Collected Works (Vol. III)

VARIOUS MEASURES 113 Thou wast proud of thy beauty: the burden of beauty was hid From thy eyes: how is’t now with thee, now? By the sweat dropping slow From the brows of thy anguish, we see what the weight of it did To the patient despair of the brain. no God strike a blow? Shall no hero be found the unbearable burden to rid? And if these be extinct—’tis a fiend that laughs eager and low: “* Shall beauty avail thee, Caryatid ?” Shall JEUNE MERE SURELY the secret whisper of sweet life Shakes in the shell-ear murmurous memories Of the old wonder of young ecstasies In the first hours when the white word of wife She won so hardly out of dark wild strife And mystery of peace ; thine utter ease, Abandoned rapture! Caught and cut by seas Of sudden wisdom, stinging as a knife Swift struck sets all the blood a-tingle. Woe! What wakes within? What holiest intima- tion Of intimate knowledge of the lords of nature ? She sees her fate smile out on her, doth know Her weird of womanhood, her noble station Among the stars and ages; and her stature Soars o’er the system; so the scarred mis- feature Of death avails her for the isolation Of high things ever holy ; this the throe Of swiftly-comprehended motherhood Once taught her. Now the whisper of the child Bids her be great, who was supremely good. For, mark you! babes are ware of wiser things, And hold more arcane matters in their mild Cabochon eyes than men are ware of yet. VOL. IIT. Therefore have poets, lest they should forget, Likened the little sages unto kings. But look! the baby whispers—hush| nay| We shall disturb them loving—come away| Nay | L?’,AMOUR QUI PASSE, LOVE comes to flit, a spark of steel Struck on the flint of youth and wit3 Ay, little maid, for woe or weal, Love comes to flit. Hermes one whisper thrills. Admit! Kupris one smile aims—do you feel? Eros one arrow—has he hit ? Why do you sit there immobile? A spark extinct is not relit. Beyond resource, above appeal, Love comes to flit. TETE DE FEMME (MUSEE DU LUXEMBOURG). IT shall be said, when all is done, The last line written, the last mountain Climbed, the last look upon the sun Taken, the last star in the fountain Shattered, that you and I were one. What shall they say, who come apace After us, heedless, gallant? Seeing Our statues, hearing of our race Heroic tales, half-doubted, being So far beyond a rime to trace. What shall they say? For secret we Have held our love, and holy. Splendour Of light, and music of the sea And eyes and heart serene and tender, With kisses mingled utterly. These were our ways. And who shall know? What warrior bard our nuptial glories Shall sing? Historic shall we go Down through our country’s golden stories ? Shall lovers whisper ‘‘ Even so H