Collected Works (Vol. III)

LIBER PIMUS VEL CARMINUM 147 Spring, maiden-footed, steals across the space, Sandalled with tremulous light, with flicker- ing hair Blown o’er the sweet looks of the fair child- face, Like willows drooping o’er the liquid mere, Whence timid eyes look far, Even where her kisses are Awaited by the tender mother lips, Earth’s, that is lonely and old, Grown sad, fearful, and cold With bitter winter and the sun’s eclipse ; So the child slips From bough to bough between the weep- ing trees, And with frail fingers smooths and touches them. They murmur in their sleep: the moonlight dips And laughs, seeing how young buds catch life from these Child-kisses on the stem. The leaves laugh low, and_ frosty-footed Time Shoulders a lighter burden ; in the dale Some distant notes of lovely music climb, Thrown from the golden-throated night- ingale, Pale sobs of love and life With death and fear at strife, Fiercely beset and hardly conquering, When spring’s bright eyes at last Flash through the sullen past, And tune its pain to tears, its peace to sing. The earth's lips cling To the child’s bosom, and low smiles revive ; Love is new-born upon the golden hour, And all the life of all the exultant spring Breathes in the wind that wakes the world alive Into the likeness of a flower. SUMMER. Full is the joy of Maidenhood made strong, Too proud to bend to swift Apollo’s kiss ; Rejoicing in its splendour, and the throng Of gaunt hounds leashless before Artemis. In strange exulting bliss The maiden stands, full-grown, with bound- ing breasts Bared to the noon, and narrow Keen eyes that glance, dim fires that veil their crests To flame along the arrow Aimed at some gallant of ten tines perched high Branching against the sky His cedar-spreading horns: stands, Holding in glimmering hands A silver bow across the shining weather, While, bound in pearl-wrought bands, Her bright hair streams ; she draws the quivering feather Back to the small ear curved: with golden zone Gathering her limbs she stands alone Like a young antelope poised upon a spire of stone. erect she What tender lightning flashes in the bosom Heaving with vigour of young life? What storm Gathers across the brow’s broad _lotus- blossom? What sudden passion fills the fragrant form With subtle streams of warm Blood tingling to the finger-tips of rose ? Swiftly the maiden closes The lustre of her look: disdainful glows The fire of wreathing roses In her bright cheeks: she darts away to find Like some uncovered hind Shade in the forest from the stag’s pursuit, Ere the sun’s passion shoot