Another Alice

I.

Crowned not with sea-shine fair,
But with dim London air,
Another laughing Alice holds my hand:
Her eyes are gentle brown
And velvet-black locks crown
Her brow, waved gently band above black band.

II.

Not by the old sweet sea
Her bright glance pierces me,
But in the midst of grey and wintry gloom:
In London fog and smoke,
Not 'mid green birch and oak
And all the uncounted miles of heather-bloom.

III.

Not 'mid the golden corn
Where first love's bliss was born;
Not by the green deep cliff-side or the sea;
Not on the purple moors
Where the high air allures;
Not by the berried mountain-ash are we,

IV.

O Alice of the town,
With deep-black locks for crown,
And eyes whose lustre not the sea could make
Sweeter, — and breast as white
As foam that through the old night
Upon the old glimmering marvellous beach did break.

V.

For life has on its way
Surged twelve years since the day
When all the springlike passionate fields were green
Around the treading light
Of her who shone with bright
Swift beauty amid those meads a very queen.

VI.

And now, i' the later day,
I gather from life's spray
Thy tender beauty, and thy kiss is sweet
And soft and warm and close
Though town-wind round us blows
And not the breeze that stirs the impulsive wheat.

VII.

Oh! take me by the hand
And lead me to love's land
Though love seem far-off in the weary town;
Show me that love is fair
Not only in mountain-air,
Not only amid the breeze from thymy down;

VIII.

Show me that thou art white
As Alice lost to sight,
O Alice unveiled where no flowers adore
Thy beauty, — but I alone
Mark magic in thy tone,
While past the window London's wild wheels roar.

IX.

Inspire me with thy face,
For never in any place
Where woman's beauty shines are flowers forlorn,
Or grasses destitute,
Or the stars' music mute,
Or barred the impassioned gateways of the morn.

X.

Thy satin-black pure hair
Upon thy neck is fair
Though mountain-wind caresses not its folds,
And all the summer sea
Shines in the eyes of thee,
And flowers thine hand, though empty of blossoms, holds;

XI.

For never yet the hand
Of woman, passion-planned,
Lacked blossomy balm of touch, and tender grace
Of flowers from all the South
Is fervid on her mouth,
And flush of more than rose is on her face.

XII.

So cover thou, sweet, me
With rapture of the sea
And glory of the summer and with grand
Immeasurable delight
As of the August night
By starlike air-soft touching of thine hand!

XIII.

Thy name hath music's might
And all the old delight
Leaps burning, thrilling, through me at the sound:
Again I seem to be
By the old silver sea,
With summer's fragrant darkness closing round.

XIV.

Again the clear waves shine
In far fierce foam-edged line;
Their old impetuous music shakes the shore;
The earlier Alice stands
Light-footed on the sands, —
Her golden laughter charms me as of yore.

XV.

The clover fields are sweet
With passage of her feet,
And all my soul is gladdened at her touch:
O Alice of to-day
Who dost this gift convey,
If but for this, I have to thank thee much!

XVI.

Because thou hast the name
That once was God's own flame
To lead me up the mountain-land, and be
My talisman of might;
Because thy breast is white, —
Yea, white as foam that lined our foam-sweet sea:

XVII.

Because thou hast to-day
Helped love upon love's way
And turned love's solemn gaze past years that flee
Towards meadow-sweet as white
As thou art, love, to-night,
And towards the old changeless grandeur of the sea:

XVIII.

Because thou hast indeed
When flowers had run to seed
And dreary drooped the branches of life's tree
Become a blossom new,
Draped tenderly with dew,
As once a flower was dew-kissed by the sea:

XIX.

Because thou art divine,
This wreath for thee I twine,
Yea, lay this song at unexpectant feet;
For surely for thy name
At least, thou well mayest claim
Some service of my lyre, some homage meet.

XX.

Thou hast made the London day
Bright with the sea-shine grey,
And splendid with a memory of a face
More beautiful than thou;
Yet for this gift I vow
Thou hast for ever in my song a place!

XXI.

While lovers read my song,
O brown-eyed maid, so long
Shalt thou within their hearts and my heart be;
The girl whose beauty made
Dim London like a glade
Voluptuous with the rapture of the sea:

XXII.

Whose beauty made the air
Of even grim London fair
And brought the sense of summer back to me
And made the dark street shine
With line on sudden line
Of moon-led breakers thundering in from sea:

XXIII.

Whose beauty made the street
Smell all of meadow-sweet
And all the pavement blossom like the lea
Where the sea-grasses grow
In grey-green stalwart row,
Most amorous for the wind's kiss and the sea:

XXIV.

Whose beauty made my heart
With sudden bound and start
Lay hold upon the old unforgotten glee,
The joy youth's ardour planned
Where, in thought's changeless land,
My love for ever watches the grey sea:

XXV.

Whose softness made the air
With sudden joy aware
Of subtle scents from many a summer tree;
Whose whiteness made may-bloom
Flash white across the gloom,
White as the flashing whiteness of the sea:

XXVI.

Whose softness thrilled my soul
And round about it stole
Till all my being stormed forth rapturously
To seek and find and claim
The woman with thy name,
The other Alice, — Alice of the sea:

XXVII.

Whose softness was a sense
Unearthly, an intense
New gift of living love, a golden key
To unlock passion's land
And place in mine the hand
That once evaded love's hand by the sea:

XXVIII.

Whose splendour was as new
As a spring morning's dew
Or as the June sun's morning breath when he
Pours life upon the hills
And all the tossing rills
Laugh upward towards his face, as laughs the sea:

XXIX.

Whose splendour flung a veil
Of passion, sweet and pale,
Around, — a tender robe of purity;
And made swift thoughts divine
Along the spirit shine,
As shine the glimmering surges of the sea: —

XXX.

So, Alice, till the waves
Roll only over graves
Mix thy name with the name that still must be
Higher than all names, — and blend
Till time itself doth end
With the endless boundless passion of the sea.
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