The Unknown Eros | Page 3

comes at the last to reach?And burst in wind-kiss'd splendours on the deaf'ning beach, Where forms of children in first innocence?Laugh and fling pebbles on the rainbow'd crest?Of its untired unrest.
III. WINTER.
I, singularly moved?To love the lovely that are not beloved,?Of all the Seasons, most?Love Winter, and to trace?The sense of the Trophonian pallor on her face.?It is not death, but plenitude of peace;?And the dim cloud that does the world enfold?Hath less the characters of dark and cold?Than warmth and light asleep,?And correspondent breathing seems to keep?With the infant harvest, breathing soft below?Its eider coverlet of snow.?Nor is in field or garden anything?But, duly look'd into, contains serene?The substance of things hoped for, in the Spring,?And evidence of Summer not yet seen.?On every chance-mild day?That visits the moist shaw,?The honeysuckle, 'sdaining to be crost?In urgence of sweet life by sleet or frost,?'Voids the time's law?With still increase?Of leaflet new, and little, wandering spray;?Often, in sheltering brakes,?As one from rest disturb'd in the first hour,?Primrose or violet bewilder'd wakes,?And deems 'tis time to flower;?Though not a whisper of her voice he hear,?The buried bulb does know?The signals of the year,?And hails far Summer with his lifted spear.?The gorse-field dark, by sudden, gold caprice,?Turns, here and there, into a Jason's fleece;?Lilies, that soon in Autumn slipp'd their gowns of green,?And vanish'd into earth,?And came again, ere Autumn died, to birth,?Stand full-array'd, amidst the wavering shower,?And perfect for the Summer, less the flower;?In nook of pale or crevice of crude bark,?Thou canst not miss,?If close thou spy, to mark?The ghostly chrysalis,?That, if thou touch it, stirs in its dream dark;?And the flush'd Robin, in the evenings hoar,?Does of Love's Day, as if he saw it, sing;?But sweeter yet than dream or song of Summer or Spring?Are Winter's sometime smiles, that seem to well?From infancy ineffable;?Her wandering, languorous gaze,?So unfamiliar, so without amaze,?On the elemental, chill adversity,?The uncomprehended rudeness; and her sigh?And solemn, gathering tear,?And look of exile from some great repose, the sphere?Of ether, moved by ether only, or?By something still more tranquil.
IV. BEATA.
Of infinite Heaven the rays,?Piercing some eyelet in our cavern black,?Ended their viewless track?On thee to smite?Solely, as on a diamond stalactite,?And in mid-darkness lit a rainbow's blaze,?Wherein the absolute Reason, Power, and Love,?That erst could move?Mainly in me but toil and weariness,?Renounced their deadening might,?Renounced their undistinguishable stress?Of withering white,?And did with gladdest hues my spirit caress,?Nothing of Heaven in thee showing infinite,?Save the delight.
V. THE DAY AFTER TO-MORROW.
Perchance she droops within the hollow gulf?Which the great wave of coming pleasure draws,?Not guessing the glad cause!?Ye Clouds that on your endless journey go,?Ye Winds that westward flow,?Thou heaving Sea?That heav'st 'twixt her and me,?Tell her I come;?Then only sigh your pleasure, and be dumb;?For the sweet secret of our either self?We know.?Tell her I come,?And let her heart be still'd.?One day's controlled hope, and then one more,?And on the third our lives shall be fulfill'd!?Yet all has been before:?Palm placed in palm, twin smiles, and words astray.?What other should we say??But shall I not, with ne'er a sign, perceive,?Whilst her sweet hands I hold,?The myriad threads and meshes manifold?Which Love shall round her weave:?The pulse in that vein making alien pause?And varying beats from this;?Down each long finger felt, a differing strand?Of silvery welcome bland;?And in her breezy palm?And silken wrist,?Beneath the touch of my like numerous bliss?Complexly kiss'd,?A diverse and distinguishable calm??What should we say!?It all has been before;?And yet our lives shall now be first fulfill'd,?And into their summ'd sweetness fall distill'd?One sweet drop more;?One sweet drop more, in absolute increase?Of unrelapsing peace.
O, heaving Sea,?That heav'st as if for bliss of her and me,?And separatest not dear heart from heart,?Though each 'gainst other beats too far apart,?For yet awhile?Let it not seem that I behold her smile.?O, weary Love, O, folded to her breast,?Love in each moment years and years of rest,?Be calm, as being not.?Ye oceans of intolerable delight,?The blazing photosphere of central Night,?Be ye forgot.?Terror, thou swarthy Groom of Bride-bliss coy,?Let me not see thee toy.?O, Death, too tardy with thy hope intense?Of kisses close beyond conceit of sense;?O, Life, too liberal, while to take her hand?Is more of hope than heart can understand;?Perturb my golden patience not with joy,?Nor, through a wish, profane?The peace that should pertain?To him who does by her attraction move.?Has all not been before??One day's controlled hope, and one again,?And then the third, and ye shall have the rein,?O Life, Death, Terror, Love!?But soon let your unrestful rapture cease,?Ye flaming Ethers thin,?Condensing till the abiding sweetness win?One sweet drop more;?One sweet drop more in the measureless increase?Of honied peace.
VI. TRISTITIA.
Darling, with hearts conjoin'd in such a peace?That Hope, so not to cease,?Must still gaze back,?And count, along our love's most happy track,?The landmarks of like inconceiv'd increase,?Promise me this:?If