BEAUTY like hers is genius. Not the call Of Homer's or of Dante's heart sublime, Not Michael's hand furrowing the zones of time, Is more with compassed mysteries musical: Nay, not in Spring's or Summer's sweet footfall More gathered gifts exuberant Life bequeathes Than doth this sovereign face, whose love-spell breathes Even from its shadowed contour on the wall. As many men are poets in their youth, But for one sweet-strung soul the wires prolong Even through all change the indomitable song; So in like wise the envenomed years, whose tooth Rends shallower grace with ruin void of ruth, Upon this beauty's power shall wreak no wrong. XIX. SILENT NOON YOUR hands lie open in the long, fresh grass, The finger-points look through like rosy blooms: Your eyes smile peace. The pasture gleams and glooms 'Neath billowing skies that scatter and amass. All round our nest, far as the eye can pass, HIGH grace, the dower of queens; and therewithal Some wood-born wonder's sweet simplicity; A glance like water brimming with the sky Or hyacinth-light where forest-shadows fall: Such thrilling pallor of cheek as doth enthral The heart; a mouth whose passionate forms imply All music and all silence held thereby ; Deep golden locks, her sovereign coronal; A round reared neck, meet column of Love's shrine To cling to when the heart takes sanctuary; Hands which for ever at Love's bidding be, And soft-stirred feet still answering to his sign: These are her gifts, as tongue may tell them o'er. Breathe low her name, my soul; for that means more. Than thou, 'mid other ladies throned in grace? Or Pallas, when thou bend'st with soulstilled face O'er poet's page gold-shadowed in thy hair? Dost thou than Venus seem less heavenly fair When o'er the sea of love's tumultuous trance Hovers thy smile, and mingles with thy glance That sweet voice like the last wave murmuring there? Before such triune loveliness divine Awestruck I ask, which goddess here most claims XLVIII. DEATH-IN-LOVE THERE came an image in Life's retinue That had Love's wings and bore his gonfalon : Fair was the web, and nobly wrought thereon, O soul-sequestered face, thy form and hue! Bewildering sounds, such as Spring wakens to, Shook in its folds; and through my heart its power Sped trackless as the immemorable hour When birth's dark portal groaned and all was new. But a veiled woman followed, and she caught The banner round its staff, to furl and cling, Then plucked a feather from the bearer's wing, 66 And held it to his lips that stirred it not, And said to me, Behold, there is no breath: I and this Love are one, and I am Death." THE hour which might have been yet might not be, Which man's and woman's heart conceived and bore Yet whereof life was barren,-on what shore Bides it the breaking of Time's weary sea? Bondchild of all consummate joys set free, It somewhere sighs and serves, and mute before The house of Love, hears through the echoing door His hours elect in choral consonancy. But lo! what wedded souls now hand in hand Together tread at last the immortal strand With eyes where burning memory lights love home? |