THE FOURTH MOVEMENT

IMPRESSION

LE RÉVEILLON

   The sky is laced with fitful red,
   The circling mists and shadows flee,
   The dawn is rising from the sea,
Like a white lady from her bed.

   And jagged brazen arrows fall
   Athwart the feathers of the night,
   And a long wave of yellow light
Breaks silently on tower and hall,

   And spreading wide across the wold
   Wakes into flight some fluttering bird,
   And all the chestnut tops are stirred,
And all the branches streaked with gold.

AT VERONA

How steep the stairs within Kings’ houses are
   For exile-wearied feet as mine to tread,
   And O how salt and bitter is the bread
Which falls from this Hound’s table,—better far
That I had died in the red ways of war,
   Or that the gate of Florence bare my head,
   Than to live thus, by all things comraded
Which seek the essence of my soul to mar.

‘Curse God and die: what better hope than this?
   He hath forgotten thee in all the bliss
   Of his gold city, and eternal day’—
Nay peace: behind my prison’s blinded bars
   I do possess what none can take away
   My love, and all the glory of the stars.

APOLOGIA

Is it thy will that I should wax and wane,
   Barter my cloth of gold for hodden grey,
And at thy pleasure weave that web of pain
   Whose brightest threads are each a wasted day?

Is it thy will—Love that I love so well—
   That my Soul’s House should be a tortured spot
Wherein, like evil paramours, must dwell
   The quenchless flame, the worm that dieth not?

Nay, if it be thy will I shall endure,
   And sell ambition at the common mart,
And let dull failure be my vestiture,
   And sorrow dig its grave within my heart.

Perchance it may be better so—at least
   I have not made my heart a heart of stone,
Nor starved my boyhood of its goodly feast,
   Nor walked where Beauty is a thing unknown.

Many a man hath done so; sought to fence
   In straitened bonds the soul that should be free,
Trodden the dusty road of common sense,
   While all the forest sang of liberty,

Not marking how the spotted hawk in flight
   Passed on wide pinion through the lofty air,
To where some steep untrodden mountain height
   Caught the last tresses of the Sun God’s hair.

Or how the little flower he trod upon,
   The daisy, that white-feathered shield of gold,
Followed with wistful eyes the wandering sun
   Content if once its leaves were aureoled.

But surely it is something to have been
   The best belovèd for a little while,
To have walked hand in hand with Love, and seen
   His purple wings flit once across thy smile.

Ay! though the gorgèd asp of passion feed
   On my boy’s heart, yet have I burst the bars,
Stood face to face with Beauty, known indeed
   The Love which moves the Sun and all the stars!

QUIA MULTUM AMAVI

Dear Heart, I think the young impassioned priest
   When first he takes from out the hidden shrine
His God imprisoned in the Eucharist,
   And eats the bread, and drinks the dreadful wine,

Feels not such awful wonder as I felt
   When first my smitten eyes beat full on thee,
And all night long before thy feet I knelt
   Till thou wert wearied of Idolatry.

Ah! hadst thou liked me less and loved me more,
   Through all those summer days of joy and rain,
I had not now been sorrow’s heritor,
   Or stood a lackey in the House of Pain.

Yet, though remorse, youth’s white-faced seneschal,
   Tread on my heels with all his retinue,
I am most glad I loved thee—think of all
   The suns that go to make one speedwell blue!

SILENTIUM AMORIS

As often-times the too resplendent sun
   Hurries the pallid and reluctant moon
Back to her sombre cave, ere she hath won
   A single ballad from the nightingale,
   So doth thy Beauty make my lips to fail,
And all my sweetest singing out of tune.

And as at dawn across the level mead
   On wings impetuous some wind will come,
And with its too harsh kisses break the reed
   Which was its only instrument of song,
   So my too stormy passions work me wrong,
And for excess of Love my Love is dumb.

But surely unto Thee mine eyes did show
   Why I am silent, and my lute unstrung;
Else it were better we should part, and go,
   Thou to some lips of sweeter melody,
   And I to nurse the barren memory
Of unkissed kisses, and songs never sung.

HER VOICE

The wild bee reels from bough to bough
   With his furry coat and his gauzy wing,
Now in a lily-cup, and now
   Setting a jacinth bell a-swing,
         In his wandering;
Sit closer love: it was here I trow
         I made that vow,

Swore that two lives should be like one
   As long as the sea-gull loved the sea,
As long as the sunflower sought the sun,—
   It shall be, I said, for eternity
         ’Twixt you and me!
Dear friend, those times are over and done;
         Love’s web is spun.

Look upward where the poplar trees
   Sway and sway in the summer air,
Here in the valley never a breeze
   Scatters the thistledown, but there
         Great winds blow fair
From the mighty murmuring mystical seas,
         And the wave-lashed leas.

Look upward where the white gull screams,
   What does it see that we do not see?
Is that a star? or the lamp that gleams
   On some outward voyaging argosy,—
         Ah! can it be
We have lived our lives in a land of dreams!
         How sad it seems.

Sweet, there is nothing left to say
   But this, that love is never lost,
Keen winter stabs the breasts of May
   Whose crimson roses burst his frost,
         Ships tempest-tossed
Will find a harbour in some bay,
         And so we may.

And there is nothing left to do
   But to kiss once again, and part,
Nay, there is nothing we should rue,
   I have my beauty,—you your Art,
         Nay, do not start,
One world was not enough for two
         Like me and you.