And I to have tempted you! I, who tired Beyond all saints, as themselves aver? Hardly! That must be understood! The earth is your place of penance, then; When you walk alone, and review the past; Witness beforehand! Off I trip On a safe path gay through the flowers you flung: My very name made great by your lip, And my heart a-glow with the good I know Of a perfect year when we both were young, And I tasted the angels' fellowship. And witness, moreover . . . Ah, but wait! That you grieve-for slain ruth, murdered truth. "Though falsehood escape in the end, what boots? "How truth would have triumphed!"-you sigh too late. Ay, who would have triumphed like you, I say! You should hardly grudge, could I be your judge! But hush! For you, can be no despair: There's amends: 'tis a secret: hope and pray! Much help is in mine, as I mope and pine, With pleasant and fair and wise and rare: And the best we wish to what lives, is-death; Which even in wishing, perhaps we lie! Far better commit a fault and have doneAs you, Dear!-for ever; and choose the pure, And look where the healing waters run, And strive and strain to be good again, And a place in the other world ensure, All glass and gold, with God for its sun. Misery! What shall I say or do? I cannot advise, or, at least, persuade: Most like, you are glad you deceived me-rue No whit of the wrong: you endured too long, Have done no evil and want no aid, Will live the old life out and chance the new. And your sentence is written all the same, If I pray, if I curse,-för better or worse: And my heart feels ice while my words breathe flame. Dear, I look from my hiding-place. Are you still so fair? Have you still the eyes? Be happy! Add but the other grace, Be good! Why want what the angels vaunt? I knew you once: but in Paradise, If we meet, I will pass nor turn my face. DÎS ALITER VISUM; OR, LE BYRON STO DE NOS JOURS TOP, let me have the truth of that! Ten years ago when both of us Met on a morning, friends—as thus Did you because I took your arm Did you consider "Now makes twice "That I have seen her, walked and talked "With this poor pretty thoughtful thing, "Whose worth I weigh: she tries to sing; "Draws, hopes in time the eye grows nice; "Reads verse and thinks she understands; "Down at the bath-house love the sea, "What then? Be patient, mark and mend! "Had you the making of your scull?" And did you, when we faced the church With spire and sad slate roof, aloof From human fellowship so far, Where a few graveyard crosses are, And garlands for the swallows' perch,Did you determine, as we stepped O'er the lone stone fence, "Let me get "Her for myself, and what's the earth "With all its art, verse, music, worthCompared with love, found, gained, and kept? "Schumann's our music-maker now; Has his march-movement youth and mouth? "Ingres's the modern man that paints; "Which will lean on me, of his saints? "Heine for songs; for kisses, how?" And did you, when we entered, reached Riding on air this hundred years, Safe-smiling at old hopes and fears,— Resolving, "Fools we wise men grow! "As prompt in her stopped lips, dropped eye, "And rush of red to cheek and brow: "Thus were a match made, sure and fast, "Mid the blue weed-flowers round the mound "Where, issuing, we shall stand and stay "For one more look at baths and bay, "Sands, sea-gulls, and the old church last"A match 'twixt me, bent, wigged and lamed, Famous, however, for verse and worse, "Sure of the Fortieth spare Arm-chair When gout and glory seat me there, "So, one whose love-freaks pass unblamed,— "And this young beauty, round and sound "As a mountain-apple, youth and truth "With loves and doves, at all events "With money in the Three per Cents; "Whose choice of me would seem profound:"She might take me as I take her. "Perfect the hour would pass, alas! "Climb high, love high, what matter? Still, "Feet, feelings, must descend the hill: "An hour's perfection can't recur. "Then follows Paris and full time "For both to reason: 'Thus with us!' "She'll sigh, "Thus girls give body and soul "At first word, think they gain the goal, "When 'tis the starting-place they climb! "My friend makes verse and gets renown; "Have they all fifty years, his peers? "He knows the world, firm, quiet and gay; "Boys will become as much one day: "They're fools; he cheats, with beard less brown. "For boys say, Love me or I die! "He did not say, The truth is, youth "I want, who am old and know too much; "I'd catch youth: lend me sight and touch! "Drop heart's blood where life's wheels grate dry! |