Primavera | Page 4

about my feet!
Shall I take comfort? Dost thou live?A spirit, though afar,?With a deep hush about thee, like?The stillness round a star?
Oh, thou art cold! In that high sphere?Thou art a thing apart,?Losing in saner happiness?This madness of the heart.
And yet, at times, thou still shalt feel?A passing breath, a pain;?Disturb'd, as though a door in heaven?Had oped and closed again.
And thou shalt shiver, while the hymns,?The solemn hymns, shall cease;?A moment half remember me:?Then turn away to peace.
But oh, for evermore thy look,?Thy laugh, thy charm, thy tone,?Thy sweet and wayward earthliness,?Dear trivial things, are gone!
Therefore I look not on thy grave,?Though there the rose is sweet;?But rather hear the loud wave wash?These wastes about my feet.
STEPHEN PHILLIPS.
RAYMOND AND IDA
_Raymond._
Dearest, that sit'st in dreams,?Through the window look, this way.?How changed and desolate seems?The world, Ida, to-day!?Heavy and low the sky is glooming:?Winter is coming!
_Ida._
My dreaming heart is stirr'd:?Sadly the winter comes!?The wind is loud: how weird,?Heard in these darken'd rooms!?Speak to me, Raymond; ease this dread:?I am afraid, afraid.
_Raymond._
Love, what is this? Like snow?Thy cheeks feel, snow they wear.?What ails my darling so??What is it thou dost hear??Close, close, thy soft arms cling to mine:?Tears on thy lashes shine.
_Ida._
Hark! love, the wind wails by?The wet October trees,?Swaying them mournfully:?The wet leaves shower and cease.?And hark! how blows the weary rain,?Against the shaken pane.
_Raymond._
Ah, yes, the world is drear?Outside; there is no rest.?But what can Ida fear,?Shelter'd upon my breast??Heed not the storm-blast, beating wild,?I love thee, love thee, child.
_Ida._
Thy breath is in my hair,?Thy kisses on my cheek;?Yet I scarce feel them there:?Faintly I hear thee speak.?My heart is dreaming far away,?In some sad, future day.
_Raymond._
The future? In the mist?Of years what dost thou see??O let that dark land rest:?Come back, come back to me!?Look up! How fix'd and vacant seem?Thine eyes; so deep they dream.
_Ida._
To leave the blessed light:?Cold in the grave to lie!?No voice, no human sight:?Darkness and apathy!?To die! 'tis hard, ere youth is o'er;?But ah, to love no more!
_Raymond._
What dream is this, alas!?O, if but for my sake,?Wake, darling; let this pass:?Ida, dear Ida, wake!?I cannot bear to see those tears:?Thy sad tones hurt my ears.
_Ida._
Will he forget me, then,?When I am gone away??'Twere best: to give him pain,?Let not my memory stay.?But O, even there, in Hades dim,?I would remember him.
_Raymond._
Thou griev'st thyself in vain:?Sweet love, be comforted.?Come, leave this world of rain;?To the bright hearth turn thy head.?We have our fireside still, the same:?How cheerful is the flame!
Though darkness round us press;?Though wild, without, it blows;?Here sit thee, while thy face?In the happy firelight glows:?Clasp'd in my arms, lie tranquil here;?And listen, Ida dear.
As, from that outlook chill,?The glad hearth meets our sight,?A charm for every ill?We bear, a charm of might.?Ah, 'gainst its power not death shall stay!?Know'st thou it, darling, say?
Thou smilest! Joy, I see,?Dawns in thine eyes again:?Those cheeks of ivory?Their own sweet bloom regain.?Thou know'st that heavenly charm; how well,?Thy happy kisses tell!
MANMOHAN GHOSE.
PSYCHE
She is not fair, as some are fair,?Cold as the snow, as sunshine gay:?On her clear brow, come grief what may,?She suffers not too stern an air;?But, grave in silence, sweet in speech,?Loves neither mockery nor disdain;?Gentle to all, to all doth teach?The charm of deeming nothing vain.
She join'd me: and we wander'd on;?And I rejoiced, I cared not why,?Deeming it immortality?To walk with such a soul alone.?Primroses pale grew all around,?Violets, and moss, and ivy wild;?Yet, drinking sweetness from the ground,?I was but conscious that she smiled.
The wind blew all her shining hair?From her sweet brows; and she, the while,?Put back her lovely head, to smile?On my enchanted spirit there.?Jonquils and pansies round her head?Gleam'd softly; but a heavenlier hue?Upon her perfect cheek was shed,?And in her eyes a purer blue.
There came an end to break the spell;?She murmur'd something in my ear;?The words fell vague, I did not hear,?And ere I knew, I said farewell;?And homeward went, with happy heart?And spirit dwelling in a gleam,?Rapt to a Paradise apart,?With all the world become a dream.
Yet now, too soon, the world's strong strife?Breaks on me pitiless again;?The pride of passion, hopes made vain,?The wounds, the weariness, of life.?And losing that forgetful sphere,?For some less troubled world I sigh,?If not divine, more free, more clear,?Than this poor, soil'd humanity.
But when, in trances of the night,?Wakeful, my lonely bed I keep,?And linger at the gate of Sleep,?Fearing, lest dreams deny me light;?Her image comes into the gloom,?With her pale features moulded fair,?Her breathing beauty, morning bloom,?My heart's delight, my tongue's despair.
With loving hand she touches mine,?Showers her soft tresses on my brow,?And heals my heart, I know not how,?Bathing me with her looks divine.?She beckons me; and I arise;?And, grief no more remembering,?Wander again with rapturous eyes?Through those enchanted lands of Spring.
Then, as I walk with her