Читать книгу An Epic of Women, and Other Poems - Arthur William Edgar O'Shaughnessy - Страница 11

Table of Contents

I WAS not with the rest at play;

My brothers laughed in joyous mood:

But I—I wandered far away

Into the fair and silent wood;

And with the trees and flowers I stood,

As dumb and full of dreams as they:

—For One it seemed my whole heart knew,

Or One my heart had known long since,

Was peeping at me through the dew;

And with bright laughter seemed to woo

My beauty, like a Fairy prince.

Oh, what a soft enchantment filled

The lonely paths and places dim!

It was as though the whole wood thrilled,

And a dumb joy, because of him,

Weighed down the lilies tall and slim,

And made the roses blush, and stilled

The great wild voices in half fear:

It was as though his smile did hold

All things in trances manifold;

And in each place as he drew near

The leaves were touched and turned to gold.

And well I seemed to know, the while,

It was for me and for my sake,

He wrought that magic with his smile,

And set the unseen spells to make

The lonely ways I loved to take

So full of sweetness, to beguile

My heart and keep me there for hours;

And sometimes I was sure he lay

Beside me hid among the flowers,

Or climbed above me, and in play

Shook down the white tree-bloom in showers.

But more and more he seemed to seek

My heart: till, dreaming of all this,

I thought one day to hear him speak,

Or feel, indeed, his sudden kiss

Bind me to some great unknown bliss:

Then there would stay upon my cheek

Full many a light and honied stain,

That told indeed how I had lain

Deep in the flowery banks all day;

And round me too there would remain

Some strange wood-blossom’s scent alway.

’Twas not the bright and fond deceit

Of that first summer,—whose great bloom

Quite overcame me with its sweet,

And seemed to fill me and consume

My very brain with its perfume;—

’Twas no false spell made my heart beat

With such a joy to be alone

With all the bloom and all the scent:

It was a thing I dared not own,

Already whispered there and known,

Already with my whole life blent.

It was this secret, vast, sublime,

Too full of wonder to be told—

Whose extreme rapture from that time

Doth ever more and more enfold

My spirit, like a robe of gold,

Or, as it were, the magic clime

Of some fair heaven about me shed—

Wherein are songs of unseen birds,

And whispers of delicious words

More sweet than any man hath said

Of all the living or the dead.

—O, the incomparable love

Of him, my Lover!—O, to tell

Its way and measure were above

The throbbing chords of speech that swell

Within me!—Doth it not excel

All other, sung or written of?

Yea now, O all ye fair mankind—

Consider well the gracious line

Of those your lovers; call to mind

Their love of you, and ye shall find

Not one among them all like mine.

It seems as though, from calm to calm,

A whole fair age had passed me by,

Since first this Lover, through a charm

Of flowers, wooed so tenderly,

I had no fear of drawing nigh,

Nor knew, indeed, that—with an arm

Closed round and holding me—he led

My eager way from sight to sight

Of all the summer magic—right

To where himself had surely spread

Some pleasant snare for my delight.

And now, in an eternal sphere,

Beneath one flooding look of his—

Wherein, all beautiful and dear,

That endless melting gold that is

His love, with flawless memories

Grows ever richer and more clear—

My life seems held, as some faint star

Beneath its sun: and through the far

Celestial distances for miles,

To where vast mirage futures are,

I trace the gilding of his smiles.

And, in the long enthralling dream,

That, ever—through each purer zone

Of love translating me—doth seem

To bring my spirit near his own,

I hear the veiled angelic tone

Of many voices; as I deem,

Assuring me of something sweet,

And strange, and wondrous, and intense;

Which thing they evermore repeat

In fair half parables, from whence

I draw a vague all-blissful sense.

For, one by one, e’en as I rise,

And feel the pure Ethereal

Refining all before my eyes:

Whole beauteous worlds material

Are seen to enter gradual

The great transparent paradise

Of this my dream; and, all revealed,

To break upon me more and more

Their inward singing souls, and yield

A wondrous secret half concealed

In all their loveliness before.

And so, when, through unmeasured days,

The far effulgence of the sea

Is holding me in long amaze,

And stealing with strange ecstasy

My heart all opened silently;—

There reach me, from among the sprays,

Ineffable faint words that sing

Within me,—how, for me alone,

One who is lover—who is King,

Hath dropt, as ’twere a precious stone,

That sea—a symbol of his throne.

And now, indeed, some precious time

It hath,—all inexpressible!

All rapture!—yea, through many a rhyme

Of wordless speech made fairly well,

And beauteous worlds’ whole visible

Unbosomings of love sublime—

It hath some blessèd while become

Familiar, how all things take part

For him to whose love I am come,

And in their ways—not weak nor dumb—

Are ever calling on my heart.

And, through the long charmed solitude

Of throbbing moments, whose strong link

Is one delicious hope pursued

From trance to trance, the while I think

And know myself upon the brink

Of His eternal kiss,—endued

With part of him, the very wind

Hath power to ravish me in sips

Or long mad wooings that unbind

My hair,—wherein I truly find

The magic of his unseen lips.

And, so almighty is the thrill

I feel at many a faintest breath

Or stir of sound—as ’twere a rill

Of joy traversing me, or death

Dissolving all that hindereth

My thought from power to fulfil

Some new embodiment of bliss,—

I do consume with the immense

Delight as of some secret kiss,

And am become like one whose sense

Is used with raptures too intense!

O like some soft insidious breath,

Whose first invasion winneth quite

To all its madness or its death

The heart, resisting not the might

And poison of its new delight,—

E’en so is this that entereth

In whispers, or through subtly wrought

Enchantment snaring every thought;

Yea, by the whole mysterious pore

Of life,—this joy surpassing aught

That heart of man hath known before.

And, though, indeed, a hapless end

Of damning ruin were but sure,

Yet could I none of me defend

From such a sweet and perfect lure;

But must, as long as they endure,

To all these sorceries still lend

My heart; believing how I stand

Nigh some unearthly bliss that lies

Dissembled all before my eyes;—

Do I not see a radiant Hand

Transmuting earth, and air, and skies?

—And is not the great language mute

The stars’ deep looks are wont to melt

Upon my soul, the very suit

Of this unearthly wooer—felt

So clearly pleading—I have knelt

Full oft, most dreading to pollute

The holy rapture with a sigh?

And doth not every accent nigh

Consume each Past to a thin shred;

While endless visions glorify

My sight, and haloes touch my head?

Yea, mystic consummation! yea,

O Wondrous suitor,—whosoe’er

Thou art; that in such mighty way,

In distant realms, athwart the air

And lands and seas, with all things fair,

Hast wooed me even till this day;—

It seems thou drawest near to me;

Or I, indeed, so nigh to thee,

I catch rare breaths of a delight

From thy most glorious country, see

Its distant glow upon some height.

At times there is vouchsafed me, e’en

Some sign that certainly foretells

Of thee at hand: so I have seen—

Caught by no earthly clash of bells—

A gleam of silver citadels;

Distant, and radiant with such sheen

As only on high virgin snows,

Or from the diamond one knows;

Displayed a moment, without shroud,

Eclipsing all the night’s fair shows

From some dim pinnacle of cloud:

Or, through a calm hushed interval

Of most charmed thinking, there hath passed,

And with no rumour or footfall,

A troop of blonde ones who surpassed

All tales of loveliness amassed

In my child’s dreamland; costumed all

As for a bridal; who did shine

With such a splendour on each face,

And light upon the garments fine,

I knew them surely of a race

That dwells in that fair realm of thine.

O thou my Destiny! O thou

My own—my very Love—my Lord!

Whom from the first day until now

My heart, divining, hath adored

So perfectly it hath abhorred

The tie of each frail human vow—

O I would whisper in thine ear—

Yea, may I not, once, in the clear

Pure night, when, only, silver shod

The angels walk?—thy name, I fear

And love, and tremble saying—GOD!