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Not for their love shall Fate retire, Nor they relent for our desire, Nor the graves open for their call.
The end is more than joy and anguish, Than lives that laugh and lives that languish, The poppied sleep, the end of all.
HERMAPHRODITUS
I
Lift up thy lips, turn round, look back for love, Blind love that comes by night and casts out rest; Of all things tired thy lips look weariest, Save the long smile that they are wearied of.
Ah sweet, albeit no love be sweet enough, Choose of two loves and cleave unto the best; Two loves at either blossom of thy breast Strive until one be under and one above.
Their breath is fire upon the amorous air, Fire in thine eyes and where thy lips suspire: And whosoever hath seen thee, being so fair, Two things turn all his life and blood to fire; A strong desire begot on great despair, A great despair cast out by strong desire.
II
Where between sleep and life some brief s.p.a.ce is, With love like gold bound round about the head, s.e.x to sweet s.e.x with lips and limbs is wed, Turning the fruitful feud of hers and his To the waste wedlock of a sterile kiss; Yet from them something like as fire is shed That shall not be a.s.suaged till death be dead, Though neither life nor sleep can find out this.
Love made himself of flesh that perisheth A pleasure-house for all the loves his kin; But on the one side sat a man like death, And on the other a woman sat like sin.
So with veiled eyes and sobs between his breath Love turned himself and would not enter in.
III
Love, is it love or sleep or shadow or light That lies between thine eyelids and thine eyes?
Like a flower laid upon a flower it lies, Or like the night's dew laid upon the night.
Love stands upon thy left hand and thy right, Yet by no sunset and by no moonrise Shall make thee man and ease a woman's sighs, Or make thee woman for a man's delight.
To what strange end hath some strange G.o.d made fair The double blossom of two fruitless flowers?
Hid love in all the folds of all thy hair, Fed thee on summers, watered thee with showers, Given all the gold that all the seasons wear To thee that art a thing of barren hours?
IV
Yea, love, I see; it is not love but fear.
Nay, sweet, it is not fear but love, I know; Or wherefore should thy body's blossom blow So sweetly, or thine eyelids leave so clear Thy gracious eyes that never made a tear-- Though for their love our tears like blood should flow, Though love and life and death should come and go, So dreadful, so desirable, so dear?
Yea, sweet, I know; I saw in what swift wise Beneath the woman's and the water's kiss Thy moist limbs melted into Salmacis, And the large light turned tender in thine eyes, And all thy boy's breath softened into sighs; But Love being blind, how should he know of this?
_Au Muse du Louvre, Mars 1863._
FRAGOLETTA
O Love! what shall be said of thee?
The son of grief begot by joy?
Being sightless, wilt thou see?
Being s.e.xless, wilt thou be Maiden or boy?
I dreamed of strange lips yesterday And cheeks wherein the ambiguous blood Was like a rose's--yea, A rose's when it lay Within the bud.
What fields have bred thee, or what groves Concealed thee, O mysterious flower, O double rose of Love's, With leaves that lure the doves From bud to bower?
I dare not kiss it, lest my lip Press harder than an indrawn breath, And all the sweet life slip Forth, and the sweet leaves drip, Bloodlike, in death.
O sole desire of my delight!
O sole delight of my desire!
Mine eyelids and eyesight Feed on thee day and night Like lips of fire.
Lean back thy throat of carven pearl, Let thy mouth murmur like the dove's; Say, Venus hath no girl, No front of female curl, Among her Loves.
Thy sweet low bosom, thy close hair, Thy strait soft flanks and slenderer feet, Thy virginal strange air, Are these not over fair For Love to greet?
How should he greet thee? what new name, Fit to move all men's hearts, could move Thee, deaf to love or shame, Love's sister, by the same Mother as Love?
Ah sweet, the maiden's mouth is cold, Her breast-blossoms are simply red, Her hair mere brown or gold, Fold over simple fold Binding her head.
Thy mouth is made of fire and wine, Thy barren bosom takes my kiss And turns my soul to thine And turns thy lip to mine, And mine it is.
Thou hast a serpent in thine hair, In all the curls that close and cling; And ah, thy breast-flower!
Ah love, thy mouth too fair To kiss and sting!
Cleave to me, love me, kiss mine eyes, Satiate thy lips with loving me; Nay, for thou shalt not rise; Lie still as Love that dies For love of thee.
Mine arms are close about thine head, My lips are fervent on thy face, And where my kiss hath fed Thy flower-like blood leaps red To the kissed place.
O bitterness of things too sweet!
O broken singing of the dove!
Love's wings are over fleet, And like the panther's feet The feet of Love.
RONDEL
These many years since we began to be, What have the G.o.ds done with us? what with me, What with my love? they have shown me fates and fears, Harsh springs, and fountains bitterer than the sea, Grief a fixed star, and joy a vane that veers, These many years.
With her, my love, with her have they done well?
But who shall answer for her? who shall tell Sweet things or sad, such things as no man hears?
May no tears fall, if no tears ever fell, From eyes more dear to me than starriest spheres These many years!
But if tears ever touched, for any grief, Those eyelids folded like a white-rose leaf, Deep double sh.e.l.ls wherethrough the eye-flower peers, Let them weep once more only, sweet and brief, Brief tears and bright, for one who gave her tears These many years.
