The Rainbow and the Rose | Page 9

kissed body of yours that lies
Here in my arms
and sucks the strength from my breast,
The strength you will break
my heart with one of these days.
VI.
THE ISLAND.
DOES the wind sing in your ears at night, in the town,
Rattling the
windows and doors of the cheap-built place?
Do you hear its song as
it flies over marsh and down?
Do you feel the kiss that the wind
leaves here on my face?
Or, wrapt in a lamplit quiet, do you restrain

Thoughts that would take the wind's way hither to me,
And bid
them rest safe-anchored, nor tempt again
The tumult, and torment,

and passion that live in the sea?
I, for my part, when the wind sings loud in its might,
I bid it
hush--nor awaken again the storm
That swept my heart out to sea on
a moonless night,
And dashed it ashore on an island wondrous and
warm
Where all things fair and forbidden for ever flower,
Where
the worst of life is a dream, and the best comes true, When the harvest
of years was reaped in a single hour
And the gods, for once, were
honest with me and you.
I will not hear when the wind and the sea cry out,
I will not trust
again to the hurrying wind,
I will not swim again in a sea of doubt,

And reach that shore with the world left well behind;
But you,--I
would have you listen to every call
Of the changing wind, as it blows
over marsh and main,
And heap life's joys in your hands, and offer
them all,
If only your feet might touch that island again!
POSSESSION.
THE child was yours and none of mine,
And yet you gave it me to
keep,
And bade me sew it raiment fine,
And wrap my kisses round
its sleep.
I carried it upon my breast,
I fed it in a world apart,
I wrapped my
kisses round its rest,
I rocked its cradle with my heart.
When in mad nights of rain and storm
You turned us homeless from
your door,
I wrapped it close, I kept it warm,
And brought it safe to
you once more.
But the last time you drove us forth,
The snow was wrapped about its
head,
That night the wind blew from the North,
And on my heart
the child was dead.
The child is mine and none of yours,
My life was his while he had

breath,
What of your claim to him endures,
Who only gave him
birth and death?
ACCESSION.
ONCE I loved, and my heart bowed down,
Subject and slave, for
Love was a King;
He sat above with sceptre and crown,
Turning his
eyes from my sorrowing.
The laugh of a god on his lips lay light--

His lips victorious that mocked my pain,
And I mourned in the cold
and the outer night,
And my tears and my prayers were vain.
Now the old spell is over and done,
Myself I wear the ermine and
gold,
My brows are crowned, I ascend the throne,
I have taken the
sceptre and orb to hold.
I smile victorious, set far above
The music
of voices that moan and pray,
My feet are wet with the tears of love,

And I turn my eyes away.
THE DESTROYER.
ACROSS the quiet pastures of my soul
The invading army marched
in splendid might
My few poor forces fled beyond control,

Scattered, defeated, hidden in the night.
My fields were green, their hedges white with May,
With gold of
buttercups made bright and fair,
The careless conquerors did not even
stay
To gather one of all the blossoms there.
Only when they had passed, the fields were brown,
The grass and
blossoms trampled in the mud:
The flowering hedges withered and
torn down,
And no one richer by a single bud.
THE EGOISTS.
TWO strangers, from opposing poles,
Meet in the torrid zone of Love:

And their desire seems set above
The limitation of their souls.

This is the trap; this is the snare,
This is the false, enchanting light,

And when it smoulders into night,
How can each know the other is
there?
They own no bond of common speech;
Each, from far shores by wild
winds brought,
Gropes for some cord of common thought
To draw
the other within reach.
Each when the dark tide drowns their star,
Cries out, "Thou art not
one with me:
One flesh we seemed when eyes could see,
But now,
how far thou art! How far!"
Each calling, "Come! be mine! be wise!"
Stands obstinately in his
place,
How can these two come face to face,
Till light spring from
their meeting eyes?
Could both but once cry, "Far thou art,
But I am coming!" How the
beat
Of waves that part them would retreat,
Resurge and find them,
heart to heart!
THE WAY OF LOVE.
THE butterfly loves the rose,
He flutters around her bed,
Till the
soft curled leaves unclose,
And she raises her darling head.
He whispers of dawn and of dew,
Of love, and the heart of love,
Of
worship, timid and true,
And she takes no joy thereof.
But when, through the noon's blind heat,
The arrogant bee flaunts by,

She yields him her heart's hid