Collected Works (Vol. II)

64 ALICE; AN ADULTERY She laughs in wordless swift desire A soft Thalassian tune ; Her eyelids glimmer with the fire That animates the moon ; Her chaste lips flame, as flames aspire Of poppies in mid-June. She lifts the eyelids amethyst, And looks from half-shut eyes, Gleaming with miracles of mist, Gray shadows on blue skies ; And on her whole face sunrise-kissed, Child-wonderment most wise. The whitest arms in all the earth Blush from the lilac bed. Like a young star even at its birth Shines out the golden head. Sad violets are the maiden girth, Pale flames night-canopied. O gentlest lady! Lift those eyes, And cur] those lips to kiss ! Melt my young boyhood in thy sighs, A subtler Salmacis ! Hide, in that peace, these ecstasies ; In that fair fountain, this! She fades as starlight on the stream, As dewfall in the dell ; All life and love, one ravishing gleam Stolen from sleep’s crucible ; That kiss, that vision is a dream :— And I—most miserable ! Still Echo wails upon the steep, ‘¢To love—and to forget !” Still sombre whispers from the deep Sob through Night’s golden net, And waft upon the wings of sleep The name of Margaret. ALICE: AN ADULTERY. ‘‘Commit not with man’s sworn spouse.” King Lear. \GAINST the fiat of that God discrowned, Unseated by Man’s justice, and replaced, By Law most bountiful and maiden-faced And mother-minded: passing the low bound Of man’s poor law we leapt at last and found Passion ; and passing the dim halls dis- graced Found higher love and larger and more chaste, Acalm sphinx waiting in secluded ground. Hear the sad rhyme ot how love turned to lust, And lust invigorated love, and love’ Shone brighter for the stain it rose above, Gathering roses from the quickening dust ; And faith despoiled and desecrated trust Wore pearlier plumes of a diviner dove. THE FIRST DAY. ‘¢ Who ever loved that loved not at first sight ?”” As You Like It. THE waving surf shone from the Peaceful Sea.} Young palms embowered the house where Beauty sate Still but exultant, silent but elate In its own happiness and majesty Of a mild soul unstirred by rivalry Of any life beyond its own sweet state. I looked around me, wondered whether Fate Had found at last a woman’s love for me. I had no hope: she was so grave and calm, So shining with the dew-light of her soul, So beautiful beyond a woman’s share. Yet—here! Soft airs, and perfume through the palm, And moonlight in the groves of spice, control The life that would not love and yet be fair. 1 J.e. the Pacific.