Collected Works (Vol. II)

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.