Helen Redeemed and Other Poems | Page 9

that thou art loved?" "And am I loved then?"
"If thou'ldst have it proved, Look in my eyes. Would thine were open book!"?"Palimpsest I," she said, and would not look.?But he was grappling now with truth, would have it,?What though it cost him all his gain. She gave it,?Looking him along. "O lady mine," he said,?"Now are my clouds disperséd every shred;?For thou art mine; I think thou lovest me.?Speak, is that true?"
She could not, or may be?She would not hold her gaze, but let it fall,?And watched her fingers idling on the wall,?And so remained; but urged to it by the spell?He cast, she whispered down, "I cannot tell?Thee here, and thus apart"--which when he had?In its full import drove him well-nigh mad?With longing. "Call me and I come!"
But fear?Flamed in her eyes: "No, no, 'tis death! He's here?At hand. 'Tis death for thee, and worse than death--"?She ended so--"for both of us."
And breath?Failed him, for well he knew now what she meant,?And sighed his thanks to Gods beneficent.?Thereafter in sweet use of lovers' talk,?In boon spring weather, whenas lovers walk?Handfasted through the meadows pied, and wet?With dew from flower and leaf, these lovers met--?Two bodies separate, one wild heart between,?Day after day, these two long-severed been;?And of this mating of the eye and tongue?There grew desire passionate and strong?For body's mating and its testimony,?Hearts' intimacy, perfect, full and free.?And Helen for her heart's ease did deny?Her girdled Goddess of the beamy eye,?Saying, "Come you down, Mistress of sleek loves?And panting nights: your service of bought doves?And honey-hearted wine may cost too dear.?What hast thou done for me since first my ear?With thy sly music thou didst sign and seal?Apprentice to thy mystery, teach me feel?Thy fierce divinity in the trembling touch?Of open lips? Served I not thee too much?In Kranai and in Sparta my demesne,?Too much in wide-wayed Ilios, Eastern Queen??Yes, but it was too much a thousandfold,?For what was I but leman bought and sold??"For woman craved what mercy hath man brought,?What face a woman for a woman sought??What mercy or what face? And what saith she,?The hunted, scornéd wretch? Boast that she be?Coveted, hankered, spat on? One to gloat,?The rest to snarl without! If man play goat,?What must she play? Her glory is it to draw?On greedy eye, sting greedy lip and paw,?And find the crown of her desire therein??Hath she no rarer bliss than all this sin,?Is she for dandling, kissing, hidden up?For hungry hands to stroke or lips to sup??Hath she then nothing of her own, no mirth?In honesty, nor eyes to worship worth,?Nor pride except in that which makes men dogs,?Nor loathing for the vice wherein, like logs?That float beneath the sun, lie fair women?Submiss, inert receptacles for sin??Is this her all? Hath she no heart, nor care?Therefor? No womb, nor hope therein to bear?Fruit of her heart's insurgence? Is her face,?Are these her breasts for fondling, not to grace?Her heart's high honour, swell to nurture it,?That it too grow? Hath she no mother-wit,?Nor sense for living things and innocent,?Nor leap of joy for this good world's content?Of sun and wind, of flower and leaf, and song?Of bird, or shout of children as they throng?The world of mated men and women? Nay,?Persuade me not, O Kypris; but I say?Evil hath been the lore which thou hast taught--?For many have loved my face, and many sought?My breast, and thought it joy supping thereat?Sweetness and dear delight; but out of that?What hath there come to them, to me and all?Mine but hot shame? Not milk, but bitter gall."
So in her high passion she rent herself?And rocked, or hid her face upon the shelf?Of the grim wall, lest he should see the whole?Inexpiable sorrow of her soul.?But he by pity pure made bountiful?Lent her excuse, by every means to lull?Her agony. Said he, "Of mortals who?Can e'er withstand the way she wills them to,?Kypris the forceful Goddess? Nay, dear child,?Thou wert constrained."
She said, "I was beguiled?And clung to him until the day-dawn broke?When I could read as in the roll of a book?His open heart. And then my own heart reeled?To know him craven, dog, not man, revealed?A panting drudge of lust, who held me here?Caged vessel. Nay, come close. I loved him dear,?Too dear, I know; but never till he came?Had known the leap of joy, the fire of flame?Upon the heart he gave me, Paris the bright,?Whose memory was music and his sight?Fragrance, whose nearness made my footfall dance,?Whose touch was fever, and his burning glance?Faintness and blindness; in whose light my life?Centred; who was the sun, and I, false wife,?The foolish flower that turns whereso he wheels?Over the broad earth's canopy, and steals?Colour from his strong beam, but at the last?Whenas the night comes and the day is past?Droops, burnt at the heart. So