Chapter IV

Far over the summer sea
With thy foam-cold limbs wound sweet
'Round hair and throat and feet
To slay me utterly;
At each mad, hot heart beat
A kiss, a kiss,
To drain the soul with thee,
Deep, deep in the summer sea.

FACE TO FACE.

Dead! and all the haughty fate
Fair on throat and face of wax,
White, calm hands crossed still and lax,
Cold, impassionate!

Dead! and no word whispered low
At the dull ear now could wake
One responsive chord or make
One wan temple glow.

Dead! and no hot tear would stir
All that woman sweet and fair,
Woman soul from feet to hair
Which was once of her.

God! and thus to die! and I--
I must live though life be but
One long, hard, monotonous rut,
There to plod and--die!

Creeds are well in such a case;
But no sermon could have wrought
More of faith than you have taught
With your pale, dead face.

And I see it as you see--
One mistake, so very small!
Yet so great it mangled all,
Left you this and me!

Oft I pondered saying, "Sure
She could never live such life!"
And the truth stabbed like a knife
When I found you pure.

Pure, so pure! and me bemoiled,
Loathly as loathed vermin, just
As weak souls are left of lust--
Loveless, low, and soiled.

Nay! I loved you then and love!--
Grand, great eyes, I see them yet,
Set like luminous gems of jet
In wax lids above.

Lips--O poor, dumb, chideless lips!
Once as red as life could make,
Moist as wan wild roses wake
When the wild dew drips.

Hair--imperial, full, and warm
As a Grace's, where one stone
Precious lay ensnared and shone
Like a star in storm.

Eyes--at parting big with pain;
God! I see them and the tear
In them--big as eyes of deer
Led by lights and slain!

Life so true! I falsely cursed--
Lips that, curled with scorn and pride,
Hurt me though I said _they lied_,
While the true heart burst.

Rest! my heart has suffered too:
And this life had woe enough
For the little dole of love
Given to me and you.

Can you hear me? can you know
What I am and how it came,
You, beyond me like a flame,
You, before me like the snow!

Dead! and all my heart a cup
Hollowed for sad, bitter tears,
Bitter in the bitter years
Slowly brimming up.

Sleep! 'tis well! but might have been
Better!--yes, God knows it might!
Better for me in His sight
And my soul more clean.

Sleep in very peace! but I
With Earth's other fools will stay,
Live 'mid laughter, day by day
Mocking laugh and--die.

You will know me now, I know,
But in life had _never_ known
How, indeed, I was alone--
But, 'tis better so.

And I know you what you were,
Faithful and--it were no use,
Only to yourself abuse,--
I shall tell you there.

There beyond the lightning and
The long clouds and utter skies,
Moons and suns and stars that rise,
Where we'll understand.

THE CHANGELING.

I

There were Faeries two or three,
And a high moon white as wool,
Or a bloom in Faery,
Where the star-thick blossoms be
Star-like beautiful.

II

There were Faeries two or three,
And a wind as fragrant as
Spicy wafts from Arcady
Rocked the sleeping honey bee
In the clover grass.

III

There were Faeries two or three,
Wee white caps and red wee shoon,
Buckles at each dainty knee,
"We are come to comfort thee,
With the silver moon."

IV

There were Faeries two or three,
Buttercups brimmed up with dew,
Winning faces sweet to see,
Then mine eyes closed heavily:
"Faeries, what would you?"

V

There were Faeries two or three,
And my babe was dreaming deep,
White as whitest ivory,
In its crib of ebony
Rocked and crooned on sleep.

VI

There were Faeries two or three
Standing in the mocking moon,
And mine eyes closed drowsily,
Drowsily and suddenly
There my babe was gone.

VII

Now no Faeries two or three
Loitered in the moon alone;
Jesu, Marie, comfort me!
What is this instead I see--
Ugly skin and bone.

VIII

There were Faeries two or three
Stood with buckles on red shoon,
But with evil sorcery
My sweet babe to Faery
They did steal right soon.

ST. JOHN'S EVE.

I

Dizzily round
On the elf-hills white in the yellow moonlight
To a sweet, unholy, ravishing sound
Of wizard voices from underground,
Their mazy dance the Elle-maids wound
On St. John's Eve.

II

Beautiful white,
Like a wreath of mist by the starbeams kissed;
And frail, sweet faces bloomed out on the night
From floating tresses of glow-worm light,
That puffed like foam to the left and the right
On St. John's Eve.

III

Warily there
They flashed like a rill which the moonbeams fill,
But I saw what a mockery all of them were
With their hollow bodies, when the moonlit air
Rayed out through their eyes with a sudden glare
On St. John's Eve.