PART V WINTER (continued 4)

An instant only and her eyes Flashed lightning like the angry skies; And o’er her forehead, curving down, Fell dark the shadow of a frown; Then backward, deep and stormy fair, She tossed the tempest of her hair; Then of her lips’ full rose disdain Made a pink-folded bud again; Then quicker than all utterance, All changed: and at a word, a glance, Her anger rained its tears, then passed; And she was in my arms at last; The austere woman, doubly dear, And lovelier for each falling tear: But why we quarreled, how it grew, I can not tell, I never knew: Perhaps ’t was Love; he, who, with tears, Would show how fair a face appears; As, after storm, the sky ’s more blue, A wildflower ’s fairer for the dew.

What better praise for all her ways Than that all days her ways illume? Such brightness as the maiden year Knows, when God’s kindness seems as near As flowers whose wisdom ’s but to bloom. Hers the deep hair: a face more fair Than roses June sets blossoming: The sunshine of her gladness gleams In bloom-bright lips and cheeks, and dreams Upon her throat’s soft coloring. Her voice is sweet as birds that greet With song the coming of the light: The serious happy gleam that lies In the dark lustre of her eyes Is as the starlight to the night. Beyond the sea such girls as she It was whom Titian loved to paint, With calm Madonna eyes, and hair Rich auburn; robed in gold and vair, Fair as the vision of a saint.

Over the summer sea, When the white-eyed stars look pale, And the moonbeams make a trail Of gold through the waves for me, I turn my ghostly sail Away, away, And follow the form I see Over the summer sea. Over the misty sea, Ere the cliff which highest soars From the billow-beaten shores Reddens all rosily, Where the witch-white water roars, Far on, far on. Through the foam she beckons me Over the summer sea. Over the haunted sea, When the great, gold moon low lies On the rim of the western skies, ’Twixt the moon, she comes, and me, And gazes in my eyes; Low down, low down, ’Twixt the orbéd moon and me, Over the summer sea. Deep in the bitter sea, Wilt thou drag me down, O sweet? Down, down! from hair to feet Filled with thee utterly? Against thy heart’s wild beat?— At last! at last! Wilt drag me down with thee, Deep in the summer sea?

So let it be. Thou dare not say ’t was I!— Here in life’s temple, where thy soul can see, Look where the beauty of our love doth lie, Shattered in shards, a dead divinity!— Approach: kneel down: yea, render up one sigh! This is the end. What need to tell it thee! So let it be. So let it be. Care, who hath stood with him, And sorrow, who sat by him deified,— For whom his face made comfort,—lo! how dim They heap his altar which they can not hide, While memory’s lamp swings o’er it, burning slim.— This is the end. What shall be said beside? So let it be. So let it be. Did we not drain the wine, Red, of love’s sacramental chalice, when He laid sweet sanction on thy lips and mine? Dash it aside! Lo, who will fill again Now it is empty of the god divine!— This is the end. Yea, let us say Amen. So let it be.

The songs Love sang to us are dead: Yet shall he sing to us again, When the dull days are wrapped in lead, And the red woodland drips with rain. The lily of our love is gone, That graced our spring with golden scent: Now in the garden low upon The wind-stripped way its stalk is bent. Our rose of dreams is passed away, That lit our summer with sweet fire: The storm beats bare each thorny spray, And its dead leaves are trod in mire. The songs Love sang to us are dead: Yet shall he sing to us again, When the dull days are wrapped in lead, And the red woodland drips with rain. The marigold of memory Shall fill our autumn then with glow: Haply its bitterness will be Sweeter for love of long-ago. The cypress of forgetfulness Shall haunt our winter with its hue: Its apathy to us not less Dear for the dreams love’s summer knew.