Collected Works (Vol. I)

THE TALE OF ARCIPAIS a) But [am born of gods, and turn My eyes to thee, thyself divine. My vigorous heart and spirit yearn With love, my cheeks with passion burn— As thy clear eyes may well discern By gazing into mine. Thy heart is cool, thy cheeks are pale, Nor blush with shame like winter wine To understand my amorous tale, For words and looks of Love must fail To touch thee, since a snowy veil Ts "twixt my mind and thine. Dear goddess, al whose carly breast I drank in all desires and woes3 Most reverend god, who oft caressed Her pale chaste wifehood, and who pressed Upon my forehead kisses blest ; Bid blossom out this rose, This fair white bud whose heart is pure, Whose bosom fears not, neither knows The long vague mysteries that endure Of life uncertain, of love sure. Teach her the mystic overture To Love’s transcendant throes. Tle ceased : but out of [leaven no sound ol might, No tongue of flame gave answer. Still as night, Silence and sunlight, stream and mead, pos- sessed The whole wide world. The maid’s re- luctant breast Heaved with soft passion nowise under- stood, and her pulse quickened. quiet wood Iler answer rang: ‘‘ My voice with thine shall break The woodland stillness, for the fountain’s sake. I'll sing thee—I.amia! mother, I obey !” In vain the desperate boy pursued the way With awful eyes ; no bruiséd flower betrayed The tender footsteps of a goddess maid ; No butterfly flew frightened ; on the pool No ripple spoke of her; the streamlet cool Through the Had no small wreath of amber mist to mark Iler flight; she was not there, the silver spark Llact flashed and faded 3 all the field was bare, No Wave of wing bestirred the sultry air, Save only where the noontide lark rose high To chant his liberty. Vhe vaulted sky Was one blue cupola of rare turquoise That shimmered with the heat. Ilis pulses pause lor his despair ineffable. [Ter name Ile called; she was not, and the piercing Name Of love struck through him, ull his tortured mind Drove his young limbs, the wolf that hunts the hind, Far through the forest. Lastly sleep, like death, With strong compulsion of his labouring breath Came on him dreamless. When he woke, the day Stooped toward the splendour of the western bay, And he remembered. Like a wild bird's cry The song within him flamed, a melody Dreadful and beautiful. The sad sca heard And echoed over earth its bitter word. SONG. Ere the grape ofjoy is golden With the summer and the sun, Ere the maidens unbeholden Gather one by one, To the vineyard comes the shower, No sweet rain to fresh the flower, But the thunder rain that cleaves, RKends and ruins tender leaves. Ere the wine of perfect pleasure From a perfect chalice poured, Swells the veins with such a measure As the garden’s lord Makes his votaries dance to, death Draws with soft delicious breath To the maiden and the man. Love and life are both a span.