Collected Works (Vol. III)

12 THE STAR AND THE GARTER Back! OI love you evermore. But, be our bed the bridal sky ! I love you, love you. Iither, shore Of far unstained eternity ! There we will rest. Beware! Beware! For I am young, and you are fair. Nay! Iam old in this, you know! Ah ! heart of God! I love you so! XXV. O WHAT pale thoughts like gum exude From smitten stem of tropic tree ! I talk of veils, who love the nude ! Witness the masterpieces three Of Rodin that make possible Life in prosaic Paris, stand About the room, its chorus swell From the irritating to the grand. Shall we, who love the naked form, The inmost truth, to ourselves fail, Take shelter from love’s lightning-storm Behind some humbug’s hoary veil ? Ah! were it so, love, could the flame Of fast electric fervour flash, Smite us through husk of form and name, Leave of the dross a little ash, One button of pure fused gold Identical—O floral hour ! That were the bliss no eyes behold, But Christ’s delighted bridal dower Assuming into God the Church. But—oh ! these nudes of Rodin! I Drag one more linnet from its perch That sang to us, and sang a lie. Did Rodin strip the clothes, and find A naked truth fast underneath? Never! Where lurks the soul and mind? What is the body but a sheath? Did he ply forceps, scalpel, saw, Tear all the grace of form apart, Intent to catch some final law Behind the engine of the heart? He tried not ; whoso has, has failed. So, did I pry beneath the robe, Till stubborn will availed, nor quailed, Intimate with the naked probe ? I know the husks! to strip; name, form, Sensation, then perception, stress Of nature thither ; last, the swarm Of honey-bees called consciousness. These change and shape a myriad shapes. Diverse are these, not one at all, What gain I if my scalpel scrapes, Turning before some final wall Of soul? Not so, nothing is there. The qualities are all: for this I stop as I have stopped ; intrude No science, for I love the fair ; No wedlock, for I love the kiss ; No scalpel, for I love the nude. And we await the deep event, Whate’er it be, in solitude ; Silent, with ecstasy bedewed ; Content, as Rodin is content. XXVI. I WILL not, and you will not. Stay! Do you recall that night of June When from the insufferable day Edged out the dead volcanic moon Solemn into the midnight ? You Shone your inviolate violet eyes Into my eyes less sad, and drew Back from the slender witcheries Of word and song: and silence knew What splendour in the silence lies, The soul drawn back into itself. It was the deep environing Wood that then shielded us: the elf And fairy in an emerald ring, And hamadryad of the trees, And naiad of the sleepy lake, That watched us on the mossy leas Look on each other’s face, and take The secret of the universe To sleep with us : you knew, and I, The purport of the eternal curse, The ill design of destiny. You know, and I, O living head Of love! the things that were not said. 1 The BuddGhist '‘ Skandhas.”” See ‘' Science and Buddhism,” vol. ii. p. 244.