A wave of the great waves of Destiny
Convulsed at a check’d impulse of the heart. 16
VI.
It chanced his lips did meet her forehead cool.
She had no blush, but slanted down her eye.
Shamed nature, then, confesses love can die:
And most she punishes the tender fool 4
Who will believe what honours her the most!
Dead! is it dead? She has a pulse, and flow
Of tears, the price of blood-drops, as I know
For whom the midnight sobs around Love’s ghost, 8
Since then I heard her, and so will sob on.
The love is here; it has but changed its aim.
O bitter barren woman! what’s the name?
The name, the name, the new name thou hast won? 12
Behold me striking the world’s coward stroke!12
That will I not do, though the sting is dire.
—Beneath the surface this, while by the fire
They sat, she laughing at a quiet joke. 16
VII.
She issues radiant from her dressing room,
Like one prepared to scale an upper sphere:
—By stirring up a lower, much I fear!
How deftly that oil’d barber lays his bloom! 4
That long-shank’d dapper Cupid with frisk’d curls,
Can make known women torturingly fair;13
The gold-eyed serpent dwelling in rich hair,
Awakes beneath his magic whisks and twirls. 8
His art can take the eyes from out my head,
Until I see with eyes of other men;
While deeper knowledge crouches in its den,
And sends a spark up:—is it true we’re wed? 12
Yea! filthiness of body is most vile,
But faithlessness of heart I do hold worse.
The former, it were not so great a curse
To read on the steel-mirror of her smile. 16
VIII.
Yet it was plain she struggled, and that salt
Of righteous feeling made her pitiful.
O abject worm, so queenly beautiful!
Where came the cleft between us? whose the fault?14 4
My tears are on thee, that have rarely dropp’d
As balm for any bitter wound of mine:
My breast will open for thee at a sign!
But, no: we are two reed-pipes, coarsely stopp’d: 8
The God15 once fill’d them with his mellow breath;
And they were music till he flung them down,
Used! used! Hear now the discord-loving clown
Puff his gross spirit in them, worse than death! 12
I do not know myself without thee more:
In this unholy battle I grow base:
If the same soul be under the same face,
Speak, and a taste of that old time restore!16 16
IX.
He felt the wild beast in him betweenwhiles17
So masterfully rude, that he would grieve
To see the helpless delicate thing receive
His guardianship through certain dark defiles.18 4
Had he not teeth to rend, and hunger too?
But still he spared her. Once: “Have you no fear?”
He said: ’twas dusk; she in his grasp; none near.
She laughed: “No, surely; am I not with you?” 8
And uttering that soft starry ‘you,’ she lean’d
Her gentle body near him, looking up;
And from her eyes, as from a poison-cup,
He drank until the flittering eyelids screen’d. 12
Devilish malignant witch! And oh, young beam
Of Heaven’s circle-glory!19 Here thy shape
To squeeze like an intoxicating grape—
I might, and yet thou goest safe, supreme. 16
X.20
But where began the change; and what’s my crime?
The wretch condemn’d, who has not been arraign’d,21
Chafes at his sentence. Shall I, unsustain’d,
Drag on Love’s nerveless body thro’ all time? 4
I must have slept, since now I wake. Prepare,
You lovers, to know Love a thing of moods:
Not like hard life, of laws. In Love’s deep woods
I dreamt of loyal Life:—the offence is there! 8
Love’s jealous woods about the sun are curl’d;
At least, the sun far brighter there did beam.—
My crime is that, the puppet of a dream,
I plotted to be worthy of the world. 12
Oh, had I with my darling help’d to mince22
The facts of life, you still had seen me go
With hindward feather and with forward toe,
Her much-adored delightful Fairy Prince! 16
XI.
Out in the yellow meadows where the bee
Hums by us with the honey of the Spring,
And showers of sweet notes from the larks23 on wing,
Are dropping like a noon-dew, wander we. 4
Or is it now? or was it then? for now,
As then, the larks from running rings send showers:
The golden foot of May is on the flowers,
And friendly shadows dance upon her brow. 8
What’s this, when Nature swears there is no change
To challenge eyesight?24 Now, as then, the grace
Of Heaven seems holding Earth in its embrace.
Nor eyes, nor heart, has she to feel it strange?25 12
Look, woman, in the west. There wilt thou see
An amber cradle near the sun’s decline:
Within it, featured even in death divine,
Is lying a dead infant, slain by thee!26 16
XII.
Not solely that the Future she destroys,
And the fair life which in the distance lies
For all men, beckoning out from dim rich skies:
Nor that the passing hour’s supporting joys 4
Have lost the keen-edged flavour, which begat
Distinction in old time, and still should breed
Sweet Memory, and Hope,—Earth’s modest seed,
And Heaven’s high-prompting: not that the world is flat 8
Since that soft-luring creature I embraced,
Among the children of Illusion went:
Methinks with all this loss I were content,
If the mad Past, on which my foot is based, 12
Were firm, or might be blotted: but the whole
Of life is mixed: the mocking Past must stay:
And if I drink oblivion of a day,
So shorten I the stature of my soul. 16
XIII.
“I play for Seasons; not Eternities!”
Says Nature, laughing on her way. “So must
All those whose stake is nothing more than dust!”
And lo, she wins, and of her harmonies 4
She is full sure! Upon her dying rose
She drops a look of fondness, and goes by,
Scarce any retrospection in her eye;
For she the laws of growth most deeply knows, 8
Whose hands bear, here, a seed-bag; there, an urn.
Pledged she herself to aught, ’twould mark her end!
This lesson of our only visible friend,27
Can we not teach our foolish hearts to learn? 12
Yes! yes!—but oh, our human rose is fair
Surpassingly! Lose calmly Love’s great bliss,
When the renew’d forever of a kiss
Sounds thro’ the listless hurricane of hair!28 16
XIV.
What soul would bargain for a cure that brings
Contempt the nobler agony to kill?
Rather let me bear on the bitter ill,
And strike this rusty bosom with new stings! 4
It seems there is another veering fit,
Since on a gold-hair’d lady’s29 eyeballs pure,
I look’d with littl
e prospect of a cure,
The while her mouth’s red bow loosed shafts of wit. 8
Just Heaven! can it be true that jealousy
Has deck’d the woman thus? and does her head
Whirl giddily for what she forfeited?
Madam!30 you teach me many things that be. 12
I open an old book, and there I find
That ‘Women still may love whom they deceive.’31
Such love I prize not, Madam: by your leave,
The game you play at is not to my mind. 16
XV.
I think she sleeps: it must be sleep, when low
Hangs that abandon’d arm towards the floor:
The head turn’d with it. Now make fast the door.
Sleep on: it is your husband, not your foe! 4
The Poet’s black stage-lion of wrong’d love,32
Frights not our modern dames:—well, if he did!
Now will I pour new light upon that lid,
Full-sloping like the breasts beneath. “Sweet dove, 8
“Your sleep is pure. Nay, pardon: I disturb.
“I do not? well!” Her waking infant stare
Grows woman to the burden my hands bear:
Her own handwriting to me when no curb 12
Was left on Passion’s tongue.33 She trembles thro’;
A woman’s tremble—the whole instrument:—
I show another letter lately sent.
The words are very like: the name is new.34 16
XVI.
In our old shipwreck’d days there was an hour,
When in the firelight steadily aglow,
Join’d slackly, we beheld the chasm grow
Among the clicking coals. Our library-bower 4
That eve was left to us: and hush’d we sat
As lovers to whom Time is whispering.
From sudden-open’d doors we heard them sing:
The nodding elders mix’d good wine with chat. 8
Well knew we that Life’s greatest treasure lay
With us, and of it was our talk. “Ah, yes!
“Love dies!” I said: I never thought it less.
She yearn’d to me that sentence to unsay. 12
Then when the fire domed blackening, I found
Her cheek was salt against my kiss, and swift
Up the sharp scale of sobs her breast did lift:—
Now am I haunted by that taste! that sound! 16
XVII.
At dinner she is hostess, I am host.
Went the feast ever cheerfuller? She keeps
The Topic over intellectual deeps
In buoyancy afloat. They see no ghost. 4
With sparkling surface-eyes we ply the ball:
It is in truth a most contagious game;
HIDING THE SKELETON shall be its name.
Such play as this the devils might appal! 8
But here’s the greater wonder; in that we,
Enamour’d of our acting and our wits,
Admire each other like true hypocrites.
Warm-lighted glances, Love’s Ephemeræ,35 12
Shoot gaily o’er the dishes and the wine.
We waken envy of our happy lot.
Fast, sweet, and golden, shows our marriage-knot.
Dear guests, you now have seen Love’s corpse-light shine!36 16
XVIII.
Here Jack and Tom are pair’d with Moll and Meg.37
Curved open to the river-reach is seen
A country merry-making on the green.38
Fair space for signal shakings of the leg.39 4
That little screwy fiddler from his booth,
Whence flows one nut-brown stream,40 commands the joints
Of all who caper here at various points.
I have known rustic revels in my youth: 8
The May-fly41 pleasures of a mind at ease.
An early goddess was a country lass:
A charm’d Amphion-oak42 she tripped the grass.
What life was that I lived? The life of these? 12
God keep them happy! Nature they are near.
They must, I think, be wiser than I am:
They have the secret of the bull and lamb.43
’Tis true that when we trace its source, ’tis beer. 16
XIX.
No state is enviable. To the luck alone
Of some few favour’d men I would put claim.
I bleed, but her who wounds I will not blame.
Have I not felt her heart as ’twere my own, 4
Beat thro’ me? could I hurt her? Heaven and Hell!
But I could hurt her cruelly! Can I let
My Love’s old time-piece to another set,
Swear it can’t stop, and must for ever swell? 8
Sure, that’s one way Love drifts into the mart
Where goat-legg’d44 buyers throng. I see not plain:—
My meaning is, it must not be again.
Great God! the maddest gambler throws his heart. 12
If any state be enviable on earth,
’Tis yon born idiot’s, who, as days go by,
Still rubs his hands before him like a fly,
In a queer sort of meditative mirth. 16
XX.
I am not of those miserable males
Who sniff at vice, and, daring not to snap,
Do therefore hope for Heaven. I take the hap45
Of all my deeds. The wind that fills my sails, 4
Propels; but I am helmsman.46 Am I wreck’d,
I know the devil has sufficient weight
To bear: I lay it not on him, or fate.
Besides, he’s damn’d. That man I do suspect 8
A coward, who would burden the poor deuce47
With what ensues from his own slipperiness.
I have just found a wanton-scented tress48
In an old desk, dusty for lack of use. 12
Of days and nights it is demonstrative,
That like a blasted star gleam luridly.
If for that time I must ask charity,
Have I not any charity to give? 16
XXI.
We three are on the cedar-shadow’d lawn;
My friend being third. He who at love once laugh’d,
Is in the weak rib by a fatal shaft
Struck through49 and tells his passion’s bashful dawn, 4
And radiant culmination, glorious crown,
When ‘this’ she said: went ‘thus’: most wondrous she!
Our eyes grow white, encountering; that we are three,
Forgetful; then together we look down. 8
But he demands our blessing; is convinced
That words of wedded lovers must bring good.
We question: if we dare! or if we should!
And pat him, with light laugh. We have not winced. 12
Next, she has fallen. Fainting points the sign
To happy things in wedlock.50 When she wakes
She looks the star that thro’ the cedar shakes:
Her lost moist hand clings mortally to mine. 16
XXII.
What may this woman labour to confess?51
There is about her mouth a nervous twitch.
’Tis something to be told, or hidden:—which?
I get a glimpse of Hell in this mild guess. 4
She has desires of touch, as if to feel
That all the household things are things she knew.
She stops before the glass.52 What does she view?
A face that seems the latest to reveal! 8
For she turns from it hastily, and toss’d
Irresolute, steals shadow-like to where
I stand; and wavering pale before me there,
Her tears fall still as oak-leaves after frost. 12
She will not speak. I will not ask. We are
League-sunder’d53 by the silent gulf between.
You burly lovers on the village green,
Yours is a lower, but a happier star! 16
XXIII.
’Tis Christmas weather, and a country house
Receives us: rooms are full: we can but get
An attic-crib.54 Such lovers will not fret
At that, it is half-said. The great carouse55 4
Knocks hard upon the midnight’s hollow door.
But when I knock at hers, I see the pit.
Why did I come here in that dullard56 fit?
I enter, and lie couch’d upon the floor. 8
Passing, I caught the coverlid’s quick beat:—
Come, Shame, burn to my soul! and Pride, and Pain—
Foul demons that have tortured me, sustain!57
Out in the freezing darkness the lambs bleat. 12
The small bird stiffens in the low starlight.
I know not how, but, shuddering as I slept,
I dream’d a banish’d Angel to me crept:
My feet were nourish’d on her breasts all night. 16
XXIV.58
The misery is greater, as I live!
To know her flesh so pure,59 so keen her sense,
That she does penance now for no offence,
Save against Love. The less can I forgive! 4
The less can I forgive, though I adore
That cruel lovely pallor which surrounds
Her footsteps; and the low vibrating sounds
That come on me, as from a magic shore. 8
Low are they, but most subtle to find out
The shrinking soul. Madam, ’tis understood
When women play upon their womanhood.
It means, a Season gone. And yet I doubt 12
But I am duped. That nun-like look waylays
My fancy. Oh! I do but wait a sign!
Pluck out the eyes of Pride! thy mouth to mine!
Never! though I die thirsting. Go thy ways! 16
XXV.
You like not that French novel?60 Tell me why.
You think it most unnatural. Let us see.
The actors are, it seems, the usual three:
Husband, and wife, and lover. She—but fie! 4
In England we’ll not hear of it. Edmond,
The lover, her devout chagrin61 doth share;
Blanc-mange62 and absinthe63 are his penitent fare,
Till his pale aspect makes her overfond: 8
So, to preclude fresh sin, he tries rosbif.64
Meantime the husband is no more abused:65
Auguste forgives her ere66 the tear is used.
Then hangeth all on one tremendous If:— 12
IF she will choose between them! She does choose;
And takes her husband like a proper wife.
Unnatural? My dear, these things are life:
And life, they say, is worthy of the Muse. 16
XXVI.
Love ere he bleeds, an eagle in high skies,
Has earth beneath his wings: from redden’d eve
He views the rosy dawn. In vain they weave
The fatal web below while far he flies. 4
Modern Love and Poems of the English Roadside, with Poems and Ballads Page 7
