THE THIRTIETH DAY
77
Of love recks little of eternity—
And though the moon is dying, ourselves
may swoon,
One deathless shape of the
breasted moon.
large-
THE TWENTY-EIGHTH DAY.
‘* But I perceive in you so excellent a touch
of modesty that you will not extort from me
what I am willing to keep in.”
» Twelfth- Night.
A CURIOUS conflict this of love and fear,
Honour and lust, and truth and trust
beguiled;
One in the semblance of a rose-bright
child :—
The other in a shape more gross and
| clear,
za flercer woman-figure crowned severe
With garlands woven of scourges, but
whose wild
Breast beat with splendour of sin, whose
looks were mild,
Hiding the cruel smile behind a tear.
So she: “I know you never would ;” yet did
Such acts that no end otherwise might be.
So I: ‘‘I will not ever pluck the
flower ;”’
Yet strayed enchanted on the lawns forbid,
And bathed enamoured in the secret sea,
Both knowing our words were spoken—
for an hour.
THE TWENTY-NINTH DAY.
‘* Persever in that clear way thou goest,
And the gods strengthen thee.”
Pericles,
LINKED in the tiny shelf upon the ship,
My blind eyes burned into her mild
ones: limbs
Twined to each other while fine dew
bedims
Their quivering skins: lip fastened unto
lip:
Whole soul and body frenzied meet and clip;
And the breath staggers, and the life-
blood swims !
Terrible gods chant black demoniac
hymns
As the frail cords of honour strain and
slip.
For in the midst of that tremendous tide
The mighty vigour of a god was mine!
Drunk with desire, her lamentations
died.
The dove gave place a moment to the swine !
Rapturous draughts of madness! Out
she sighed
Uttermost life’s love, and became a
bride.
THE THIRTIETH DAY.
‘For God’s sake, lords, convey my tristful
Queen,
For tears do stop the floodgates of her eyes.”
King Henry IV.
BITTER reproaches passed between us twain,
Hers real, mine with sneering logic sewn
Proving my trespass hardly half her own,
Its cause; I proved her how she made
me fain
And left me mad, and led through joy and
pain
To that unthinkable thing: I might atone
No whit in this way: then that stubborn
stone
My heart grew tears: we were good
friends again.
Therefore at night I added nothing new:
Only a little while I lay with her
And with mere kisses sucked her soul
away,
And made my banquet of immortal dew,
Demanding nothing but to minister
To her desire until the dawn grew grey.