English Poems | Page 3

young bird that
flutters ere it flies,--
And lo! a shining angel called him from her
eyes.
Then from the silence sprang a kiss like flame,
And they hung lost
together; while around
The world was changed, no more to be the
same
Meadow or sky, no little flower or sound
Again the same, for
earth grew holy ground:
While in the silence of the mounting moon

Infinite love throbbed in the straining bound
Of that great kiss, the
long-delaying boon,
Granted indeed at last, but ended, ah! so soon.
As the great sobbing fulness of the sea
Fills to the throat some void
and aching cave,
Till all its hollows tremble silently,
Pressed with
sweet weight of softly-lapping wave:
So kissed those mighty lovers
glad and brave.
And as a sky from which the sun has gone

Trembles all night with all the stars he gave
A firmament of
memories of the sun,--
So thrilled and thrilled each life when that
great kiss was done.
But coward shame that had no word to say
In passion's hour, with
sudden icy clang
Slew the bright morn, and through the tarnished day

An iron bell from light to darkness rang:
She shut her ears because
a throstle sang,
She dare not hear the little innocent bird,
And a
white flower made her poor head to hang--
To be so white! once she
was white as curd,
But now--'Alack!' 'Alack!' She speaks no other
word.
The pearly line on yonder hills afar
Within the dawn, when mounts

the lark and sings
By the great angel of the morning star,--
That was
his love, and all free fair fresh things
That move and glitter while the
daylight springs:
To thus know love, and yet to spoil love thus!
To
lose the dream--O silly beating wings--
Great dream so splendid and
miraculous:
O Lord, O Lord, have mercy, have mercy upon us.
She turned her mind upon the holy ones
Whose love lost here was
love in heaven tenfold,
She thought of Lucy, that most blessed of
nuns
Who sent her blue eyes on a plate of gold
To him who wooed
her daily for her love--
'Mine eyes!' 'Mine eyes!' 'Here,--go in peace,
they are!' But ever love came through the midnight grove,
Young
Love, with wild eyes watching from afar,
And called and called and
called until the morning star.
Ah, poor Francesca, 'tis not such as thou
That up the stony steeps of
heaven climb;
Take thou thy heaven with thy Paolo now--
Sweet
saint of sin, saint of a deathless rhyme,
Song shall defend thee at the
bar of Time,
Dante shall set thy fair young glowing face
On the
dark background of his theme sublime,
And Thou and He in your
superb disgrace
Still on that golden wind of passion shall embrace.

So love this twain, but whither have they passed?
Ah me, that dark
must always follow day,
That Love's last kiss is surely kissed at last,

Howe'er so wildly the poor lips may pray:
Merciful God, is there
no other way?
And pen, O must thou of the ending write,
The hour
Lanciotto found them where they lay,
Folded together, weary with
delight,
Within the sumptuous petals of the rose of night.
Yea, for Lanciotto found them: many an hour
Ere their dear joy had
run its doomèd date,
Had they, in silken nook and blossomed bower,

All unsuspect the blessed apple ate,
Who now must grind its core
predestinate.
Kiss, kiss, poor losing lovers, nor deny
One little
tremor of its bliss, for Fate

Cometh upon you, and the dark is nigh


Where all, unkissed, unkissing, learn at length to lie.
Bent on some journey of the state's concern
They deemed him, and
indeed he rode thereon
But questioned Paolo--'What if he return!'

'Nay, love, indeed he is securely gone
As thou art surely here,
beloved one,
He went ere sundown, and our moon is here--
A fear,
love, in this heart that yet knew none!'
How could he fright that little
velvet ear
With last night's dream and all its ghostly fear!
So did he yield him to her eager breast,
And half forgot, but could not
quite forget,
No sweetest kiss could put that fear to rest,
And all its
haggard vision chilled him yet;
Their warder moon in nameless
trouble set,
There seemed a traitor echo in the place,
A moaning
wind that moaned for lovers met,
And once above her head's deep
sunk embrace
He saw--Death at the window with his yellow face.
Had that same dream caught old Lanciotto's reins,
Bent in a weary
huddle on his steed,
In darkling haste along the blindfold lanes,

Making a clattering halt in all that speed:--
'Fool! fool!' he cried, 'O
dotard fool, indeed,
So ho! they wanton while the old man rides,'

And on the night flashed pictures of the deed.
'Come!'--and he dug his
charger's panting sides,
And all the homeward dark tore by in roaring
tides.
As some great lord of acres when a thief
Steals from his park some
flower he never sees,
Calls it a lily fair beyond belief,
Prisons the
wretch, and fines before he frees;
Such jealous madness did Lanciotto
seize:
All in an instant is Francesca dear,
He claims the wife he
never cared to please,
All in an instant seems