Collected Works (Vol. III)

LIBER SECUNDUS VEL AMORIS 169 I caught the lavish lyre, and sate Hard by the waterfall, Twisting its sweetness intimate Into the solemn call Of many dead men that were great, The plectron’s wizard thrall. Thus as she danced, nor ceased, nor cared, I set the sacred throng Of heroes into acts that fared In Argo light and long, The foes they fought, the feats they dared, In shadow-show and song. (The play of Argonautae is sha- dowed before them by Or- pheus’ magtcal might.) So faded all the dream: so stole Some fearful fondness in her soul ; Even as a cloud thrilled sharply through With lightning’s temper keen and true, Splitting the ether: so again Grew on me the ecstatic pain, Seeing her tremble in mid-air. No flower so exquisitely fair Shakes out its petals at the dawn ; No breath so beautiful is drawn At even by the listening vale. For oh! she trembled! Frail and pale, Her looks surpassing loveliness Lulled its own light to fond distress, As if the soul were hardly yet Fit to remember or forget New-born ! and though the goddess bade The nymph-bud blossom to a maid, And soulless immortality Reach to a soul, at last to die, For love’s own sake, bliss dearly bought For change’s altering coin ill-wrought, It seemed as though the soul were strange, Not fledged, not capable to range At random through the world of sense Opened so swift and so intense Unto the being. Thus she stood Impatient on the patient flood With wonder waking in her eyes. Thus the young dove droops wing, and dies, In wonder why the winged thing Loosed from yon twanging silver string Should strike, should hurt. But now she wakes, Wreathes like a waterfall of snakes The golden fervour of her hair About the body brave and bare Starred in the sunlight by the spray, And laughed upon me as I lay Watching the change: First dawn of fire ! First ghost of nightfall’s grey desire ! First light of moonrise! Then, as June Leaps out of May, her lips took tune To song most soft, a spiral spell, A siren breathing in a shell. The notes were clustered round the well Like angels clustering round a god. Let memory wake from its abode Of dim precision lost for long The grace and grandeur of the song ! Who art thou, love, by what sweet name I quicken ? By whom, O love, my soul is subtly stricken? O Love, O Love, I linger On the dear word and know not any mean- ing, Nor why J chant; there is a whisper wean- ing My soul from depths I knew to depths I guess, Centred in two words only: ‘‘ Love” and * Yes.” What lyrist’s gentle finger’ Strikes out a note, a key, a chord unheard of ? What voice intones a song I know no word of? Who am I, Love, and where? What is the wonder of this troublous sing- ing ? What is the meaning of my spirit’s clinging Sull to the two sweet words: repeat, repeat ! ‘Ves, Love!” and ‘' Yes, Love!” Oh the murmur sweet ! The fragrance in the air! I know not, I ; amid the choral gladness Steals an essential tremor as of sadness, A grace-note to the bosom