For such it is, the marriage of true minds, Each in each sanction finds; So if her beauty lift her out of thought Whither man's to be brought To worship her perfection on his knees, So in his strength she sees Self glorified, and two make one clear orb Whereinto all rays absorb Which stream from G.o.d and unto G.o.d return.-- So, as he fared, I yearn To be, and serve my years of pain and loss 'Neath my walled Ilios, With my eyes ever fixt to where, a star, Thou and thy sisters are, Helen and Beatrice, with thee embraced, Hands in thy hands, and arms about thy waist.

_1911-12._

HYPSIPYLE

Queen of the shadows, Maid and Wife, Twifold in essence, as in life, The lamp of Death, the star of Birth, Half cradled and half mourned by Earth, By h.e.l.l half won, half lost! aid me To sing thy fond Hypsipyle, Thy bosom's mate who, unafraid, Renounced for thee what part she had In sun and wind upon the hill, In dawn about the mere, in still Woodlands, in kiss of lapping wave, In laughter, in love--all this she gave!-- And shared thy dream-life, visited The sunless country of the dead, There to abide with thee, their Queen, In that gray region, shadow-seen By them that cast no shadows, yet Themselves are shadows. Nor forget, Kore, her love made manifest To thee, familiar of her breast And partner of her whispering mouth.

Thee too, Our Lady of the South, Uranian Kypris, I invoke, Regent of starry s.p.a.ce, with stroke Of splendid wing, in whose white wake Stream those who, filled with thee, forsake Their clinging shroudy clots, and rise, Lover and loved, to thy pure skies, To thy blue realm! O lady, touch My lips with rue, for she loved much.

What poet in what cloistered nook, Indenting in what roll of a book His rhymes, can voice the tides of love?

Nay, thrilling lark, nay, moaning dove, The nightingale's full-charged throat That cheereth now, and now doth gloat, And now recordeth bitter-sweet Longing, too wise to image it: These be your minstrels, lovers! Choose From their winged choir your urgent Muse; Let her your speechless joys relate Which men with words sophisticate, Striving by reasons make appear To head what heart proclaims so clear To heart; as if by wit to wis What mouth to mouth tells in a kiss, Or in their syllogisms dry Freeze a swift glance's cogency.

Nay, but the heart's so music-fraught, Music is all in love, words naught.

One heart's a rote, with music stored Though mute; but two hearts make a chord Of piercing music. One alone Is nothing: two make the full tone.

I

On Enna's uplands, on a lea Between the mountains and the sea, Shadowed anon by wandering cloud, Or flickering wings of birds a-crowd, And now all golden in the sun, See Kore, see her maidens run Hither and thither through those hours Of dawn among the wide-eyed flowers, While gentian, crocus, asphodel (With rosy star in each white bell), Anemone, blood-red with rings Of paler fire, that plant that swings A crimson cl.u.s.ter in the wind They pluck, or sit anon to bind Of these earth-stars a coronet For their smooth-tressed Queen, who yet Strays with her darling interlaced, Hypsipyle the grave, the chaste-- Her whose gray shadow-life with his Who singeth now for ever is.

She, little slim thing, Kore's mate, Child-faced, gray-eyed, of sober gait, Of burning mind and pa.s.sion pent To image-making, ever went Where wonned her Mistress; for those two By their hearts' grace together grew, The one to need, the one to give (As women must if they would live, Who substance win by waste of self And only spend to h.o.a.rd their pelf: "O heart, take all of mine!" "O heart, That which thou tak'st of thee is part-- No robbery therefore: mine is thine, Take then!"): so she and Proserpine Intercommunion'd each bright day, And when night fell together lay Cradled in arms, or cheek to cheek Whispered the darkness out. Thou meek And gentle vision! let me tell Thy beauties o'er I love so well: Thy sweet low bosom's rise and fall, Pulsing thy heart's clear madrigal; Or how the blue beam from thine eyes Imageth all love's urgencies; Thy lips' frail fragrance, as of flowers Remembered in penurious hours Of winter-exile; of thy brow, Not written as thy breast of snow With love's faint charact'ry, for his wing Leaves not the heart long! Last I sing Thy thin quick fingers, in whose pleaching Lieth all healing, all good teaching-- Wherewith, touching my discontent, I know how thou art eloquent!

Remember'd joy, Hypsipyle!

Now may that serve to comfort me, While I, O Maiden dedicate, Seek voice for singing thy gray Fate!

Now, as they went, one heart in two, Brusht to the knees by flowers, by dew Anointed, by the wind caressed, By the light kissed on eyes and breast, 'Twas Kore talked; Hypsipyle Listened, with eyes far-set, for she Of speech was frugal, voicing low And rare her heart's deep underflow-- Content to lie, like fallow sweet For rain or sun to cherish it, Or scattered seed substance to find In her deep-funded, quiet mind.

And thus the G.o.ddess: "Blest art thou, Hypsipyle, who canst not know Until the hour strikes what must come To pa.s.s! But I foresee the doom And stay to meet it. Even here The place, and now the hour!" Then fear Took her who spake so fearless, cold Threaded her thronging veins--behold!

A hand on either shoulder stirs That slim, sweet body close to hers, And need fires need till, lip with lip, They seal and sign their fellowship, While Kore, G.o.dhead all forgot, Clings whispering, "Child, leave me not Whenas to darkness and the dead I go!" And clear the answer sped From warm mouth murmuring kiss and cheer, "Never I leave thee, O my dear!"

Thereafter stand they beatingly, Not speaking; and the hour draws nigh.

And all the land shows pa.s.sing fair, Fair the broad sea, the living air, The misty mountain-sides, the lake Flecked blue and purple! To forsake These, and those bright flower-gatherers Scattered about this land of theirs, That stoop or run, that kneel to pick, That cry each other to come quick And see new treasure, unseen yet!

Remembered joy--ah, how forget!

But mark how all must come to pa.s.s As was foreknowledged. In the gra.s.s Whereas the G.o.ddess and her mate Stood, one and other, prompt for fate-- Listless the first and heavy-eyed, Astrain the second--she espied That strange white flower, unseen before, With chalice pale, which thin stalk bore And swung, as hanging by a hair, So fine it seemed afloat in air, Unlinkt and wafted for the feast Of some blest mystic, without priest Or acolyte to tender it: Whereto the maid did stoop and fit Her hand about its silken cup To close it, that her mouth might sup The honey-drop within. The bloom Saw Kore then, and knew her doom Foretold in it; and stood in trance Fixed and still. No nigromance Used she, but read the fate it bore In seedless womb and petals frore.

Chill blew the wind, waiting stood She, Waiting her mate, Hypsipyle.

Then in clear sky the thunder tolled Sudden, and all the mountains rolled The dreadful summons round, and still Lay all the lands, only the rill Made tinkling music. Once more drave Peal upon peal--and lo! a grave Yawned in the Earth, and gushing smoke Belched out, as driven, and hung, and broke With sullen puff; like tongues the flame Leapt following. Thence Adoneus came, Swart-bearded king, with iron crown'd, In iron mailed, his chariot bound About with iron, holding back Amain two steeds of glistering black And eyeb.a.l.l.s white-rimmed fearfully, And nostrils red, and crests flying free; Who held them pawing at the verge, Tossing their spume up, as the surge Flung high against some seaward bluff.

Nothing he spake, or smooth or gruff, But drave his errand, gazing down Upon the Maid, whose blown back gown Revealed her maiden. Still and proud Stood she among her nymphs, unbowed Her comely head, undimmed her eye, Inseparate her lips and dry, Facing his challenge of her state, Neither denying, nor desperate, Pleading no mercy, seeing none, Her wild heart masked in face of stone.

But they, her bevy, cl.u.s.tered thick As huddled sheep, set their eyes quick, And held each other, hand or waist, Paling or flushing as fear raced Thronging their veins--they knew not, they, The gathered fates that broke this day,

And all the land seemed pa.s.sing fair To one who knew, and waited there.

"G.o.ddess and Maid," then said the King, "Long have I sought this day should bring An end of torment. Know me thou G.o.d postulant, with whom below A world awaits her queen, while here I seek and find one without peer; Nor deem her heedless nor unschooled In what in Heaven is writ and ruled.

Decreed of old my bride-right was, Decreed thy Mother's pain and loss, Decreed thy loathing, and decreed That which thou shunnest to be thy need; For thou shalt love me, Lady, yet, Though little liking now, and fret Of jealous care shall grave thy heart And draw thee back when time's to part-- If fond Demeter have her will Against thine own."

The Maid stood still And guarded watched, and her proud eyes'

Scrutiny bade his own advise Whether indeed their solemn stare Saw Destiny and read it there Beyond her suitor, or within Her own heart heard the message ring.

Awhile she gazed: her stern aspect, Young and yet fraught with G.o.dhead, checkt Both Him who claimed, and her who'd cling, And them who wondered. "O great King,"

She said, and mournful was her crying As when night-winds set pine-trees sighing, "King of the folk beyond the tide Of sleep, behold thy chosen bride Not shunning thee, nor seeking. Take That which G.o.ds neither mar nor make, But only They, the Three, who spin The threads which hem and mesh us in, Both G.o.ds and men, till she who peers The longest cuts them with her shears.

Take, take, Adoneus, and take her, My fosterling."

Then He, "O star Of Earth, O Beacon of my days, Light of my nights, whose beamy rays Shall pierce the foggy cerement Wherein my dead grope and lament Beyond all loss the loss of light, Come! and be pleasant in my sight This thy beloved. Perchance she too Shall find a suitor come to woo; For love men leave not with their bones-- That is the soul's, and half atones And half makes bitterer their loss, Remembering what their fortune was."

Trembling Hypsipyle uplift Her eyes towards the hills, where swift The shadows flew, but no more fleet Than often she with flying feet And flying raiment, she with these Her mates, whom now estranged she sees-- As if the shadow-world had spread About her now, and she was dead-- Her mates no more! cut off by fear From these two fearless ones. A tear Welled up and hovered, hung a gem Upon her eyelid's dusky hem, As raindrops linkt and strung arow Broider with stars the winter bough.

This was her requiem and farewell To them, thus rang she her own knell; Nor more gave she, nor more asked they, But took and went the fairy way.

For thus with unshed tears made blind Went she: thus go the fairy kind Whither fate driveth; not as we Who fight with it, and deem us free Therefore, and after pine, or strain Against our prison bars in vain.

For to them Fate is Lord of Life And Death, and idle is a strife With such a master. They not know Life past, life coming, but life now; Nor back look they to long, nor forth To hope, but sup the minute's worth With draught so quick and keen that each Moment gives more than we could reach In all our term of three-score years, Whereof full score we give to fears Of losing them, and other score Dreaming how fill the twenty more.

Now is the hour, Bride of the Night!

The chariot turns, the great steeds fight The rocky entry; flies the dust Behind the wheels at each fierce thrust Of giant shoulder, at each lunge Of giant haunch. Down, down they plunge Into the dark, with rioting mane, And the earth's door shuts-to again.

Now fly, ye Oreads, strain your arms, Let eyes and hair voice your alarms-- Hair blown back, mouths astretch for fear, Strained eyeb.a.l.l.s--cry that Mother dear Her daughter's rape; fly like the gale That down the valleys drives the hail In scurrying sheets, and lays the corn Flat, which when man of woman born Seeth, he bows him to the gra.s.s, Whispering in hush, _The Oreads pa.s.s_.

(In shock he knows ye, and in mirth, Since he is kindred of that earth Which bore ye in her secret stress, Images of her loveliness, To her dear paramour the Wind.) Follow me now that car behind.

II

O ye that know the fairy throng, And heed their secret under-song; In flower or leaf's still ecstasy Of birth and bud their pa.s.sion see, In wind or calm, in driving rain Or frozen snow discern them strain To utter and to be; who lie At dawn in dewy brakes to spy The rapture of their flying feet-- Follow me now those coursers fleet, Sucked in their wake, down ruining Through channelled night, where only sing The shrill gusts streaming through the hair Of them who sway and bend them there, And peer in vain with shielded eyes To rend the dark. Clinging it lies, Thick as wet gossamer that shrouds October brushwoods, or low clouds That from the mountain tops roll down Into the lowland vales, to drown Men's voices and to choke their breath And make a silence like to death.

But this was hot and dry; it came And smote them, like the gush of flame Fanned in a smithy, that outpours And floods with fire the open doors.

Downward their course was, swift as flight Of meteor flaring through the night, Steady and dreadful, with no sound Of wheels or hoofs upon the ground, Nor jolt, nor jar; for once past through Earth's portals, steeds and chariot flew On wings invisible and strong And even-oaring, such as throng The nights when birds of pa.s.sage sweep O'er cities and the folk asleep: Such was their awful flight. Afar Showed Hades glimmering like a star Seen red through fog: and as they sped To that, the frontiers of the dead Revealed their sullen leagues and bare, And sad forms flitting here and there, Or cl.u.s.tered, waiting who might come Their empty ways with news of home.

Yet all one course at length must hold, Or late or soon, and all be tolled By Charon in his dark-prowed boat.

Thither was swept the chariot And crossed dry-wheeled the coiling flood Of Styx, and o'er the willow wood And slim gray poplars which do hem The further sh.o.r.e, h.e.l.l's diadem-- So by the tower foursquare and great Where King Adoneus keeps his state And rules his bodyless thralls they stand.

Dark ridge and hollow showed the land Fold over fold, like waves of soot Fixt in an anguish of pursuit For evermore, so far as eye Could range; and all was hot and dry As furnace is which all about Etna scorcheth in days of drouth, And showeth dun and sinister That fair isle linked to main so fair.

Nor tree nor herbage grew, nor sang Water among the rocks: hard rang The heel on metal, or on crust Grew tender, or went soft in dust; Neither for beast nor bird nor snake Was harbourage; nor could such slake Their thirst, nor from the bitter heat Hide, since the sun not furnished it; But airless, shadowless and dense The land lay swooning, dead to sense Beneath that vault of stuprous black, Motionless hanging, without wrack Of cloud to break and pa.s.s, nor rent To hint the blue. Like the foul tent A foul night makes, it sagged; for stars Showed hopeless faces, with two scars In each, their eyes' immortal woe, Ever to seek and never know: In all that still immensity These only moved--these and the sea, Which dun and sullen heaved, with surge And swell unseen, save at the verge Where fainted off the black to gray And showed such light as on a day Of sun's eclipse men tremble at.

Here the dead people moved or sat, Casting no shadow, hailing none Boldly; but in fierce undertone They plied each other, or on-sped Their way with signal of the head For answer, or arms desperate Flung up, or shrug disconsolate.

And this the quest of every one: "What hope have ye?" And answer, "None."

Never pa.s.sed shadow shadow but That answer got to question put.

In that they lived, in that, alas!

Lovely and hapless, Thou must pa.s.s Thy days, with this for added lot-- Aching, to nurse things unforgot.

Remember'd joy, Hypsipyle!

The Oread choir, the Oread glee: The nimble air of quickening hills, The sweet dawn light that floods and fills The hollowed valleys; the dawn wind That bids the world wake, and on blind Eyelids of sleeping mortals lays Cool palms that urge them see and praise The Day-G.o.d coming with the sun To hearten toil! He warned you run And hide your beauties deep in brake Of fern or briar, or reed of lake, Or in wet crevice of the rock, There to abide until the clock You reckon by, with shadowy hands, Lay benediction on the lands And landsmen, and the eve-jar's croak Summon ye, lightfoot fairy folk, To your activity full tide Over the empty earth and wide.

Here be your food, fair nymph, and coy Of mortal ken--remember'd joy!

Remember'd joy! Ah, stormy nights, Ah, the mad revel when wind fights With wind, and slantwise comes the rain And shatters at the window-pane, To wake the hind, who little knows Whose fingers drum those pa.s.sionate blows, Nor what swift indwellers of air Ye be who hide in forms so fair Your wayward motions, cruel to us, While lovely, and dispiteous!

Ah, nights of flying scud and rout When scared the slim young moon rides out In her lagoon of open sky, Or older, marks your revelry As calm and large she oars above Your drifting lives of ruth or love.

Boon were those nights of dusted gold And glint of fireflies! Boon the cold And witching frost! All's one, all's one To thee, whose nights and days go on Now in one span of changeless dusk On one earth, crackling like the husk Of the dropt mast in winter wood: Remember'd joy--'tis all thy food, Hypsipyle, to whose fond sprite I vow my praise while I have light.

Dumbly she wandered there, as pale With lack of light, with form as frail As those poor hollow congeners Whose searching eyes encountered hers, Pet.i.tioning as mute as she Some grain of hope, where none might be, Daring not yet to voice their moan To her whose case was not their own; For where they go like breath in a sh.e.l.l That wails, my love goes quick in h.e.l.l.

Alas, for her, the sweet and slim!

Slowly she pines; her eyes grow dim With seeking; her smooth, sudden b.r.e.a.s.t.s Hang languidly; those little nests For kisses which her dimples were, In cheeks graved hollow now by care Vanish, and sharply thrusts her chin, And sharp her bones of arm and shin.

Reproach she looks, about, above, Denied her light, denied her love, Denied for what she sacrificed, Doomed to be fruitless agonist.

(O G.o.d, and I must see her fade, Must see and anguish--in my shade!) Nor help nor comfort gat she now From her whose need called forth her vow; For close in arms Queen Kore dwelt In that great tower Adoneus built To cherish her; deep in his bed, Loved as the G.o.ds love whom they wed; Turned from pale maiden to pale wife, Pale now with love's insatiate strife First to appease, and then renew The wild desire to mingle two Natures, to long, to seek, to shun, To have, to give, to make two one That must be two if they would each Learn all the lore that love can teach.

So strove the mistress, while the maid Went alien among the dead, Unspoken, speaking none, but watcht By them who knew themselves outmatcht By her, translated whole, nor guessed What miseries gnawed within that breast, Which could be toucht, which could give meat To babe; which was not eye-deceit As theirs, poor phantoms. So went she Grudged but unscathed beside the sea, Or sat alone by that sad strand Nursing her worn cheek in her hand; And did not mark, as day on day Lengthened the arch of changeless gray, How she was shadowed, how to her Stretcht arms another prisoner; Nor knew herself desirable By any thankless guest of h.e.l.l-- Withal each phantom seemed no less Whole-natured to her heedlessness.

Midway her round of solitude She used to haunt a dead sea-wood Where among boulders lifeless trees Stuck rigid fingers to the breeze-- That stream of faint hot air that flits Aimless at noon. 'Tis there she sits Hour after hour, and as a dove Croons when her breast is ripe for love, So sings this exile, quiet, sad chants Of love, yet knows not what she wants; And singing there in undertone, Is one day answered by the moan Of hidden mourner; but no fear Hath she for sound so true, though near; Nay, but sings out her elegy, Which, like an echo, answers he.

Again she sings; he suits her mood, Nor breaks upon her solitude: So she, choragus, calls the tune, And as she leads he follows soon.

As bird with bird vies in the brake, She sings no note he will not take-- As when she pleads, "Ah, my lost love, The night is dark thou art not of,"

Quick cometh answering the phrase, "O love, let all our nights be days!"