Collected Works (Vol. III)

LIBER SECUNDUS VEL AMORIS 165 Unto the flowers, think worthy to remember How the dust scattered from their fading ember Is their own sign and seal of fatherhood, Grey seas of sorrow sun-kissed into amber. Above me hangs the sun: horrid he hangs, A rayless globe of hell, shooting forth fangs Snake-wise to parch and burn my solitude, Nor leave me quiet lamenting, with these pangs Tearing my liver, more Promethean Than ever Titan knew—the sunbright span Of narrow water mocks me, brightening Far to the indigo Ionian. The sun hangs high, as in the Arabian tale Enchanted palaces defy the gale, Perched upon airy mountains, on the wing Of genii poised, souls suffering and pale With their long labour: wizard spire and dome That maidens grown magicians had for home, Where the charmed sword and graven talisman Held them supremely floating on the foam Where cloudier seas innavigably roll, Misty with elemental shape or soul, Thin grey essential nebulze of man, Caught in the mesh of magical control ! All these are beautiful and shapen so That every bastion flames a separate glow Of changing colour: all] detestable, Abhorrent, since the goodly-seeming show Is one large lie of cruelty and lust, Carven from spectral images of dust, Founded on visions of the accursed well, And built of shame and hatred and distrust, And all things hateful and all lying things— Osong! where wanderest on forgetful wings? Shall these wild numbers help thee to thine own, Or change the winter’s gramarye to spring’s? Rather beguile the tedious mourning hours With memory of the long-forgotten bowers, Where loves resurged from cave and grove to throne, ‘rom nuptial banquet to the bed of flowers ! Rather forget the near catastrophe, And turn my music toward Eurydice, Awake in day-dream all the ancient days, When love first blossomed on the springing tree ! Let me recall the days beyond regret, And tune my lyre to love, sharpen and set The strings again to the forgotten ways, That I may tread them over, and forget ! In child-like meditative mood I wandered in the dell, Passed through the quiet glades of the wood, And sought the haunted well, Half hopeful that its solitude Might work some miracle. The oaks raised angry hands on high : The willows drooped for tears: The yews held solemn ceremony, Magical spells of years. I saw one cypress melancholy, A prince among his peers. So, turning from the arboreal seat And midmost hollow of earth. I followed Ilamadryads’ feet That made at eve their mirth To where the streamlet wandered fleet To show what time was worth. I watched the waters wake and laugh Running o’er pebbly beaches, Writing amazement’s epitaph With freshets, turns, and reaches :—- The only tale too short by half That nature ever teaches.