Then pass by beauty with looks above;
Oh! seek never—share never—woman’s love!
Methinks I must have heard that voice before.
And I.
Where?
I forget.
And so do I.
Oh! let not a wildering tongue
Weave bright webs o’er thine ear;
Nor thy spirit be said nor sung
To the air of smile or tear.
And say it hath melody far
More than the spheres of Heaven,
Though to man and the Morning star
They sang, Ye be forgiven!
Yet pass by beauty with looks above;
Oh! seek never—share never—woman’s love!Oh! let not a soil bosom pour
Itself in thine! It is vain.
Love cheateth the heart, oh! be sure,
Worse even than wine the brain.
Then snatch up thy lip from the brim,
Nor drain its dreamlike death;
For Love loves to lie down and dim
The bright soul with his breath.
Then pass by beauty with looks above;
Oh! seek never—share never—woman’s love!
Come hither, man! I wish to look at thee,
A moment. No! it can’t be. Yet I have seen
Some one much like thee.
It was a brother, may be?
I have none, lady. Have ye done with me?
Yes—go! and we will take your song of you.
Here, follow me! They go.
Weeping again, my love?
Thou art, by turns, the proudest and the humblest
Creature I ever met with. The least thing
Dints thy soft heart. Come, cheer thee, sweet one—do!
Oh! if to say, I love, laid all the sins
Of all the worlds upon me, I would say it
Till I was out of breath: and will, till I die.
If Love be blind, it must be by his tears;
For love and sorrow alway come together—
Love with his sister, sorrow, by the hand.
Nay, I will conquer thee again to smile,
Or lose my right to love thee. Let me kneel!
Come! I will have no other gods but thee;
To none but thee will I bow down and worship;
Thy bosom is mine altar—and thine eyes
Are the divinity that preys upon me.
Oh! cruel as the week-day gods of old,
Thou wilt have human victims; not content
With tears and kisses—fire and water—thou
Wilt have the subtler element of life;
Thou needs must live on immortality!
Here—take me then! I offer up myself
A sacrifice to thee.
Thou foolish boy!
Where will thy passionate folly end? I love thee.
Well then, let me conjure thee! let me swear
By some sweet oath that shall to both be holy:—
By arms which hold, by knees which worship thee!
By that dark eye, the dark divine of beauty,
Yet trembling o’er its lid all tears and light—
Glory and eye of eyes which yet have shone!
By this lone heart, which longeth for a mate!
By love’s sweet will, and sweeter way! by all
I love—by thyself, myself! let me, let me,
Let me—but draw the lightning from thine eye:—
Kisses are my conductors: do not frown;
Nor look so temptingly angry. I was but trifling.
The cold calm kiss which cometh as a gift,
Not a necessity, is not for me,
Whose bliss, whose woe, whose life, whose all is love.
We both wrong whom we love, love whom we wrong.
But I am as a dog that fondles o’er
And licks the wound he dies of. Would I could
Suffer or feel enough of love to kill!
Thou lovest one whom thou oughtst not to love.
And what of that? Love hath its own belief—
Own worship—own morality—own laws:
And it were better that all love were sin
Than that love were not. It must have by-laws—
Exceptions to the rules of earth and Heaven—
For it means not the good it doth nor ill.
It is wrong—it is unjust—unkind.
It is.
But I am half mad and half dead with it.
I have loved thee till I can love nought beside.
My heart is drenched with love as with a cloud.
I have too much of life that I scarce can live.
I hate all things but thee—shun men, like snakes—
Women, like pits. To me thou art all woman—
All life—all love and more than all my kind.
I love thee mote than I shall love and look for
Death, if he takes thee from me. But who dreams
Of death and thee together!
I do oft:
And as oft wish dreams would, for once, come true.
The best of all things are dreams realised.
Dreams such as gods may dream thy soul possess
For ever in the Hadeän Eden—Death:
But bless thy lover with reality!
Then, thou shalt live for ever, and with me.
I have gone round the compass of all life,
And can find nought worthy of thee. I but feel,
That were I—as I ought to be—a god,
I would just sacrifice the sun to thee,
In bright and burning honour of thy love.
Miracles are not miracles with gods.
Dearer thou canst not be to me, unless
I die in telling how dear.
My Elissa!
I—I am bewildered: open but thine arms!
And make me happy and all wise of thee.
My soul is stung with thy beauty to the quick.
Oh! but thou art too good, or else too bad:
Be colder or be warmer!
Leave me!
Well;
It is most cruel—first, to light the heart
With love completely—boundlessly; and then
Moonlike, slowly to edge aside, and leave
One only little line of all so bright,
Once—teach and unteach—nay, to use more arts
Than would outdo the devil of his throne,
To make us ignorant of all we know:—
To take the heart to pieces carefully—
For it is love alone can build the heart—
To root the tree up neath whose shade we have lived,
And give us back a sliver. Let it die!
Hark! he is coming.
No! He cannot come;
For I have driven an oath into his heart,
And I have hung a curse about his neck
Might sink the prince of air into the centre.
All I have done, I have done to save ourselves.
Then let us perish! But unless we sin
We cannot perish. Have! Have! cries a voice,
As of a crowd, within me. I would do aught
To throw this dark desire which wrestles with me.
It answers not to hold it at
