New Poems by Francis Thompson Part 7

'His sifted dainty this should be For a score ambrosial years!

But his too much humility Alarums me with fears.

'My gracious grace a breach he counts For graceless escalade; And, though he's silent ere he mounts, My watch is not betrayed.

'My heart hides from my soul he's sweet: Ah dread, if he divine!

One touch, I might fall at his feet, And he might rise from mine.

'To hear him praise my eyes' brown gleams Was native, safe delight; But now it usurpation seems, Because I've given him right.

'Before I'd have him not remove, Now would not have him near; With sacrifice I called on Love, And the apparition's Fear.'

Foolish to give it!--'Twas my whim, When he might parted be, To think that I should stay by him In a little piece of me.

'He always said my hair was soft-- What touches he will steal!

Each touch and look (and he'll look oft) I almost thought I'd feel.

'And then, when first he saw the hair, To think his dear amazement!

As if he wished from skies a star, And found it in his cas.e.m.e.nt.

'He's kiss the lock--and I had toyed With dreamed delight of this: But ah, in proof, delight was void-- I could not SEE his kiss!'

So, fond one, half this agony Were spared, which my hand hushes, Could you have played, Sweet, the sweet spy, And blushed not for your blushes!

A GIRL'S SIN.

II.--In his eyes.

Can I forget her cruelty Who, brown miracle, gave you me?

Or with unmoisted eyes think on The proud surrender overgone, (Lowlihead in haughty dress), Of the tender tyranness?

And ere thou for my joy was given, How rough the road to that blest heaven!

With what pangs I fore-expiated Thy cold outlawry from her head; How was I trampled and brought low, Because her virgin neck was so; How thralled beneath the jealous state She stood at point to abdicate; How sacrificed, before to me She sacrificed her pride and thee; How did she, struggling to abase Herself to do me strange, sweet grace, Enforce unwitting me to share Her throes and abjectness with her; Thence heightening that hour when her lover Her grace, with trembling, should discover, And in adoring trouble be Humbled at her humility!

And with what pitilessness was I After slain, to pacify The uneasy manes of her shame, Her haunting blushes!--Mine the blame: What fair injustice did I rue For what I--did not tempt her to?

Nor aught the judging maid might win Me to a.s.soil from HER sweet sin.

But nought were extreme punishment For that beyond-divine content, When my with-thee-first-giddied eyes Stooped ere their due on Paradise!

O hour of consternating bliss When I heavened me in thy kiss; Thy softness (daring overmuch!) Profan-ed with my licensed touch; Wors.h.i.+pped, with tears, on happy knee, Her doubt, her trust, her shyness free, Her timorous audacity!

LOVE DECLARED.

I looked, she drooped, and neither spake, and cold, We stood, how unlike all forecasted thought Of that desir-ed minute! Then I leaned Doubting; whereat she lifted--oh, brave eyes Unfrighted:--forward like a wind-blown flame Came bosom and mouth to mine!

That falling kiss Touching long-laid expectance, all went up Suddenly into pa.s.sion; yea, the night Caught, blazed, and wrapt us round in vibrant fire.

Time's beating wing subsided, and the winds Caught up their breathing, and the world's great pulse Stayed in mid-throb, and the wild train of life Reeled by, and left us stranded on a hush.

This moment is a statue unto Love Carved from a fair white silence.

Lo, he stands Within us--are we not one now, one, one roof, His roof, and the part.i.tion of weak flesh Gone down before him, and no more, for ever?-- Stands like a bird new-lit, and as he lit, Poised in our quiet being; only, only Within our shaken hearts the air of pa.s.sion, Cleft by his sudden coming, eddies still And whirs round his enchanted movelessness.

A film of trance between two stirrings! Lo, It bursts; yet dream's snapped links cling round the limbs Of waking: like a running evening stream Which no man hears, or sees, or knows to run, (Glazed with dim quiet), save that there the moon Is shattered to a creamy flicker of flame, Our eyes' sweet trouble were hid, save that the love Trembles a little on their impa.s.sioned calms.

THE WAY OF A MAID.

The lover whose soul shaken is In some dec.u.man billow of bliss, Who feels his gradual-wading feet Sink in some sudden hollow of sweet, And 'mid love's us-ed converse comes Sharp on a mood which all joy sums-- An instant's fine compendium of The liberal-leav-ed writ of love; His abashed pulses beating thick At the exigent joy and quick, Is dumbed, by aiming utterance great Up to the miracle of his fate.

The wise girl, such Icarian fall Saved by her confidence that she's small,-- As what no kindred word will fit Is uttered best by opposite, Love in the tongue of hate exprest, And deepest anguish in a jest,-- Feeling the infinite must be Best said by triviality, Speaks, where expression bates its wings, Just happy, alien, little things; What of all words is in excess Implies in a sweet nothingness, With dailiest babble shows her sense That full speech were full impotence; And while she feels the heavens lie bare, She only talks about her hair.

BEGINNING OF END.

She was aweary of the hovering Of Love's incessant tumultuous wing; Her lover's tokens she would answer not-- 'Twere well she should be strange with him somewhat: A pretty babe, this Love,--but fie on it, That would not suffer her lay it down a whit!

Appointed tryst defiantly she balked, And with her lightest comrade lightly walked, Who scared the chidden Love to hide apart, And peep from some unnoticed corner of her heart.

She thought not of her lover, deem it not (There yonder, in the hollow, that's HIS cot), But she forgot not that he was forgot.

She saw him at his gate, yet stilled her tongue-- So weak she felt her, that she would feel strong, And she must punish him for doing him wrong: Pa.s.sed, un.o.blivious of oblivion still; And if she turned upon the brow o' the hill, It was so openly, so lightly done, You saw she thought he was not thought upon.

He through the gate went back in bitterness; She that night woke and stirred, with no distress, Glad of her doing,--sedulous to be glad, Lest perhaps her foolish heart suspect that it was sad.

PENELOPE.

Love, like a wind, shook wide your blosmy eyes, You trembled, and your breath came sobbing-wise For that you loved me.

You were so kind, so sweet, none could withhold To adore, but that you were so strange, so cold; For that you loved me.

Like to a box of spikenard did you break Your heart about my feet. What words you spake!

For that you loved me.

Life fell to dust without me; so you tried All carefullest ways to drive me from your side, For that you loved me.

You gave yourself as children give, that weep And s.n.a.t.c.h back, with--'I meant you not to keep!'

For that you loved me.

I am no woman, girl, nor ever knew That love could teach all ways that hate could do To her that loved me.

Have less of love, or less of woman in Your love, or loss may even from this begin-- That you so love me.

For, wild Penelope, the web you wove You still unweave, unloving all your love; Is this to love me,

Or what rights have I that scorn could deny?

Even of your love, alas, poor Love must die, If so you love me!