Collected Works (Vol. III)

2 THE STAR AND THE GARTER THE STAR AND THE GARTER. I, WHAT sadness closes in between Your eyes and mine to-day, my Queen? In dewfall of our glance hath come A chill like sunset’s in hot lands Mid iris and chrysanthemum. Well do I know the shaken sands Within the surf, the beaten bar Of coral, the white nenuphar Of moonrise stealing o’er the bay. So here’s the darkness, and the day Sinks, and a chill clusters, and I Wrap close the cloak : then is it so To-day, you rose-gleam on the snow, My own true lover? Ardently I dare not look: I never looked So: that you know. But insight keen We (laugh and) call not ‘‘ love.” crooked The light swerves somehow. Do you mean— What? There is coldness and regret Set like the stinging winter spray Blown blind back from a waterfall On Cumbrian moors at Christmas. Wet The cold cheek numbs itself. A way Is here to make—an end of all? What sadness closes in between Your eyes and mine to-day, my Queen? Now IT. You are silent. That we always were. The racing lustres of your hair Spelt out its sunny message, though The room was dusk: a rosy glow Shed from an antique lamp to fall On the deep crimson of the wall, And over all the ancient grace Of shawls, and ivory, and gems! To cast its glamour, till your face The eye might fall upon and rest, 1 The description is of Crowley’s rooms in the Quartier Montparnasse, The temperate flower, the tropic stems. You were silent, and I too. Caressed The secret flames that curled around Our subtle intercourse. Profound, Unmoved, delighting utterly, So sat, so sit, my love and I. But not to-day. Your silence stirs No answering rapture : you are proud, And love itself checks and deters The thought to say itself aloud. Oh! heart of amber and fine-gold Silverly darting lunar rays ! Oh ! river of sweet passion rolled Adown invisible waterways ! Speak! Did I wound you then unguessed? What is the sorrow unexpressed That shadows those ecstatic lids? A word in season subtly rids The heart of thoughts unseasonable. You are silent. Do they speak in hell? IIT. Is it your glance that told me? Nay! I know you would not look that way. Seeing, you strove to see not. Fool! I have ruined all in one rash deed. Learnt I not in discretion’s school The little care that lovers need? For see—I bite my lip to blood ; A stifled word of anguish hisses :— O the black word that dams thought’s flood! O the bad lip that looked for kisses ! O the poor fool that prates of love! Is it a garter, or a glove? IV. A FOOL indeed! For why complain, Now the last five-barred gate is ope, Held by a little boy? TI hope The hour is handy to explain The final secret. Have I any? Yes ! the small boy shall havea penny !