But when the arrow strikes him, there’s a change.
He moves but in the track of his spent pain,
Whose red drops are the links of a harsh chain,
Binding him to the ground with narrow range. 8
A subtle serpent then has Love become.
I had the eagle in my bosom erst.67
Henceforward with the serpent I am curs’d.68
I can interpret where the mouth is dumb.69 12
Speak, and I see the side-lie of a truth.
Perchance my heart may pardon you this deed:
But be no coward:—you that made Love bleed,
You must bear all the venom of his tooth! 16
XXVII.
Distraction is the panacea,70 Sir!
I hear my Oracle of Medicine say.
Doctor! that same specific yesterday
I tried, and the result will not deter 4
A second trial. Is the devil’s line
Of golden hair, or raven black, composed?71
And does a cheek, like any sea-shell rosed,
Or fair as widow’d Heaven, seem most divine? 8
No matter, so I taste forgetfulness.
And if the devil snare me, body and mind,
Here gratefully I score:—he seemëd kind,
When not a soul would comfort my distress! 12
O sweet new world in which I rise new made!
O Lady, once I gave love: now I take!
Lady, I must be flatter’d. Shouldst thou wake
The passion of a demon, be not afraid. 16
XXVIII.
I must be flatter’d. The imperious
Desire speaks out. Lady, I am content
To play with you the game of Sentiment,
And with you enter on paths perilous: 4
But if across your beauty I throw light,
To make it threefold, it must be all mine.
First secret; then avow’d. For I must shine
Envied,—I, lessen’d in my proper sight! 8
Be watchful of your beauty, Lady dear!
How much hangs on that lamp you cannot tell.
Most earnestly I pray you, tend it well:
And men shall see me like the burning sphere: 12
And men shall mark you eyeing me, and groan
To be the God of such a grand sunflower!
I feel the promptings of Satanic power,
While you do homage unto me alone. 16
XXIX.
Am I failing? for no longer can I cast
A glory round about this head of gold.
Glory she wears, but springing from the mould:
Not like the consecration of the Past! 4
Is my soul beggar’d? Something more than earth
I cry for still: I cannot be at peace
In having Love upon a mortal lease.
I cannot take the woman at her worth! 8
Where is the ancient wealth wherewith I clothed
Our human nakedness,72 and could endow
With spiritual splendour a white brow
That else had grinn’d at me the fact I loath’d? 12
A kiss is but a kiss now! and no wave
Of a great flood that whirls me to the sea.
But, as you will! we’ll sit contentedly,
And eat our pot of honey on the grave. 16
XXX.
What are we first? First, animals; and next,
Intelligences at a leap; on whom
Pale lies the distant shadow of the tomb,
And all that draweth on the tomb for text.73 4
Into this state comes Love, the crowning sun:
Beneath whose light the shadow loses form.
We are the lords of life, and life is warm.
Intelligence and instinct now are one. 8
But Nature says: ‘My children most they seem
When they least know me: therefore I decree
That they shall suffer.’ Swift doth young Love flee:
And we stand waken’d, shivering from our dream. 12
Then if we study Nature we are wise.
Thus do the few who live but with the day.
The scientific animals are they.—
Lady, this is my Sonnet to your eyes.74 16
XXXI.
This golden head has wit in it. I live
Again, and a far higher life, near her.
Some women like a young philosopher;
Perchance because he is diminutive. 4
For woman’s manly god must not exceed
Proportions of the natural nursing size.
Great poets and great sages draw no prize
With women: but the little lap-dog breed, 8
Who can be hugg’d, or on a mantel-piece
Perch’d up for adoration, these obtain
Her homage. And of this we men are vain?
Of this! ’Tis order’d for the world’s increase! 12
Small flattery! Yet she has that rare gift
To beauty, Common Sense. I am approved.
It is not half so nice as being loved,
And yet I do prefer it. What’s my drift? 16
XXXII.
Full faith I have she holds that rarest gift
To beauty, Common Sense. To see her lie
With her fair visage75 an inverted sky
Bloom-cover’d, while the underlids uplift,76 4
Would almost wreck the faith; but when her mouth
(Can it kiss sweetly? sweetly!) would address
The inner me that thirsts for her no less,
And has so long been languishing in drouth,77 8
I feel that I am match’d: that I am man!
One restless corner of my heart, or head,
That holds a dying something never dead,
Still frets, though Nature giveth all she can. 12
It means, that woman is not, I opine,
Her sex’s antidote. Who seeks the asp78
For serpents’ bites? ’Twould calm me could I clasp
Shrieking Bacchantes79 with their souls of wine! 16
XXXIII.
‘In Paris, at the Louvre,80 there have I seen
The sumptuously-feather’d angel pierce
Prone Lucifer, descending.81 Look’d he fierce,
Showing the fight a fair one? Too serene! 4
The young Pharsalians82 did not disarray
Less willingly their locks of floating silk:
That suckling mouth of his, upon the milk
Of stars might still be feasting through the fray. 8
Oh, Raphael! when men the Fiend do fight,
They conquer not upon such easy terms.83
Half serpent in the struggle grow these worms.
And does he grow half human, all is right.’ 12
This to my Lady in a distant spot,
Upon the theme: ‘While mind is mastering clay,
Gross clay invades it.’ If the spy you play,
My wife, read this! Strange love-talk, is it not? 16
XXXIV.
Madam would speak with me. So, now it comes:
The Deluge,84 or else Fire! She’s well; she thanks
My husbandship. Our chain through silence clanks.
Time leers between us, twiddling his thumbs. 4
Am I quite well? Most excellent in health!
The journals, too, I diligently peruse.
Vesuvius85 is expected to give news:
Niagara86 is no noisier. By stealth 8
Our eyes dart scrutinizing snakes. She’s glad
I’m happy, says her quivering under-lip.
“And are not you?” “How can I be?” “Take ship!
“For happiness is somewhere to be had.” 12
“Nowhere for me!” Her voice is barely heard.
I am not melted, and make no pretence.
With truisms I freeze her, tongue and sense.
Niagara, or Vesuvius, is deferr’d. 16
XXXV.
It is
no vulgar nature I have wived.
Secretive, sensitive, she takes a wound
Deep to her soul, as if the sense had swoon’d,
And not a thought of vengeance had survived. 4
No confidences has she: but relief
Must come to one whose suffering is acute.
O have a care of natures that are mute!
They punish you in acts: their steps are brief. 8
What is she doing? What does she demand
From Providence,87 or me? She is not one
Long to endure this torpidly,88 and shun
The drugs that crowd about a woman’s hand. 12
At Forfeits89 during snow we play’d, and I
Must kiss her. “Well perform’d!” I said: then she:
“’Tis hardly worth the money, you agree?”
Save her? What for? To act this wedded lie! 16
XXXVI.
My Lady unto Madam makes her bow.
The charm of women is, that even while
You’re probed by them for tears, you yet may smile,
Nay, laugh outright, as I have done just now. 4
The interview was gracious: they anoint
(To me aside) each other with fine praise:
Discriminating compliments they raise,
That hit with wondrous aim on the weak point. 8
My Lady’s nose of nature might complain.
It is not fashion’d aptly to express
Her character of large-brow’d90 stedfastness.
But Madam says: Thereof she may be vain! 12
Now, Madam’s faulty feature is a glazed
And inaccessible eye, that has soft fires,
Wide gates, at love-time only. This admires
My Lady. At the two I stand amazed. 16
XXXVII.
Along the garden terrace, under which
A purple valley (lighted at its edge
By smoky torch-flame on the long cloud-ledge
Whereunder dropp’d the chariot),91 glimmers rich, 4
A quiet company we pace, and wait
The dinner-bell in pre-digestive calm.
So sweet up violet banks the Southern balm
Breathes round, we care not if the bell be late: 8
Tho’ here and there gray seniors question Time
In irritable coughings. With slow foot
The low, rosed moon, the face of Music mute,
Begins among her silent bars to climb. 12
As in and out, in silvery dusk, we thread,
I hear the laugh of Madam, and discern
My Lady’s heel before me at each turn.
Our Tragedy, is it alive or dead? 16
XXXVIII.
Give to imagination some pure light
In human form to fix92 it, or you shame
The devils with that hideous human game:—
Imagination urging appetite! 4
Thus fallen have earth’s greatest Gogmagogs,93
Who dazzle us, whom we cannot revere.
Imagination is the charioteer
That, in default of better, drives the hogs. 8
So, therefore, my dear Lady, let me love!
My soul is arrow’d94 to the light in you.
You know me that I never can renew
The bond that woman broke: what would you have? 12
’Tis Love, or Vileness! not a choice between,
Save petrification!95 What does Pity here?
She kill’d a thing, and now it’s dead, ’tis dear.
O, when you counsel me, think what you mean! 16
XXXIX.
She yields: my Lady in her noblest mood
Has yielded: she, my golden-crownëd rose!
The bride of every sense! more sweet than those
Who breathe the violet breath of maidenhood. 4
O visage of still music in the sky!
Soft moon! I feel thy song, my fairest friend!
True harmony within can apprehend
Dumb harmony without. And hark! ’tis nigh! 8
Belief has struck the note of sound: a gleam
Of living silver shows me where she shook
Her long white fingers down the shadowy brook,
That sings her song, half waking, half in dream. 12
What two come here to mar this heavenly tune?
A man is one: the woman bears my name,96
And honour. Their hands touch! Am I still tame?
God, what a dancing spectre seems the moon! 16
XL.
I bade my Lady think what she might mean.
Know I my meaning, I? Can I love one,
And yet be jealous of another? None
Commit such folly. Terrible Love, I ween,97 4
Has might, even dead, half sighing to upheave
The lightless seas of selfishness amain:98
Seas that in a man’s heart have no rain
To fall and still them. Peace can I achieve 8
By turning to this fountain-source of woe,
This woman, who’s to Love as fire to wood?
She breath’d the violet breath of maidenhood
Against my kisses once! but I say, No! 12
The thing is mock’d at! Helplessly afloat,
I know not what I do, whereto I strive.
The dread that my old love may be alive,
Has seiz’d my nursling new love by the throat. 16
XLI.
How many a thing which we cast to the ground,
When others pick it up becomes a gem!
We grasp at all the wealth it is to them;
And by reflected light its worth is found. 4
Yet for us still ’tis nothing! and that zeal
Of false appreciation quickly fades.
This truth is little known to human shades,99
How rare from their own instinct ’tis to feel! 8
They waste the soul with spurious desire,
That is not the ripe flame upon the bough:
We two have taken up a lifeless vow
To rob a living passion: dust for fire! 12
Madam is grave, and eyes the clock that tells
Approaching midnight. We have struck despair
Into two hearts. O, look we like a pair
Who for fresh nuptials100 joyfully yield all else? 16
XLII.
I am to follow her. There is much grace
In women when thus bent on martyrdom.
They think that dignity of soul may come,
Perchance, with dignity of body. Base! 4
But I was taken by that air of cold
And statuesque sedateness, when she said,
“I’m going”; lit the taper, bow’d her head,
And went, as with the stride of Pallas101 bold. 8
Fleshly indifference horrible! The hands
Of Time now signal: O, she’s safe from me!
Within those secret walls what do I see?
Where first she set the taper down she stands: 12
Not Pallas: Hebe shamed!102 Thoughts black as death,
Like a stirr’d pool in sunshine break. Her wrists
I catch: she faltering, as she half resists,
“You love . . . ? love . . . ? love . . . ?” all in an indrawn breath. 16
XLIII.
Mark where the pressing wind shoots javelin-like,
Its skeleton shadow on the broad-back’d wave!
Here is a fitting spot to dig Love’s grave;
Here where the ponderous breakers103 plunge and strike, 4
And dart their hissing tongues high up the sand:
In hearing of the ocean, and in sight
Of those ribb’d wind-streaks running into white.
If I the death of Love had deeply plann’d, 8
I never could have made it half so sure,
As by the unbless’d kisses which upbraid
The full-waked sense; or, failing that, degrade!
’Tis morning: but no morning can r
estore 12
What we have forfeited. I see no sin:
The wrong is mix’d. In tragic life, God wot,104
No villain need be!105 Passions spin the plot:
We are betray’d by what is false within. 16
XLIV.
They say that Pity in Love’s service dwells,
A porter at the rosy temple’s gate.
I miss’d him going: but it is my fate
To come upon him now beside his wells; 4
Whereby I know that I Love’s temple leave,
And that the purple doors have closed behind.
Poor soul! if in those early days unkind,
Thy power to sting had been but power to grieve, 8
We now might with an equal spirit meet,
And not be match’d like innocence and vice.
She for the Temple’s worship has paid price,
And takes the coin of Pity as a cheat. 12
She sees thro’ simulation to the bone:
What’s best in her impels her to the worst.
Never, she cries, shall Pity soothe Love’s thirst,
Or foul hypocrisy for truth atone! 16
XLV.
It is the season of the sweet wild rose,
My Lady’s emblem in the heart of me!
So golden-crownëd shines she gloriously,
And with that softest dream of blood she glows: 4
Mild as an evening Heaven round Hesper106 bright!
I pluck the flower, and smell it, and revive
The time when in her eyes I stood alive.
I seem to look upon it out of Night. 8
Here’s Madam, stepping hastily. Her whims
Bid her demand the flower, which I let drop.
As I proceed, I feel her sharply stop,
And crush it under heel with trembling limbs. 12
She joins me in a cat-like way, and talks
Of company, and even condescends
To utter laughing scandal of old friends.
These are the summer days, and these our walks. 16
XLVI.
At last we parley:107 we so strangely dumb
In such a close communion! It befell
About the sounding of the Matin-bell,108
And lo! her place was vacant, and the hum 4
Of loneliness was round me. Then I rose,
And my disorder’d brain did guide my foot
To that old wood where our first love-salute109
Was interchanged: the source of many throes! 8
There did I see her, not alone. I moved
Towards her, and made proffer of my arm.
She took it simply, with no rude alarm;
And that disturbing shadow pass’d reproved. 12
I felt the pain’d speech coming, and declared
My firm belief in her, ere she could speak.
A ghastly morning110 came into her cheek,
While with a widening soul on me she stared. 16
XLVII.
We saw the swallows gathering in the sky,
Modern Love and Poems of the English Roadside, with Poems and Ballads Page 8
