Collected Works (Vol. III)

LOVE-SONGS 63 Closer and closer through the dusk of sense Avails the monotone omnipotence. Steady, in one crescent tune, Rises the virgin moon 3 And from the depth of eyes flooded with love Shines ecstasy thereof. Words pass and are not heard. The ear, awake Only for its master’s individual sake, Strains only for three whispered songs, Hears naught beside, interprets silence so, Till liquid melodies of music flow “T love you.” We afford to wait; who longs That knows ? is full. And we know; for the moon Steals in the ambient aura of delight That quivering ray intense and cool Self centred. Woven ofa million lines There is a curve of licht, | A pure, ideal curve, single, that shines Amid the manifold night Of all the flowery dreams that build it up. So from the azure cup Of heaven inverted is the white wine poured, Stay, O thou vivid sword : Of soul, and cease, and be not! Through all eternity Let me be not, and this thing be! Unto me XV. O THE deep wells and springs of tears ! G the intenser rays of blue, I'leeting through gray unaltering spheres, Like skies beholden through the dew ! O pearls of light ! O sombre meres Wherein a waterwitch is hid, And chants of sunset rise unbid, Your eyes, youreyes ! They read me through, Sphinx ; and your soul, the Pyramid, 3urns upward, and I warship you. 2. But had I moulded beauty’s eyes [ had not touched the carving tool Thus tenderly: my spirit dies Before you, but my life still lies Salient, unwounded, and to dule Wakes: I had rather you were now Medusa, of the awful brow, The snaky hair, the face of fear. So could I shut my eyes; feel how Your hair fell back on me and bit, Your lips descended on my face In one exenterate kiss: and wit I should abide a little space— So little a space !—and solemn rise, Face the black vaults of the alone, And, knowing, lift to you mine eyes, Look on your face, and turn to stone, XVI. THE schoolboy drudges through his Greek ; Plods to the integral calculus ; Makes sulphuretted hydrogen ; And, if the poor dumb thing could speak, He’d say: Hic labor omnibus Prodest : vitae verae limen, Deinde missa juventute Ave ! cum otio dignitas !! So I: and strove and did not shirk. But now? Confront me life and duty; Toil is my daily hap, alas! And work is still the sire of work, Shall I repine? What joys are hid In weariness of idleness ? Rich, young, beloved, shall I rececle? Enjoy? NotI! I work unbid; Book follows book ; ideas press Ilurrying over the green mead 1 This work is good for all men, the thres- hold of real life. ‘Then, once youth is past, Hail! Ease and dignity.