The Arbor Arabesque
1
'T WAS in an arbor arabesque
Where tangling vines did screen
From watchful eyes, I met thee first,
O wan and witching, passion-curst
Irene!
2
Thy kinsmen kept thee from the World,
Cold as a cloister'd maid,
Destin'd for gold and high degree,
And deem'd their iron will by thee
Obey'd.
3
A flower to bloom in stately halls,
Ancestral and alone
They thought thee all too chill and pure
To break the seal of love's allure
Unknown.
4.
Ah, witching one! I pledge thee still
For the ruddy wanton tide
That flush'd the virgin veins in thee
With young desire that would not be
Denied!
5
That welcom'd me in the wandering days
When once, by starry chance,
I found thee in that Northern wold
Reading an Orient rhyme of old
Romance!
6
Oblivious to all else beside,
Thine eyes were dreaming o'er
A quaintly pictur'd open book
Of tales once told to Lalla Rookh
Before.
7.
Her minstrel lover left her side,
In humble guise grown dear,
To claim her where his palace tower'd
Within the vale of rose-embower'd
Kashmir.
8
But what to me that day were all
The songs of minstrelsy?—
Of maids who sigh'd and knights who dared
In ancient days?—I only cared
To see.
9
Thy silken hammock swinging low,
In crimson tangles wrought;—
Thy body curving light and free
Within its yielding tracery;—
Methought.
10
No houri-haunted bower upbuilt
By dreaming Saracene
E'er greater beauty did enshrine,
Or loveliness surpassing thine,
Irene!
11
Long 'neath the vine-clad arch I stay'd
Of that sweet solitude;
Scarce breathing,—so I found thee fair,
I would not then retreat, nor dare
Intrude.
12.
Where slept thy haughty kinsman then,
The while I watch'd unseen,
The tang of those love tales inspire
Thy willing body as with fire,
Irene?
13
No rumor of the World was there;
But round us seem'd to float
A low Eolian undertone
From gloom of royal gardens blown
Remote.
14
And when at last I ventur'd in,
What words I found to say
I know not now—I only know
Thine eyes grew soft, thy voice sank low,
That day.
15
Yet how for me thy love did swift
As some wild rose unfold
Under the sun of summertime,—
Ah, this may not in idle rhyme
Be told!
16
But there were days—sweet stolen days—
Ere dawn'd the wretched morn
That saw that arbor desolate,
And thee consign'd to gilded fate,—
Forlorn.
17
That banish'd me to roam, Irene,
Upon this barren shore:
Thou hast thy gold and high degree—
I go my way and hear of thee
No more.
18
Yet still in memory thou art mine,—
Still one midsummer night
For me is glimmering in the past
With the passion of its last
Delight.
19
When the elfin zephyrs follow'd thee,
And their balmy breath did steep
All the dusk and sultry air
That waver'd softly round us there
With sleep.
20
For on that night—that only night—
When thou wast mine, Irene!
When thou did'st lavish all thy charms
On me, and tremble in my arms,
And lean
21
Back in glad abandon to
My passionate embrace,
Love leapt to flame that all thy tears
Could not then quench,—nor after years
Efface.
22
Out of the arbor arabesque,
In the deep midsummer night,
I saw thee pass, and it seem'd the gleam
Of a falling star,—and it seem'd a dream
In flight.
23
O wan Irene, so far from me,
I know not where thou art!
But I love thee, and I'll love thee till
Death's final hand shall touch and still
My heart!
24
Nay, through the night of the afterdeath,
And the ghastly vast ravine,
'Gainst all obstructions of the dead
I'll win some way to thee, dream-led,
Irene!
'T WAS in an arbor arabesque
Where tangling vines did screen
From watchful eyes, I met thee first,
O wan and witching, passion-curst
Irene!
2
Thy kinsmen kept thee from the World,
Cold as a cloister'd maid,
Destin'd for gold and high degree,
And deem'd their iron will by thee
Obey'd.
3
A flower to bloom in stately halls,
Ancestral and alone
They thought thee all too chill and pure
To break the seal of love's allure
Unknown.
4.
Ah, witching one! I pledge thee still
For the ruddy wanton tide
That flush'd the virgin veins in thee
With young desire that would not be
Denied!
5
That welcom'd me in the wandering days
When once, by starry chance,
I found thee in that Northern wold
Reading an Orient rhyme of old
Romance!
6
Oblivious to all else beside,
Thine eyes were dreaming o'er
A quaintly pictur'd open book
Of tales once told to Lalla Rookh
Before.
7.
Her minstrel lover left her side,
In humble guise grown dear,
To claim her where his palace tower'd
Within the vale of rose-embower'd
Kashmir.
8
But what to me that day were all
The songs of minstrelsy?—
Of maids who sigh'd and knights who dared
In ancient days?—I only cared
To see.
9
Thy silken hammock swinging low,
In crimson tangles wrought;—
Thy body curving light and free
Within its yielding tracery;—
Methought.
10
No houri-haunted bower upbuilt
By dreaming Saracene
E'er greater beauty did enshrine,
Or loveliness surpassing thine,
Irene!
11
Long 'neath the vine-clad arch I stay'd
Of that sweet solitude;
Scarce breathing,—so I found thee fair,
I would not then retreat, nor dare
Intrude.
12.
Where slept thy haughty kinsman then,
The while I watch'd unseen,
The tang of those love tales inspire
Thy willing body as with fire,
Irene?
13
No rumor of the World was there;
But round us seem'd to float
A low Eolian undertone
From gloom of royal gardens blown
Remote.
14
And when at last I ventur'd in,
What words I found to say
I know not now—I only know
Thine eyes grew soft, thy voice sank low,
That day.
15
Yet how for me thy love did swift
As some wild rose unfold
Under the sun of summertime,—
Ah, this may not in idle rhyme
Be told!
16
But there were days—sweet stolen days—
Ere dawn'd the wretched morn
That saw that arbor desolate,
And thee consign'd to gilded fate,—
Forlorn.
17
That banish'd me to roam, Irene,
Upon this barren shore:
Thou hast thy gold and high degree—
I go my way and hear of thee
No more.
18
Yet still in memory thou art mine,—
Still one midsummer night
For me is glimmering in the past
With the passion of its last
Delight.
19
When the elfin zephyrs follow'd thee,
And their balmy breath did steep
All the dusk and sultry air
That waver'd softly round us there
With sleep.
20
For on that night—that only night—
When thou wast mine, Irene!
When thou did'st lavish all thy charms
On me, and tremble in my arms,
And lean
21
Back in glad abandon to
My passionate embrace,
Love leapt to flame that all thy tears
Could not then quench,—nor after years
Efface.
22
Out of the arbor arabesque,
In the deep midsummer night,
I saw thee pass, and it seem'd the gleam
Of a falling star,—and it seem'd a dream
In flight.
23
O wan Irene, so far from me,
I know not where thou art!
But I love thee, and I'll love thee till
Death's final hand shall touch and still
My heart!
24
Nay, through the night of the afterdeath,
And the ghastly vast ravine,
'Gainst all obstructions of the dead
I'll win some way to thee, dream-led,
Irene!
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