The Moonlit Wheat
1
O LOVE of mine! amid the moonlit wheat
Of harvest-fields how fair—how lily-sweet—
I saw thee stand and signal me alone
To that untrodden vale that was thine own
On that last night of all that we did meet,—
O love of mine amid the moonlit wheat!
2
No thing within that region was astir:
Entranced I saw it all as if it were
The scenery of a dream wrought to express
The longing of my heart, thy loveliness,
And that unseen romance whose theatre
Must be in regions where no thing's astir.
3
Quaint and low, like some remote bassoon,
Across the marsh there came a muffled croon,
And all alone one melancholy frog,
Squat on the butt of a sunken cedar log,
Solemnly did serenade the Moon:—
In tone so low and quaint—like the quaint bassoon.
4
While in an elm-tree an oriole
Trilled out a rural evensong that stole
In drowsy cadence from the upper air;—
O Love of mine, in Eden unaware
Some angel slept to let our spirits stroll,
While o'er us sang that golden oriole!
5
And far above the starlit skies unroll'd
A spell of silence, and of things untold,
That seal'd our lips; the warm ripe wheat, caress'd
By Zephyrs scented from the sultry West,
Went rippling like a sea of pallid gold,—
Under those starlit skies, so wide unroll'd.
6
But when I loos'd thy heavy wheaten hair
To curl and shimmer in the cooling air,
Past coy denial, and virginal disguise,
I read the unutter'd secret in thine eyes
Of all thou wouldst surrender to me there,—
The while I loos'd thy thick wheat-colored hair.
7
And Time went by—and Time was naught to us:—
Only our wistful hearts grew tremulous
To hear the Zephyrs in sweet union sigh,
While slowly in the fulness of the sky
The lucent Moon herself sank amorous:—
And Time went by—and Time was naught to us.
8
Alas! how now the serpent years unfold
Sharp treacheries, and pangs unknown of old!
Yet once to have had thee mine—once to have felt
In thy caresses all my being melt
To passion's last felicity,—I hold
Worth every pang these serpent years unfold.
9
And oft I loose the gates of Memory
To seek amid the uncertain scenery,
Some evanescent vision of thee, pale,
Within the silence of a moonlit vale
Where none may follow, and where none may see,—
Beyond the darkling gates of Memory.
10
I am thy lover still, O Love of mine!
My heart shall never lose the fire of thine;
And tho' I bide in loneliness and pain,
My soul shall hold her peace, and not complain,
Trusting somehow, somewhere, these arms shall twine
Round thy sweet self again, O Love of mine!
O LOVE of mine! amid the moonlit wheat
Of harvest-fields how fair—how lily-sweet—
I saw thee stand and signal me alone
To that untrodden vale that was thine own
On that last night of all that we did meet,—
O love of mine amid the moonlit wheat!
2
No thing within that region was astir:
Entranced I saw it all as if it were
The scenery of a dream wrought to express
The longing of my heart, thy loveliness,
And that unseen romance whose theatre
Must be in regions where no thing's astir.
3
Quaint and low, like some remote bassoon,
Across the marsh there came a muffled croon,
And all alone one melancholy frog,
Squat on the butt of a sunken cedar log,
Solemnly did serenade the Moon:—
In tone so low and quaint—like the quaint bassoon.
4
While in an elm-tree an oriole
Trilled out a rural evensong that stole
In drowsy cadence from the upper air;—
O Love of mine, in Eden unaware
Some angel slept to let our spirits stroll,
While o'er us sang that golden oriole!
5
And far above the starlit skies unroll'd
A spell of silence, and of things untold,
That seal'd our lips; the warm ripe wheat, caress'd
By Zephyrs scented from the sultry West,
Went rippling like a sea of pallid gold,—
Under those starlit skies, so wide unroll'd.
6
But when I loos'd thy heavy wheaten hair
To curl and shimmer in the cooling air,
Past coy denial, and virginal disguise,
I read the unutter'd secret in thine eyes
Of all thou wouldst surrender to me there,—
The while I loos'd thy thick wheat-colored hair.
7
And Time went by—and Time was naught to us:—
Only our wistful hearts grew tremulous
To hear the Zephyrs in sweet union sigh,
While slowly in the fulness of the sky
The lucent Moon herself sank amorous:—
And Time went by—and Time was naught to us.
8
Alas! how now the serpent years unfold
Sharp treacheries, and pangs unknown of old!
Yet once to have had thee mine—once to have felt
In thy caresses all my being melt
To passion's last felicity,—I hold
Worth every pang these serpent years unfold.
9
And oft I loose the gates of Memory
To seek amid the uncertain scenery,
Some evanescent vision of thee, pale,
Within the silence of a moonlit vale
Where none may follow, and where none may see,—
Beyond the darkling gates of Memory.
10
I am thy lover still, O Love of mine!
My heart shall never lose the fire of thine;
And tho' I bide in loneliness and pain,
My soul shall hold her peace, and not complain,
Trusting somehow, somewhere, these arms shall twine
Round thy sweet self again, O Love of mine!
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