Jephthah and Other Mysteries

88 MYSTERIES: From rocky palaces where gnomes delight To sport all springtime, where the brooding night With cataract is musical, and thrushes | Throb their young love beside the stream that rushes Headlong to beat its foamheads into snow, Where the sad swallow calls, and pale songs flow To match the music of the nightingale. There, when the pulses of the summer fail, The fiery flakes of autumn fall, and there Some warm perfection of the lazy air Swims through the purpling veins of lovers. Hark! A faint bird’s note, as if a silver spark Struck from a diamond; listen, wife, and know How perfectly I love to watch you so. Wake, lover, wake, but stir not yet the child: Wake, and thy brow serene and low and mild Shall take my kisses, and my lips shall seek The pallid roses on thy perfect cheek, And kiss them into poppies, and thy mouth Shall lastly close to mine, as in the south We see the sun close fast upon the sea; So, my own heart, thy mouth must close on me. Art thou awake? Those eyes of wondering love, Sweet as the dawn and softer than the dove, Seek no quick vision—yet they move to me And, slowly, to the child. How still are we! Yes, and a smile betokens that they wake Or dream a waking dream for kisses’ sake; Yes, I will touch thee, O my low sweet brow! My wife, thy lips to mine—yes, kiss me now!