Part 3

HE sat among the woods, he heard The sylvan merriment: he saw The pranks of butterfly and bird, The humours of the ape, the daw.

And in the lion or the frog— In all the life of moor and fen, In ass and peacock, stork and dog, He read similitudes of men.

‘Of these, from those,’ he cried, ‘we come, Our hearts, our brains descend from these.’ And lo! the Beasts no more were dumb, But answered out of brakes and trees:

‘Not ours,’ they cried; ‘Degenerate, If ours at all,’ they cried again, ‘Ye fools, who war with God and Fate, Who strive and toil: strange race of men.

‘For we are neither bond nor free, For we have neither slaves nor kings, But near to Nature’s heart are we, And conscious of her secret things.

‘Content are we to fall asleep, And well content to wake no more, We do not laugh, we do not weep, Nor look behind us and before;

‘But were there cause for moan or mirth, ’Tis we, not you, should sigh or scorn, Oh, latest children of the Earth, Most childish children Earth has borne.’

* * *

They spoke, but that misshapen slave Told never of the thing he heard, And unto men their portraits gave, In likenesses of beast and bird!

LES ROSES DE SÂDI

THIS morning I vowed I would bring thee my Roses, They were thrust in the band that my bodice encloses, But the breast-knots were broken, the Roses went free. The breast-knots were broken; the Roses together Floated forth on the wings of the wind and the weather, And they drifted afar down the streams of the sea.

And the sea was as red as when sunset uncloses, But my raiment is sweet from the scent of the Roses, Thou shalt know, Love, how fragrant a memory can be.

THE HAUNTED TOWER

SUGGESTED BY A POEM OF THÉOPHILE GAUTIER

IN front he saw the donjon tall Deep in the woods, and stayed to scan The guards that slept along the wall, Or dozed upon the bartizan. He marked the drowsy flag that hung Unwaved by wind, unfrayed by shower, He listened to the birds that sung Go forth and win the haunted tower! The tangled brake made way for him, The twisted brambles bent aside; And lo, he pierced the forest dim, And lo, he won the fairy bride! For he was young, but ah! we find, All we, whose beards are flecked with grey, Our fairy castle’s far behind, We watch it from the darkling way: ’Twas ours, that palace, in our youth, We revelled there in happy cheer: Who scarce dare visit now in sooth, Le Vieux Château de Souvenir! For not the boughs of forest green Begird that castle far away, There is a mist where we have been That weeps about it, cold and grey. And if we seek to travel back ’Tis through a thicket dim and sere, With many a grave beside the track, And many a haunting form of fear. Dead leaves are wet among the moss, With weed and thistle overgrown— A ruined barge within the fosse, A castle built of crumbling stone! The drawbridge drops from rusty chains, There comes no challenge from the hold; No squire, nor dame, nor knight remains, Of all who dwelt with us of old. And there is silence in the hall No sound of songs, no ray of fire; But gloom where all was glad, and all Is darkened with a vain desire. And every picture’s fading fast, Of fair Jehanne, or Cydalise. Lo, the white shadows hurrying past, Below the boughs of dripping trees!

* * *

Ah rise, and march, and look not back, Now the long way has brought us here; We may not turn and seek the track To the old Château de Souvenir!

BOAT-SONG

ADRIFT, with starlit skies above, With starlit seas below, We move with all the suns that move, With all the seas that flow: For, bond or free, earth, sky, and sea, Wheel with one central will, And thy heart drifteth on to me, And only Time stands still.

Between two shores of death we drift, Behind are things forgot, Before, the tide is racing swift To shores man knoweth not. Above, the sky is far and cold, Below, the moaning sea Sweeps o’er the loves that were of old, But thou, Love, love thou me.

Ah, lonely are the ocean ways, And dangerous the deep, And frail the fairy barque that strays Above the seas asleep. Ah, toil no more with helm or oar, We drift, or bond or free, On yon far shore the breakers roar, But thou, Love, love thou me!

LOST LOVE

WHO wins his Love shall lose her, Who loses her shall gain, For still the spirit woos her, A soul without a stain; And Memory still pursues her With longings not in vain!

He loses her who gains her, Who watches day by day The dust of time that stains her, The griefs that leave her grey, The flesh that yet enchains her Whose grace hath passed away!

Oh, happier he who gains not The Love some seem to gain: The joy that custom stains not Shall still with him remain, The loveliness that wanes not, The Love that ne’er can wane.

In dreams she grows not older The lands of Dream among, Though all the world wax colder, Though all the songs be sung, In dreams doth he behold her Still fair and kind and young.

THE PROMISE OF HELEN

WHOM hast thou longed for most, True love of mine? Whom hast thou loved and lost? Lo, she is thine!