xix.

But could we meet, oh! could we meet again On some such night, unseen upon the plain, I'd rob thee, Lady! of a tardy smile.

I would do this; and, for a breathing-while, I would a.s.sert a sinner's right to pray, A sinner's right to choose, as best he may, His patron-saint; and I would kneel to thee, And call thee mine, and dote on thee for aye!

xx.

And then in summer, when the hours are mad, And all the flow'rets in the fields are glad, And all the breezes, like demented things Outspeed the birds with sunlight on their wings, In summer, aye! in summer's gracious time, I might perchance be pardon'd for the crime Of my much love, and win thy benison Ere yet the year has reached its golden prime!

[Ill.u.s.tration: CHERUB]

Ninth Litany.

LILIUM INTER SPINAS.

Ninth Litany.

Lilium inter Spinas.

i.

Dearest and best of maidens, whom the Fates have dower'd with beauty, whom the glory-gates Have shown so splendid in my waking sight, Is't well, thou syren! thus to haunt the night And grant no mercy, none from week to week All through the year? Is't well my soul to seek And shun my body? Is't throughout ordain'd That thou shouldst spurn a love so tender-meek?

ii.

It is my joy to serve thee, 'tis my pride To own my follies, though anew denied The chance of wisdom, and for this, who knows?

I shall be counted, ere the season's close, A time-perverter. Yes! I shall be shamed, And frown'd upon, and day by day proclaim'd A foe to virtue, though, in seeking thee I seek the goal that Virtue's self hath named.

iii.

O Lily mine! O Lily tipp'd with gold And welkin-eyed for angels to behold When down on earth! Is't well to stand apart And gaze at me and gently break my heart Without one word? Is't well to seem alway So grieved to see me, when, at fall of day, Thou dost accept the reverence of mine eyes, But not the homage that my lips would pay?

iv.

Oh, give me back again, at midnight hour, As in the circuit of that starlit bower, The right to talk with thee, and be thy friend,-- The right, in some wild way, to make an end Of my submission, or to re-bestow My troth on thee,--despite the overthrow Of all my dreams, that were my constant care, Though less to thee than flakes of alien snow.

v.

I will unveil my meanings one by one, And tell thee why the bird that loves the sun Loves not the moon, though conscious of her fame.

For he's the soul of truth, in his acclaim, And knows not treason! And of like intent Are all my yearnings, too, when I lament.

And, though I say it, there's no troubadour Has lov'd as I, since Cupid's bow was bent.

vi.

I have been wed in sleep, and thou hast been Mine own true bride,--the swooning summer-queen Of my heart-throbs. I have been wed in jest!

I have been taken wildly to thy breast, And then repell'd, and made to feel the ire Of eager eyes that have the strange desire To rack my soul, a-tremble in the dark, But not the will to aid me to aspire.

vii.

I should have died the instant that I heard Thy whisper'd vow in slumber,--when a word Made me thy master, for I did receive Thy full surrender, and I'll not believe That all was false; or that my dreaming-power Was given for nought. The Future may devour The facts of earth, but not its phantasies, And not the dreams we dream from hour to hour.

viii.

Oh, thou'lt confess that love from man to maid Is more than kingdoms,--more than light and shade In sky-built gardens where the minstrels dwell, And more than ransom from the bonds of h.e.l.l.

Thou wilt, I say, admit the truth of this, And half relent that, shrinking from a kiss, Thou didst consign me to mine own disdain, Athwart the raptures of a vision'd bliss.

ix.

I'll seek no joy that is not link'd with thine, No touch of hope, no taste of holy wine, And, after death, no home in any star That is not shared by thee, supreme, afar, As here thou'rt first and foremost of all things!

Glory is thine and gladness and the wings That wait on thought when, in thy spirit-sway, Thou dost invest a realm unknown to kings.

x.

I will accept of thee a poison-bowl And drink the dregs thereof,--aye! to the soul,-- And sound thy praises with my latest breath!

I was a pilgrim bound for Nazareth, But when I knew thee, when I touched thy hand, I changed my purpose; and to-day I stand Thine amorous va.s.sal, though denounced afresh And warn'd away, unkiss'd, from Edenland.

xi.

O flower unequall'd here from morn to morn, Is't well, bethink thee, with a rose's thorn To deck thyself, thou lily! and to seem So irresponsive to my pa.s.sion-dream?

Is't a caprice of thine to look so proud, And so severe, athwart the shining cloud Of thy long hair? And shall I never learn How least to grieve thee when my vows are vow'd?

xii.

The full perfection of thy face is such That, like a child's, it seems to know the touch Of some glad hour that G.o.d has smiled upon.

There is a whiteness whiter than the swan, A singing sweeter than the linnet's note.

But there is nothing whiter than thy throat, And nothing sweeter than thy tender voice When, love-attuned, it skyward seems to float.

xiii.

Lily and rose in one! To find thy peer Exceeds belief, all through the varying year, For chance thereof, and hope thereof, is none.

There comes no rival to the rising sun, And none to thee!--no rival to the moon That sets in Venice on the far lagoon, And none to thee, thou marvel of the months, That art the cynosure of night and noon!