Part 37

To catch at her heart she laid one hand: Red rose and white in the garden; She told the tale where she did stand: And the bird sings over the roses.

She stood before him pale and tall: Red rose and white in the garden; Her eyes between his, she told him all: And the bird sings over the roses.

She saw how her body grow freckled and foul: Red rose and white in the garden; She heard from the woods the hooting owl: And the bird sings over the roses.

With never a quiver her mouth did speak: Red rose and white in the garden; O when she had done she stood so meek! And the bird sings over the roses.

The bridegroom stamped and called her vile: Red rose and white in the garden; He did but waken a little smile: And the bird sings over the roses.

The bridegroom raged and called her foul: Red rose and white in the garden; She heard from the woods the hooting owl: And the bird sings over the roses.

He muttered a name full bitter and sore: Red rose and white in the garden; She fell in a lump on the still dead floor: And the bird sings over the roses.

O great was the wonder, and loud the wail: Red rose and white in the garden; When through the household flew the tale: And the bird sings over the roses.

The old grey mother she dressed the bier: Red rose and white in the garden; With a shivering chin and never a tear: And the bird sings over the roses.

O had you but done as I bade you, my child! Red rose and white in the garden; You would not have died and been reviled: And the bird sings over the roses.

The bridegroom he hung at midnight by the bier: Red rose and white in the garden; He eyed the white girl thro’ a dazzling tear: And the bird sings over the roses.

O had you been false as the women who stray: Red rose and white in the garden; You would not be now with the Angels of Day! And the bird sings over the roses.

MARIAN

SHE can be as wise as we, And wiser when she wishes; She can knit with cunning wit, And dress the homely dishes. She can flourish staff or pen, And deal a wound that lingers; She can talk the talk of men, And touch with thrilling fingers.

Match her ye across the sea, Natures fond and fiery; Ye who zest the turtle’s nest With the eagle’s eyrie. Soft and loving is her soul, Swift and lofty soaring; Mixing with its dove-like dole Passionate adoring.

III

Such a she who’ll match with me? In flying or pursuing, Subtle wiles are in her smiles To set the world a-wooing. She is steadfast as a star, And yet the maddest maiden: She can wage a gallant war, And give the peace of Eden.

BY MORNING TWILIGHT

NIGHT, like a dying mother, Eyes her young offspring, Day. The birds are dreamily piping. And O, my love, my darling! The night is life ebb’d away: Away beyond our reach! A sea that has cast us pale on the beach; Weeds with the weeds and the pebbles That hear the lone tamarisk rooted in sand Sway With the song of the sea to the land.

UNKNOWN FAIR FACES

THOUGH I am faithful to my loves lived through, And place them among Memory’s great stars, Where burns a face like Hesper: one like Mars: Of visages I get a moment’s view, Sweet eyes that in the heaven of me, too, Ascend, tho’ virgin to my life they passed. Lo, these within my destiny seem glassed At times so bright, I wish that Hope were new. A gracious freckled lady, tall and grave, Went, in a shawl voluminous and white, Last sunset by; and going sow’d a glance. Earth is too poor to hold a second chance; I will not ask for more than Fortune gave: My heart she goes from—never from my sight!

SHEMSELNIHAR

O MY lover! the night like a broad smooth wave Bears us onward, and morn, a black rock, shines wet. How I shuddered—I knew not that I was a slave, Till I looked on thy face:—then I writhed in the net. Then I felt like a thing caught by fire, that her star Glowed dark on the bosom of Shemselnihar.

And he came, whose I am: O my lover! he came: And his slave, still so envied of women, was I: And I turned as a hissing leaf spits from the flame, Yes, I shrivelled to dust from him, haggard and dry. O forgive her:—she was but as dead lilies are: The life of her heart fled from Shemselnihar.

Yet with thee like a full throbbing rose how I bloom! Like a rose by the fountain whose showering we hear, As we lie, O my lover! in this rich gloom, Smelling faint the cool breath of the lemon-groves near. As we lie gazing out on that glowing great star— Ah! dark on the bosom of Shemselnihar.

Yet with thee am I not as an arm of the vine, Firm to bind thee, to cherish thee, feed thee sweet? Swear an oath on my lip to let none disentwine The life that here fawns to give warmth to thy feet. I on thine, thus! no more shall that jewelled Head jar The music thou breathest on Shemselnihar.

Far away, far away, where the wandering scents Of all flowers are sweetest, white mountains among, There my kindred abide in their green and blue tents: Bear me to them, my lover! they lost me so young. Let us slip down the stream and leap steed till afar None question thy claim upon Shemselnihar.

O that long note the bulbul gave out—meaning love! O my lover, hark to him and think it my voice! The blue night like a great bell-flower from above Drooping low and gold-eyed: O, but hear him rejoice! Can it be? ’twas a flash! that accurst scimitàr In thought even cuts thee from Shemselnihar.