A Lover's Litanies - First Litany. Virgo Dulcis.

i.     O thou refulgent essence of all grace!         O thou that with the witchery of thy face     Hast made of me thy servant unto death,     I pray thee pause, ere, musical of breath,     And rapt of utterance, thou condemn indeed     My venturous wooing, and the wanton speed         With which I greet thee, dear and tender soul!     From out the fullness of my passion-creed.     ii.     I am so truly thine that nevermore         Shall man be found, this side the Stygian shore,     So meek as I, so patient under blame,     And yet, withal, so minded to proclaim     His life-long ardour. For my theme is just:     A heart enslaved, a smile, a broken trust,         A soft mirage, a glimpse of fairyland,     And then the wreck thereof in tears and dust.     iii.     Thou wast not made for murder, yet a glance         May murderous prove; and beauty may entrance,     More than a syren's or a serpent's eye.     And there are moments when a smother'd sigh     May hint at comfort and a murmur'd "No"     Give signs of "Yes," and Misery's overflow         Make tears more precious than we care to tell,     Though, one by one, our hopes we must forego.     iv.     I should have shunn'd thee as a man may shun         His evil hour. I should have curst the sun     That made the day so bright and earth so fair     When first we met, delirium through the air     Burning like fire! I should have curst the moon     And all the stars that, dream-like, in a swoon         Shut out the day,--the lov'd, the lovely day     That came too late and left us all too soon.     v.     I look'd at thee, and lo! from face to feet,         I saw my tyrant, and I felt the beat     Of my quick pulse. I knew thee for a queen     And bow'd submissive; and the smile serene     Of thy sweet face reveal'd the soul of thee.     For I was wounded as a man may be         Whom Eros tricks with words he will not prove;     And all my peace of mind went out from me.     vi.     Oh, why didst cheer me with the thought of bliss,         And wouldst not pay me back my luckless kiss?     I sought thy side. I gave thee of my store     One wild salute. A flame was at the core     Of that first kiss; and on my mouth I feel     The glow thereof, the pressure and the seal,         As if thy nature, when the deed was done,     Had leapt to mine in lightning-like appeal.     vii.     If debts were paid in full I might require         More than my kiss. I might, in time, aspire     To some new bond, or re-enact the first.     For once, thou know'st, the love for which I thirst,     The love for which I hunger'd in thy sight,     Was not withheld. I deem'd thee, day and night,         Mine own true mate, and sent thee token flowers     To figure forth the hopes I'd fain indite.     viii.     Is this not so? Canst thou detend, in truth,         The sunlike smile with which, in flush of youth,     Thou didst accept my greeting,--though so late,--     My love-lorn homage when the voice of Fate     Fell from thy lips, and made me twice a man     Because half thine, in that betrothal-plan         Whereof I spake, not knowing how 'twould be     When May had marr'd the prospects it began?     ix.     Can'st thou deny that, early in the spring,         When daisies droop'd, and birds were fain to sing,     We met, and talk'd, and walk'd, and were content     In sunlit paths? An hour and more we spent     In Keats's Grove. We linger'd near the stem     Of that lone tree on which was seen the gem         Of his bright name, there carven by himself;     And then I stoop'd and kiss'd thy garment's hem.     x.     I gave thee all my life. I gave thee there,         In that wild hour, the great Creator's share     Of mine existence; and I turn'd to thee     As men to idols, madly on my knee;     And then uplifted by those arms of thine,     I sat beside thee, warm'd with other wine         Than vintage balm; and, mindful of thy blush,     I guess'd a thought which words will not define.     xi.     I told thee stories of the days of joy         When earth was young, and love without alloy     Made all things glad and all the thoughts of things.     And like a man who wonders when he sings,     And knows not whence the power that in him lies,     I made a madrigal of all my sighs         And bade thee heed them; and I join'd therewith     The texts of these my follies that I prize.     xii.     I spoke of men, long dead, who wooed in vain         And yet were happy,--men whose tender pain     Was fraught with fervor, as the night with stars.     And then I spoke of heroes' battle-scars     And lordly souls who rode from land to land     To win the love-touch of a lady's hand;         And on the strings of thy low-murmuring lute     I struck the chords that all men understand.     xiii.     I sang to thee. I praised thee with my praise,         E'en as a bird, conceal'd in sylvan ways,     May laud the rose, and wish, from hour to hour,     That he had petals like the empress-flower,     And there could grow, unwing'd, and be a bud,     With all his warblings ta'en at singing-flood         And turned to vgaries of the wildest scent     To undermine the meekness in her blood.     xiv.     Ah, those were days! That April should have been         My last on earth, and, ere the frondage green     Had changed to gold, I should have join'd the ranks     Of dull dead men who lived for little thanks     And made the most thereof, though penance-bound.     I should have known that in the daily round         Of mine existence, there are griefs to spare,     But joys, alas! too few on any ground.     xv.     And here I stand to-day with bended head,         My task undone, my garden overspread     With baneful weeds. Am I the lord thereof?     Or mine own slave, without the power to doff     My misery's badge? Am I so weak withal,     That I must loiter, though the bugle's call         Shrills o'er the moor, the far-off weltering moor,     Where foemen meet to vanquish or to fall?     xvi.     Am I so blurr'd in soul, so out of health,         That I must turn to thee, as if by stealth,     And fear thy censure, fear thy quick rebuff,     And thou so gentle in a world so rough     That God's high priest, the morn-apparell'd sun     Ne'er saw thy like! Am I indeed undone         Of life and love and all? and must I weep     For joys that quit me, and for sands that run?     xvii.     To-morrow's dawn will break; but Yesterday,         Where is its light? And where the breezes' play     That sway'd the flowers? A bird will sing again,     But not so well. The wind upon the plain,     The wintry wind, will toss the groaning trees;     But I, what comfort shall I have of these,         To know that they, unlov'd, have lost the Spring,     As I thy favour and my power to please?     xviii.     I should have learnt a lesson from the songs         Of woodland birds discoursing on the wrongs     Of madcap moths and bachelor butterflies.     I should have caught the cadence of the sighs     Of unwed flowers, and learnt the way to woo,     Which all things know but I, beneath the blue         Of Heaven's great dome; for, undesired of thee,     I have but jarr'd the notes that seem'd so true.     xix.     I should have told thee all I meant to tell,         And how, at Lammas-tide, a wedding-bell     Rang through my sleep, mine own as well as thine;     And how I led thee, smiling, to a shrine     And there endow'd thee with the name I bear;     And how I woke to find the morning-air         Flooded with light. I should have told thee this     And not conceal'd the theme of my long prayer.     xx.     But I was timid. Oh, my love was such         I scarce could name it! Trembling over-much     With too much ardour, I was moved at length     To mere mad utterance. In a blameful strength     I seiz'd thy hand, to scare thee, as of old     Dryads were scared; and calm and icy-cold         Thine answer came: "I pray thee, vex me not!"     And all that day 'twas winter on the wold.