Dreams Dust | Page 9

stood among the boats and nets;?We saw the swift clouds fall,?We watched the schooners scamper in?Before the sudden squall;--?The jolly squall strove lustily?To whelm the sheltered street--?The merry squall that piled the seas?About the patient headland's knees?And chased the fishing fleet.
She laughed; as if with wings her mirth?Arose and left the wingless earth?And all tame things behind;?Rose like a bird, wild with delight?Whose briny pinions flash in flight?Through storm and sun and wind.
Her laughter sought those skies because?Their mood and hers were one,?For she and I were drunk with love?And life and storm and sun!
And while she laughed, the Sun himself?Leapt laughing through the rain?And struck his harper hand along?The ringing coast; and that wind-song?Whose joy is mixed with pain?Forgot the undertone of grief?And joined the jocund strain,?And over every hidden reef?Whereon the waves broke merrily?Rose jets and sprays of melody?And leapt and laughed again.
II
MOONLIGHT
We stood among the boats and nets . . .?We marked the risen moon?Walk swaying o'er the trembling seas?As one sways in a swoon;
The little stars, the lonely stars,?Stole through the hollow sky,?And every sucking eddy where?The waves lapped wharf or rotten stair?Moaned like some stricken thing hid there?And strangled with its own despair?As the shuddering tide crept by.
I loved her, and I hated her--?Or did I hate myself because,?Bound by obscure, strong, silken laws,?I felt myself the worshiper?Of beauty never wholly mine??With lures most apt to snare, entwine,?With bonds too subtle to define,?Her lighter nature mastered mine;?Herself half given, half withheld,?Her lesser spirit still compelled?Its tribute from my franker soul:?So--rebel, slave, and worshiper!--?I loved her and I hated her.
I gazed upon her, I, her thrall,?And musing, murmured, What if death
Were just the answer to it all?--?Suppose some dainty dagger quaffed?Her life in one deep eager draught?--?Suppose some amorous knife caressed?The lovely hollow of her breast?"--?She turned a mocking look to mine:?She read the thought within my eyne,?She held me with her look--and laughed!
Now who may tell what stirs, controls,?And shapes mad fancies into facts??What trivial things may quicken souls?To irrevocable, swift acts??Now who has known, who understood,?Wherefore some idle thing?May stab with deadlier sting?Than well-considered insult could?--?May spur the languor of a mood?And rouse a tiger in the blood?--
Ah, Christ!--had she not laughed just when?That fancy came! . . . for then . . . and then . . .?A sudden mist dropped from the sky,
A mist swept in across the sea . . .?A mist that hid her face from me . . .?A weeping mist all tinged with red,?A dripping mist that smelt like blood . . .?It choked my throat, it burnt my brain . . .?And through it peered one sallow star,?And through it rang one shriek of pain . . .?And when it passed my hands were red,?My soul was dabbled with her blood;?And when it passed my love was dead?And tossed upon the troubled flood.
III
MOONSET
But see! . . . the body does not sink;?It rides upon the tide?(A starbeam on the dagger's haft),?With staring eyes and wide . . .?And now, up from the darkling sea,?Down from the failing moon,?Are come strange shapes to mock at me . . .?All pallid from the star-pale sea,?White from the paling moon . . .
Or whirling fast or wheeling slow?Around, around the corpse they go,?All bloodless o'er the sickened sea?Beneath the ailing moon!
And are they only wisps of fog?That dance along the waves??Only shapes of mist the wind?Drives along the waves??Or are they spirits that the sea?Has cheated of their graves??The ghosts of them that died at sea,?Of murdered men flung in the sea,?Whose bodies had no graves?--?Lost souls that haunt for evermore?The sobbing reef and hollowed shore?And always-murmuring caves?
Ah, surely something more than fog,?More than starlit mist!?For starlight never makes a sound?And fogs are ever whist--?But hearken, hearken, hearken, now,?For these sing as they dance!
As airily, as eerily,?They wheel about and whirl,?They jeer at me, they fleer at me,?They flout me as they swirl!?As whirling fast or swaying slow,?Reeling, wheeling, to and fro,?Around, around the corpse they go,?They chill me with their chants!?These be neither men nor mists--?Hearken to their chants:
Ever, ever, ever,?Drifting like a blossom?Seaward, with the starlight?Wan upon her bosom--?Ever when the quickened?Heart of night is throbbing,?Ever when the trembling?Tide sets seaward, sobbing,?Shall you see this burden?Borne upon its ebbing:?See her drifting seaward?Like a broken blossom,
Ever see the starlight?Kiss her bruised bosom.
Flight availeth nothing . . .?Still the subtle beaches?Draw you back where Horror?Walks their shingled reaches . . .?Ever shall your spirit?Hear the surf resounding,?Evermore the ocean?Thwarting you and bounding;?Vainly struggle inland!?Lashing you and hounding,?Still the vision hales you?From the upland reaches,?Goading you and gripping,?Binds you to the beaches!
Ever, ever, ever,?Ever shall her laughter,?Hunting you and haunting,?Mock and follow after;?Rising where the buoy-bell?Clangs across the shallows,
Leaping where the spindrift?Hurtles o'er the hollows,?Ringing where the moonlight?Gleams along the billows,?Ever,