« PreviousContinue »
Became an outward breathing type, That into stillness past again,
And left a want unknown before; Although the loss that brought us pain, That loss but made us love the more,
With farther lookings on. The kiss,
The woven arms, seem but to be Weak symbols of the settled bliss,
The comfort, I have found in thee: But that God bless thee, dear-who wrought Two spirits to one equal mind— With blessings beyond hope or thought, With blessings which no words can find.
Arise, and let us wander forth
To yon old mill across the wolds; For look, the sunset, south and north, Winds all the vale in rosy folds, And fires your narrow casement glass,
Touching the sullen pool below: On the chalk-hill the bearded grass Is dry and dewless. Let us go.
O LOVE, Love, Love! O withering might!
Last night I wasted hateful hours
I thirsted for the brooks, the showers:
I crushed them on my breast, my mouth:
Last night, when some one spoke his name,
O Love, O fire! once he drew
With one long kiss my whole soul through
Before he mounts the hill, I know
In my dry brain my spirit soon,
The wind sounds like a silver wire,
My whole soul waiting silently,
I will grow round him in his place,
Grow, live, die looking on his face,
THERE lies a vale in Ida, lovelier
Hither came at noon Mournful Enone, wandering forlorn Of Paris, once her playmate on the hills. Her cheek had lost the rose, and round her neck Floated her hair or seemed to float in rest. She, leaning on a fragment twined with vine, Sang to the stillness, till the mountain-shade Sloped downward to her seat from the
"O mother Ida, many-fountained Ida,
My eyes are full of tears, my heart of love,
"O mother Ida, many-fountained Ida, Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die.
Hear me O Earth, hear me O Hills, O Caves,
I am the daughter of a River-God;
"O mother Ida, many-fountained Ida, Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. I waited underneath the dawning hills, Aloft the mountain lawn was dewy-dark, And dewy-dark aloft the mountain-pine : Beautiful Paris, evil-hearted Paris, Leading a jet-black goat white-horned, white-hooved, Came up from reedy Simois all alone.
"O mother Ida, harken ere I die.
Far-off the torrent called me from the cleft:
Far up the solitary morning smote
The streaks of virgin snow. With down-dropt eyes,
I sat alone: white breasted like a star
Fronting the dawn he moved; a leopard skin
"Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. He smiled, and opening out his milk-white palm
Disclosed a fruit of pure Hesperian gold,
'My own Enone, Beautiful-browed Enone, my own soul, Behold this fruit, whose gleaming rind engraven "For the most fair," would seem to award it thine, As lovelier than whatever Oread haunt The knolls of Ida, loveliest in all grace Of movement, and the charm of married brows.'
"Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. He prest the blossom of his lips to mine, And added, This was cast upon the board, When all the full-faced presence of the Gods Ranged in the halls of Peleus; whereupon Rose feud, with question unto whom 'twere due: But light-foot Iris brought it yester-eve, Delivering that to me, by common voice Elected umpire, Herè comes to-day Pallas and Aphrodite, claiming each This meed of fairest. Thou, within the cave Behind yon whispering tuft of oldest pine, Mayst well behold them unbeheld, unheard Hear all, and see thy Paris judge of Gods.'
"Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. It was the deep midnoon: one silvery cloud Had lost his way between the piney sides Of this long glen. Then to the bower they came Naked they came to that smooth-swarded bower, And at their feet the crocus brake like fire, Violet, amaracus, and asphodel, Lotos and lilies: and a wind arose, And overhead the wandering ivy and vine, This way and that, in many a wild festoon