Love Letters of a Violinist and Other Poems Part 26

I thank thee, see! on bended knee.

I seek salvation in thy touch.

And when I sleep I watch thee come, And both are wild, and one is dumb.

XXII.

I draw thee, ghost-like, to my heart; I kiss thy lips and call thee mine.

Of thy sweet soul I form a part, And my poor soul is part of thine.

Ah, kill me, kiss me, curse me, Thou!

But let me be thy servant now.

XXIII.

What! did I curse thy golden hair?

Well, then, the sun will set at noon; The face that keeps the world so fair Is thine, not his; he darkens soon.

Thy smile awakes the bird of dawn, And day departs when thou art gone.

XXIV.

Oh! had I groves in some sweet star That s.h.i.+nes in Heaven the whole night through,-- A steed with wings,--a golden car,-- A something wild and strange and true:-- A fairy's wand,--an angel's crown,-- I'd merge them all in thy renown.

XXV.

I'd give thee queens to wait on thee, And kings to kneel to thee in prayer, And seraph-boys by land and sea To do thy bidding,--earth and air To pay thee homage,--all the flowers,-- And all the nymphs in all the bowers.

XXVI.

And this our love should last for aye, And we should live these thousand years.

We'd meet in Mars on Christmas Day, And make the tour of all the spheres.

We'd do strange things! Sweet stars would s.h.i.+ne, And Death would spare my love and thine.

XXVII.

But these are dreams; and dreams are vain; Mine most of all,--so heed them not.

Brave thoughts will die, though men complain, And mine was bold! 'Tis now forgot.

Well; let me bless thee, ere I sleep, And give thee all my joys to keep.

XXVIII.

I bless the house where thou wast born, I bless the hours of every night, And every hour from flush of morn Till death of day, for thy delight; I bless the sunbeams as they s.h.i.+ne,-- So like those golden locks of thine.

XXIX.

I bless thy lips, thy l.u.s.trous eyes, Thy face, thy feet, thy forehead fair, The light that s.h.i.+nes in summer skies,-- In garden walks when thou art there,-- And all the gra.s.s beneath thy feet, And all the songs thou singest, Sweet!

x.x.x.

But blessing thus,--ah, woe's the day!-- I know what tears I shall not shed, What flowers will bloom, and, bright as they, What bells will ring when I am dead.

Ah, kill me, kiss me, curse me, Thou!

But let me be thy minstrel now.

ELeANORE.

I.

The forest flowers are faded all, The winds complain, the snow-flakes fall, Eleanore!

I turn to thee, as to a bower:-- Thou breathest beauty like a flower, Thou smilest like a happy hour, Eleanore!

II.

I turn to thee. I bless afar Thy name, which is my guiding-star, Eleanore!

And yet, ah G.o.d! when thou art here I faint, I hold my breath for fear.

Art thou some phantom wandering near, Eleanore?

III.

Oh, take me to thy bosom fair; Oh, cover me with thy golden hair, Eleanore!

There let me lie when I am dead, Those morning beams about me spread, The glory of thy face o'erhead, Eleanore!

[Ill.u.s.tration: MARIE]

THE STATUE.

I.

See where my lady stands, Lifting her l.u.s.trous hands,-- Here let me bow.

Image of truth and grace!

Maid with the angel-face!

Earth was no dwelling-place For such as thou.