Part 8

RETROSPECT

ALAS, and I have sung Much song of matters vain, And a heaven-sweetened tongue Turned to unprofiting strain Of vacant things, which though Even so they be, and throughly so, It is no boot at all for thee to know, But babble and false pain.

What profit if the sun Put forth his radiant thews, And on his circuit run, Even after my device, to this and to that use; And the true Orient, Christ, Make not His cloud of thee? I have sung vanity, And nothing well devised.

And though the cry of stars Give tongue before his way Goldenly as I say, And each from wide Saturnus to hot Mars He calleth by its name, Lest that its bright feet stray; And thou have lore of all, But to thine own Sun’s call Thy path disorbed hast never wit to tame; It profits not withal, And my rede is but lame.

Only that, ’mid vain vaunt Of wisdom ignorant, A little kiss upon the feet of Love My hasty verse has stayed Sometimes a space to plant: It has not wholly strayed, Not wholly missed near sweet, fanning proud plumes above.

Therefore I do repent That with religion vain, And misconceivèd pain, I have my music bent To waste on bootless things its skiey-gendered rain: Yet shall a wiser day Fulfil more heavenly way, And with approvèd music clear this slip I trust in God most sweet; Meantime the silent lip, Meantime the climbing feet.

A NARROW VESSEL.

BEING A LITTLE DRAMATIC SEQUENCE ON THE ASPECT OF PRIMITIVE GIRL-NATURE TOWARDS A LOVE BEYOND ITS CAPACITIES.

A GIRL’S SIN I.—IN HER EYES

CROSS child! red, and frowning so? ‘I, the day just over, Gave a lock of hair to—no! How dare you say, my lover?’

He asked you?—Let me understand; Come, child, let me sound it! ‘Of course, he would have asked it, and— And so—somehow—he—found it.

‘He told it out with great loud eyes— Men have such little wit! His sin I ever will chastise Because I gave him it.

‘Shameless in me the gift, alas! In him his open bliss: But for the privilege he has A thousand he shall miss!

‘His eyes, where once I dreadless laughed, Call up a burning blot: I hate him, for his shameful craft That asked by asking not!’

Luckless boy! and all for hair He never asked, you said? ‘Not just—but then he gazed—I swear He gazed it from my head!

‘His silence on my cheek like breath I felt in subtle way; More sweet than aught another saith Was what he did not say.

‘He’ll think me vanquished, for this lapse, Who should be above him; Perhaps he’ll think me light; perhaps— Perhaps he’ll think I—love him!

‘Are his eyes conscious and elate, I hate him that I blush; Or are they innocent, still I hate— They mean a thing’s to hush.

‘Before he nought amiss could do, Now all things show amiss; ’Twas all my fault, I know that true, But all my fault was his.

‘I hate him for his mute distress, ’Tis insult he should care! Because my heart’s all humbleness, All pride is in my air.

‘With him, each favour that I do Is bold suit’s hallowing text; Each gift a bastion levelled, to The next one and the next.

‘Each wish whose grant may him befall Is clogged by those withstood; He trembles, hoping one means all, And I, lest perhaps it should.

‘Behind me piecemeal gifts I cast, My fleeing self to save; And that’s the thing must go at last, For that’s the thing he’d have.

‘My lock the enforcèd steel did grate To cut; its root-thrills came Down to my bosom. It might sate His lust for my poor shame!

‘His sifted dainty this should be For a score ambrosial years! But his too much humility Alarums me with fears.

‘My gracious grace a breach he counts For graceless escalade; And, though he’s silent ere he mounts, My watch is not betrayed.

‘My heart hides from my soul he’s sweet: Ah dread, if he divine! One touch, I might fall at his feet, And he might rise from mine.

‘To hear him praise my eyes’ brown gleams Was native, safe delight; But now it usurpation seems, Because I’ve given him right.