Collected Works (Vol. II)

ANIMA LUNAE Al Before she knows that love: so mused the king ; ‘‘T am not weary of the soul of spring,” He said, ‘‘none happier in this causeless chain Of life that bears no fruit of pain, No seed of sorrow,” yet his heart was stirred, And, wasting no weak word On the invulnerable air, that had No soul of memories sad, He passed through all the palace: in his bowers He stooped and kissed the flowers ; And in his hall of audience stayed awhile, And with a glad strange smile Bade a farewell to all those lords of his; And greeted with a kiss The virgins clustered in his halls of bliss. Next, passing through the city, gave his hand To many a joyous band Flower-decked that wandered through the wanton ways Through summer's idle days. Last, passing through the city wall, he came Out to the living flame Of lambent water and the carven quay, Stone, like embroidery ! All the dear beauty of art’s soul sublime He looked on the last time, And trod the figured stéps, and found the ledge At the white water’s edge Where the king’s pinnace lodged; but he put by That shell of ivory, And chose a pearl-inwoven canoe, whose prow Bore the moon’s own bright brow In grace of silver sculptured ; and therein He stepped; and all the water thin Laughed to receive him ; now the city faded Little by little into many-shaded Clusters of colour. So his boat was drawn Subtly toward the dawn With little labour; and the lake dropped down From the orb’s utter crown O’er the horizon ; and the narrowing sides Showed him the moving tides And pearling waters of a tinier stream Than in a maiden’s dream She laves her silken limbs in, and is glad. Then did indeed the fountains change their tune, Sliding from gold sun-clad To silver filigree wherethrough the moon Shines—for the subtle soul Of music takes on shape, and we compare The cedar’s branching hair, The comet’s glory, and the woman’s smile, To strange devices otherwise not heard Without the lute’s own word. So on the soul of Zohra grew A fashioned orb of fiery dew: Yet (as cool water on a leaf) It touched his spirit not with grief, Although its name was sorrow. ‘*Q for a name to borrow ” (He mused) ‘‘ some semblance for this subtle sense Of new experience ! For on my heart, untouched, my mind not used : To any metre mused, Save the one tranquil and continuous rhyme Of joy exceeding time, | Here the joy changes, but abides for ever, Here on the shining river | Where the dusk gathers, and tall trees begin To wrap the shallop in, Sweet shade not cast of sun or moon or star, But of some light afar Softer and sweeter than all these—what light Burns past the wondrous night Of yonder crags ?—what riven chasm hides In those mysterious sides? Somewhere this stream must leap Down vales divinely steep Into some vain unprofitable deep !”’ So mused the king. moon shone! Nay, but a little past the full, she rose An hour past sunset : as some laughter gone, After the bride’s night, lost in subtler snows Mark you, the full