by William Watson