A Guinevere.

Sullen gold down all the sky,      In the roses sultry musk;      Nightingales hid in the dusk     Yonder sob and sigh.     You are here; and I could weep,      Weep for joy and suffering.      "Where is he?" He'd have me sing; -     There he sits asleep.     Think not of him! he is dead      For the moment to us twain;      He were dead but for this pain     Drumming in my head.     "Am I happy?" Ask the fire      When it bursts its bounds and thrills      Some mad hours as it wills     If those hours tire.     He had gold. As for the rest -      Well you know how they were set,      Saying that I must forget,     And 'twas for the best.     I forget! but let it go! -      Kiss me as you did of old.      There! your kisses are not cold!     Can you love me so,     Knowing what I am to him      Sitting in his gouty chair      On the breezy terrace where     Amber fire-flies swim?     "Yes?" - Your cheek a tear-drop wets,      But your kisses on my lip      Fall as warm as bees that sip     Sweets from violets.     See! the moon has risen white      As this bursten lily here      Rocking on the dusky mere     Like a silent light.     Let us walk. We soon must part -      All too soon! but he may miss!      Give me but another kiss;     It will heat my heart     And the bitter winter there.      So; we part, my Launcelot,      My true knight! and am I not     Your true Guinevere?     Oft they parted thus they tell      In that mystical romance.      Were they placed, think you, perchance,     For such love in hell?     No! it can not, can not be!      Love is God and God is love,      And they live and love above,     Guinevere and he!     I must go now. See! there fell,      Molten into purple light,      One wild star. Kiss me good-night;     And, once more, farewell!