A Lover's Litanies - Sixth Litany. Benedicta Tu.

i.     I tell thee Sweet! there lives not on the earth         A love like mine in all the height and girth     And all the vast completion of the sphere.     I should be proud, to-day, to shed a tear     If I could weep. But tears are most denied     When most besought; and joys are sanctified         By joys' undoing in this world of ours     From dusk to dawn and dawn to eventide.     ii.     Wert thou a marble maid and I endow'd         With power to move thee from thy seeming shroud     Of frozen splendour,--all thy whiteness mine     And all the glamour, all the tender shine     Of thy glad eyes,--ah God! if this were so,     And I the loosener, in the summer-glow,         Of thy long tresses! I were licensed then     To gaze, unchidden, on thy limbs of snow.     iii.     I would prepare for thee a holy niche         In some new temple, and with draperies rich,     And flowers and lamps and incense of the best,     I would with something of mine own unrest     Imbue thy blood and prompt thee to be just.     I would endow thee with a fairer trust         Than mere contentment, and a dearer joy     Than mere revulsion from the sins of dust.     iv.     A band of boys, with psaltery and with lyre,         And Cyprian girls, the slaves of thy desire,     Would chant and pray and raise so wild a storm     Of golden notes around thy sculptured form     That saints would hear the chorus up in Heaven,     And intermingle with their holy steven         The sighs of earth, and long for other cares     Than those ordain'd them by the Lord's Eleven.     v.     I would approach thee with a master's tread         And claim thy hand and have the service read     By youthful priests resplendent every one;     And in thy frame the blood of thee would run     As warm and sound as wine of Syracuse.     And all that day the birds would bear the news         In far directions, and the meadow-flowers     Would dream thereof, love-laden, in the dews.     vi.     Then, by magnetic force,--the greatest known         This side the tomb,--I would athwart the stone     Of thy white body, in a trice of time,     Call forth thy soul, and woo thee to the chime     Of tinkling bells, and make thee half afraid,     And half aggrieved, to find thyself array'd         In such enthralment, and in such attire,     In sight of one whose will should not be stay'd.     vii.     And, like Pygmalion, I would claim anon         A bride's submission; and my talk thereon     Would not perplex thee; for the sense of life     Would warm thy heart, and urge thee to the strife     Of lip with lip, and kiss with pulsing kiss,     Which gives the clue to all we know of bliss,         And all we know of heights we long to climb     Beyond the boundaries of the grave's abyss.     viii.     The dear old deeds chivlrous once again         Would find fulfilment; and the curse of Cain     Which fell on woman, as on men it fell,     Would fly from us, as at a sorcerer's spell,     And leave us wiser than the sophists are     Who love not folly. Night should not debar,         Nor day dissuade us, from those ecstacies     That have Anacreon's fame for guiding-star.     ix.     Aye! thou wouldst kneel and seek in me apace         A transient shelter for thine amorous face     Which then I'd screen; and thou to me wouldst turn     With awe-struck eyes, and cling to me and yearn,     With sighs full tender and a touch of fear.     And, like a bird which knows that spring is near,         And, after spring, the summer of sweet days,     Thou wouldst attune thy love-notes in mine ear.     x.     Or, fraught with feelings near akin to hate,         Thou wouldst denounce me; and, like one elate,     Thou wouldst entwine me in thine arms so white,     As soldier-nymphs, with rapt and raging sight,     Made war with spearsmen in the vales of song,     The vales of Sparta where, for right or wrong,         The gods were potent, and, for beauty's sake,     Upheld the tourneys of the fair and strong.     xi.     I would not seem too wilful in the heat         Of our encounter, or with sighs repeat     Too fierce a vow. I would throughout confess     Thy murderous mirth, thy conquering loveliness,     And then subdue thee! Tears would not avail     Nor prayer, nor praise; and, flush'd the while or pale,         Thou shouldst be mine, my hostage in the night,     Without the option of a moment's bail.     xii.     Thou shouldst be mine! My hopes, from first to last,         Would win their way; and, lithe and love-aghast,     And all unnerv'd, thou wouldst, as in a dream     Entreat my pardon! I would callous seem     To thine out-yearning. I would cast on thee     A questioning look, and then, upon my knee,     I would surrender to that face of thine     Which is the great world's wonder unto me.     xiii.     O Heaven! could this be done, and I fulfil         One half my wish, and curb thee to my will,     I were a prompter and a prouder man     Than earth has known since light-foot lovers ran     For Atalanta, lov'd of men and boys.     I were a kaiser then, a king of joys,         And fit to play with high-begotten pomps     As children play with pebbles or with toys.     xiv.     O Golden Hair! O Gladness of an Hour         Made flesh and blood! O beauteous Human Flower     Too sweet to pluck, and yet, though seeming-cold,     Ordain'd to love! I pray thee, as of old,     Be kind to me. I saw thee yesternight,     And for an instant I was urged to plight         My troth again; for in thy face I saw     What seem'd a smile evoked for my delight.     xv.     Re-grant thy favour! Take me by the hand         And lead me back again to thine own land,     The nook supreme, the sanctum in the glen     Where pixies walk,--unknown to peevish men     And shrew-like women whom no faith uplifts!     Show me the place where Nature keeps the gifts         She most approves, and where the song-birds dwell,     And I'll forego the land of little thrifts.     xvi.     The moon is mother and the sun is sire         Of those young planets which, with infant fire,     Have late been found in regions too remote     For quicklier search; and these, in time, will dote     And whirl and wanton in the realms of space.     For there are comets in the nightly chase         Who see strange things untalk'd of by the bards;     And earth herself has found a trysting-place.     xvii.     And so 'tis clear that sun and moon and stars         Are link'd by love! The marriage-feast of Mars     Was fixt long since. 'Tis Venus whom he weds.     'Tis she alone for whom he gaily treads     His path of splendour; and of Saturn's ring     He knows the symbol, and will have, in spring,         A night-betrothal, near the Southern Cross;     And all the stars will pause thereat and sing.     xviii.     What wonder, then, what wonder if to-day         I, too, assert my right, in roundelay,     To talk of rings and posies and the vows     That wait on marriage? 'Tis the wild carouse     Of soul with soul athwart the sense of touch.     'Tis this uplifts us when, with fever-clutch,         The world would claim us; and our hopes revive     In spite of fears that daunt us over-much.     xix.     Lips may be coy; but eyes are quick, at times,         To note the throbbings that are hot as crimes,     And fond as flutterings of the wings of doves.     For he is blind indeed who, when he loves,     Doubts all he sees:--the flickering of a smile,     The Parthian glance, the nod that, for a while,         Outbids Elysium, and is half a jest,     And half a truth, to tempt us and beguile.     xx.     Thine eyes have told me things I dare not speak;         And I will trust the track they bid me seek,     Yea, though it lead me to the gates of death!     The wind is labouring:--it is out of breath;     Belike for scampering up the hill so fast     To say all's well with thee; and, down the blast,         I seem to hear the sounds of serenades     That swell from out the song-fields of the past.