30 Not that the earth is changing, O my God! Beneath thine hand so many nations bow, So many kings:-not therefore, O my God!But because Man is parcelled out in men To-day; because, for any wrongful blow, 10 No man not stricken asks, “I would be told Why thou dost thus:" but his heart whispers then, "He is he, I am I." By this we know That the earth falls asunder, being old. THE SONNET A Sonnet is a moment's monument, To one dead deathless hour. Look that it be, 1 the lover of Guinevere, King Arthur's queen 2 i.e., the book brought them together as he did Launcelot and Guinevere When do I see thee most, beloved one? Or when in the dusk hours, (we two alone,) Nor image of thine eyes in any spring, -II How then should sound upon Life's darkening slope The ground-whirl of the perished leaves of Hope, The wind of Death's imperishable wing? LOVE-SWEETNESS Sweet dimness of her loosened hair's downfall About thy face; her sweet hands round thy head In gracious fostering union garlanded; Her tremulous smiles; her glances' sweet recall Of love; her murmuring sighs memorial; Her mouth's culled sweetness by thy kisses shed On cheeks and neck and eyelids, and so led Back to her mouth which answers there for all: What sweeter than these things, except the thing 1 the ferryman who in Greek mythology conveyed the spirits of the dead across the river Styx to Hades Thou lovely and beloved, thou my love; Whose kiss seems still the first; whose summoning eyes, Even now, as for our love-world's new sunrise, Shed very dawn; whose voice, attuned above All modulation of the deep-bowered dove, Is like a hand laid softly on the soul; Whose hand is like a sweet voice to control Those worn tired brows it hath the keeping of: What word can answer to thy word, - what gaze To thine, which now absorbs within its sphere My worshipping face, till I am mirrored there Light-circled in a heaven of deep-drawn rays? What clasp, what kiss mine inmost heart can prove, O lovely and beloved, O my love? SOUL-LIGHT What other woman could be loved like you, Far in your eyes a yet more hungering thrill, Such fire as Love's soul-winnowing hands distil Even from his inmost ark of light and dew. And as the traveller triumphs with the sun, Glorying in heat's mid-height, yet startide brings Wonder new-born, and still fresh transport springs II From limpid lambent hours of day begun; Even so, through eyes and voice, your soul doth move My soul with changeful light of infinite love. Was that the landmark? What, the foolish well Whose wave, low down, I did not stoop to drink, But sat and flung the pebbles from its brink In sport to send its imaged skies pell-mell, (And mine own image, had I noted well!) Was that my point of turning? — I had thought The stations of my course should rise unsought, As altar-stone or ensigned citadel. But lo! the path is missed, I must go back, And thirst to drink when next I reach the spring ΙΟ Which once I stained, which since may have grown black. Yet though no light be left nor bird now sing As here I turn, I'll thank God, hastening, That the same goal is still on the same track. Eat thou and drink; to-morrow thou shalt die. Surely the earth, that's wise being very old, Needs not our help. Then loose me, love, and hold Thy sultry hair up from my face; that I May pour for thee this golden wine, brimhigh, Till round the glass thy fingers glow like gold. We'll drown all hours: thy song, while hours are toll'd, Shall leap, as fountains veil the changing sky. Now kiss, and think that there are really those, My own high-bosomed beauty, who increase Vain gold, vain lore, and yet might choose our way! II Think thou and act; to-morrow thou shalt die. Outstretch'd in the sun's warmth upon the II Watch thou and fear; to-morrow thou shalt die. Or art thou sure thou shalt have time for death? Is not the day which God's word promiseth To come man knows not when? In yonder sky, Now while we speak, the sun speeds forth: can I Or thou assure him of his goal? God's breath Even at this moment haply quickeneth The air to a flame; till spirits, always nigh Though screened and hid, shall walk the daylight here. And dost thou prate of all that man shall do? Canst thou, who hast but plagues, presume to be II Glad in his gladness that comes after thee? Will his strength slay thy worm in Hell? Go to: Cover thy countenance, and watch, and fear. LOST DAYS The lost days of my life until to-day, What were they, could I see them on the street Lie as they fell? Would they be ears of wheat Sown once for food but trodden into clay? Or golden coins squandered and still to-pay? Or drops of blood dabbling the guilty feet? Or such spilt water as in dreams must cheat The undying throats of Hell, athirst alway? I do not see them here; but after death God knows I know the faces I shall see, 10 Each one a murdered self, with low last breath. what hast thou done to "I am thyself, me?" |