164
ORPHEUS
Nor would I suffer thus, nor she repine
Had my wife faded (as rose-tinted wine
Bleached in the sunlight) reached her
period
And fallen gently in the arms divine,
Caressing arms of pale Persephone,
And bathed her in death’s river tenderly,
Washing the whole bright body, the long
limbs,
The clothing hair, the face, the witchery
Of all the smiling shape in the dark stream,
As one who gathers the first floral beam
Of daylight by the water, dives and swims
Deep in cool alleys, softer than a dream :
So, rising to the other bank, aglow
With the bright motion and the stream’s
young flow,
She might discover the Elysian ground,
And find me waiting, find me sad and slow
Pacing the green flower-lighted turf, and leap
Into my body’s kisses, into sleep :—
Sweeter this latter bridal than we found
The first, now lost in time’s eternal deep.
It is not cruel if the ripe fruit fall—
But never an elegy funereal
Wept for untimely burial, but cried
Aloud against the Fates, forebore to call
In pity or passion on the Gods of peace ;
But cursed, but wailed, nor bade its sharp
tongue cease
Until the lightning spat, sharp to divide
Bone from its marrow for their blasphemies !
So I should curse, unless indeed my grief
Be not too great to yield me such relief.
Methinks a sob must start and mar the
roar
Of loud harsh laughing bitter unbelief
Scarring the sky with poisonous foam of
song.
Also, what curse might remedy the wrong?
Are not all feuds forgotten in a war?
All stars exhausted in Astrzea’s throng
When the swift sun leaps skyward? Let
me speak
Words rather of wisdom: hate may rage and
wreak
Vengeance if vain if wisdom smile beyond,
Too high to care, too ultimate to seek.
The bitterést sorrow of all sorrow is this :
I had no time to catch one last long kiss,
Nor bid farewell, nor lay one lily-frond
Of resurrection for the sign of bliss,
Remembrance of some immortality
Affirmed if not believed : alas for me
That might not interchange the last sad
vows,
Nor close the blue eyes clearer than the sea
Before they darkened, and the veil of death
Shrouded their splendour: still there lingereth
Some sad white lustre’on the icy brows,
Some breast-curve surely indicating breath,
Some misty glamour of deep love within
The eye’s cold gléam ! some dimple on the
chin
Hinting of laughter: even now she seems
A folded rosebud, where the ivory skin
Closes the ripe warm centre flower, the
mind,
The spirit that-was beautifully kind,
The sense of beauty shadowed in deep
dreams,
Sent through the horn gates by some sleepy
wind.
All lingers: all is gone: a little while,
And all the live sweet rapture of the smile
Of her whole being is discomfited,
The body broken, desolated, vile,
Till nought remains but the memorial urn
Of deep red gold, less golden than did burn
Once the strong breast : the ash within is
shed,
Dust given for flowers: what memory shall
turn