love poem

An hour ago I saw Thee ride in gold
Along the burning highways of the skies;
And now — Thou comest with soft and suppliant eyes,
And fearing lest Thy love seem overbold.

In this dear garden set with flower and tree,
My soul, a maiden whom a great king woos,
Stands thrilled and silent — Lord, what can she choose,
Dumbfounded by Thy strange humility?

Since Thou wilt have it so, my Lord, I bare
In love and shamefastness my soul — Thy soul —
So lay Thy tender hand, an aureole,

I

I WALKED with giants once upon the height
For that one look you gave me one May night.

Comrade of theirs was I as bold as strong
For that one note I dreamed into your song.

By none could I be worsted or o'erthrown,
Feeling your hands a moment in my own.

II

Now must I face my giants one by one —
I who but dreamed a dream and wake alone —
Love, Joy, and High Ambition and Delight.

You asked me yesterday what moment seemed
Most beautiful of all our love-hours sweet;
— Beloved, it was when kneeling at your feet
One summer's eve, you looked at me and smiled,
While in your cherished face there softly gleamed
The tenderness of a mother for her child.

I AM inebriate with the sunlight's golden wine,
And I would love with an insensate fury!

Let me drain beauty even unto death!
Bring me a languid woman, perfumed, young,
Her dusky body hung with dazzling gems
And strange, exotic iridescent stuffs —
Her wanton eyes like thirsty summer moons.

Oh, I would love with an insensate fury!
Bring me a pale flower-boy,
White-limbed like a young heifer in a field,
His lips a-quiver with unknown desire. . . .
His soft throat virgin beneath my kiss,

Pray you, my master, let me keep my dream.
Of all sweet things have I not been bereft —
Of very youth, of very happiness?
Why should you covet this one fairing left?
Nay, grant me this. What slave could ask for less?
Pray you, my master, let me keep my dream.

Pray you, my master, leave to me this thing,
I, who was rich one day, to-day am poor
Beyond men's envying, save but for this,
This dream for whose glad sake I still endure;
All else you filched in that one Judas kiss.

I thought Love dead,
And saw him borne away,
One April day,
Unto a quiet mound,
And lying by his side I wound
A garland of white roses fair
In his hair,
And lilies sweet
For peace, I placed about his feet,
An ivy chaplet for his head;
I thought Love dead.

I thought Love dead,
And sang his requiem in tears
For many years.
All knew my pain and said:
" Yea. Love is dead! "

I thought Love dead;
One night I sought his lonely bier,
There were strange wind-songs near,

Was it the voice of the Spring or the voice of my love that called me
Out of the boughs of the birch-tree snowy with moonbeams?

Ah, it was sweet like the chant of a bee seeking honey,
Culling the nectar of dreams from a blossomy bosom!

Was it the face of the Spring or the face of my love that smiled on me,
Silvery pleading that swooned on the sea-scented breeze?

Ah, she was fair as a daffodil, golden, shimmering,
Her throat like a calyx woven of wonderful star-kisses!

As one who faring o'er a desert plain
Sees fountains clear in the mirage arise,
And, parched, longs the nectar sweet to gain
Which still before him flies —
So, wistfully, half doubting, half-believing,
Scornful of hope — yet hopeful, self-deceiving,
I thirst for love, which wastes before my eyes.

ASPHODEL

The children played at naming, every one
Her favorite blossom, in the mild June even;
When, at the last, the others having done,
A little maid — her years but numbered seven —

Stood shyly forth and answered in her turn:
" Pale violets I love, — and love full well
Red poppies, which the elves for torches burn, —
But for my own I choose — the asphodel."

I.

A lover often has been blessed
With a soft hand in secret pressed,
Or with a glance, or with a sigh,
Or with some other foolery
Of silent love.
II.

And should the nymph with roseate charms
Glide through night's darkness to his arms,
Nestling there while Scandal sleeps,
Sweet are the joys till daylight peeps
Of silent love.

III.

But bitter are the lover's woes