A Lover's Litanies - Fifth Litany. Salve Regina.

i.     Glory to thee, my Queen! whom far away         My thoughts aspire to,--as the birds of May     Aspire o' mornings,--as in lonely nooks     The gurgling murmurs of neglected brooks     Aspire to moonlight,--aye! as earth aspires     When through the East, alert with wild desires,         The rapturous sun surveys the welkin's height,     And flecks the world with witcheries of his fires.     ii.     Oh, I should curb my grief. I should entone         No plaint to thee; no loss should I bemoan!     I should be patient, I, though full of care,     And not attempt, by bias of a prayer,     To sway thy spirit, or to urge anew     A claim contested. For my days are few;         My days, I think, are few upon the earth     Since I must shun the joys I would pursue.     iii.     I am not worthy of the Heaven I name         When I name thee; and yet to win the same     Is still my dream. I strive as best I can     To live uprightly on the vaunted plan     Of old-world sages. But I strive not well;     And thoughts conflicting which I cannot quell         Make me despondent; and I quake thereat,     As at the shuddering of a doomsday bell.     iv.     To die for thee were more than my desert;         To live for thee to keep thee out of hurt     And, like a slave, to wait upon thy will     Were more than fame. And lo! I nourish still     A sense of calm to feel that thou, at least,     Art sorrow-free and honor'd at the feast         Which Nature spreads for all contented minds;     And that for thee its splendours have increased.     v.     I stand alone. I stand beneath the trees,         I guess their thoughts; I hear them to the breeze     Say tender nothings; and I dream the while     Of thy white arms, and thy remember'd smile,     When, in a spot like this, a year a-gone,     I saw thee stoop to pluck from off the lawn         A wounded bird that peer'd into thy face     As if it took thee for the nymph of dawn!     vi.     Oh, can it be, as friends of thine affirm         That thou'rt a fairy,--that, from term to term,     Month after month, belov'd of all good things,     Thou'rt seen in forests and in meadow rings     Girt for the dance? or like an Oread queen     Array'd for council? For the woods convene         Their dryad forces when the nights are clear,     And nymphs and fawns carouse upon the green.     vii.     The crescent moon, the Argosy of heaven,         Veers for the west across the Pleads seven,     And, out beyond the ridge of Charles's Wain,     It seems to come to mooring on the main     Of that deep sky, as if awaiting there     An angel-guest with sunlight in her hair,         A seraph's cousin, or the foster-child     Of some centurion of the upper air.     viii.     Is it thy soul? Has Cynthia call'd for thee         In her white boat, to take thee o'er the sea     Where suns and stars and constellations bright     Are isles of glory,--where a seraph's right     Surpasses mine, and makes me seem indeed     A base intruder, with a coward's creed         And not an angel's, though a Christian born     And pledged alwys to serve thee at thy need?     ix.     Thou'rt sleeping now; and in thy snowy rest,--         In that seclusion which is like a nest     For blameless human maids beheld of those     Who come from God,--thou hast in thy repose     No thought of me,--no thought of pairing-time.     For thou'rt the sworn opponent of the rhyme         That lovers make in kissing; and anon     My very love will vex thee like a crime.     x.     But day and night, and winter-tide and spring,         Change at thy voice; and when I hear thee sing     I know 'tis May; and when I see thy face     I know 'tis Summer. Thou'rt the youngest Grace,     And all the Muses praise thee evermore.     And there are birds who name thee as they soar;         And some of these,--the best and brightest ones,--     Have guess'd the pangs that pierce me to the core.     xi.     Thou art the month of May with all its nights         And all its days transfigured in the lights     Of love-lit smiles and glances multiform;     And, like a lark that sings above a storm,     Thy voice o'er-rides the tumult of my mind.     Oh, give me back the peace I strove to find         In my last prayer, and I'll believe that Hope     Will dry anon the tears that make it blind.     xii.     There's none like thee, not one in all the world;         No face so fair, no smile so sweet-impearl'd,     And no such music on the hills and plains     As thy young voice whereof the thrill remains     For hours and hours,--belike to keep alive     The sense of beauty that the flowers may thrive.         Or is't thy wish that birds should fly to thee     Before the days of April's quest arrive?     xiii.     Thou'rt noble-natured; and there's none to stand         So meek as thou, or with so dear a hand     To ward off wrong. For Psyche of the Greeks     Is dead and gone; and Eros with his freaks     Has bow'd to thee, and turn'd aside, for shame,     His useless shaft, not daring to proclaim         His amorous laws, and thou so maiden-coy     Beneath the halo of thy spotless name!     xiv.     But dreams are idle, and I must forget         All that they tend to. I must cease to fret,     Moth as I am, for stars beyond the reach     Of mine up-soaring; and in milder speech     I must invoke thy blessing on the road     That lies before me,--far from thine abode,         And far from all persuasion that again     Thou wilt accept the terms of my love-code.     xv.     O Sweet! forgive me that from day to day         I dream such dreams, and teach me how to sway     My fluttering self, that, in forsaken hours,     I may be valiant, and eschew the powers     Of death and doubt! I need the certitude     Of thine esteem that I may check the feud         Of mine own thoughts that rend and anger me     Because denied the boon for which I sued.     xvi.     Teach me to wait with patience for a word,         And be the sight of thee no more deferr'd     Than one up-rising of the vesper star     That waits on Dian when, supreme, afar,     She eyes the sunset. And of this be sure,     As I'm a man and thou a maid demure,         Thou shalt be ta'en aside and wonder'd at,     Before the gloaming leaves the land obscure.     xvii.     Thou shalt be bow'd to as we bow to saints         In window'd shrines; and, far from all attaints     Of ribald passion, thou, as seemeth good,     Wilt smile serenely in thy virginhood.     Nor shall I know, of mine own poor accord,     Which thing in all the world is best to hoard,         Or which is worst of all the things that slay:     A woman's beauty or a soldier's sword.     xviii.     I grieve in sleep. I pine away at night.         I wake, uncared for, in the morning light;     And, hour by hour, I marvel that for me     The wandering wind should make its minstrelsy     So sweet and calm. I marvel that the sun,     So round and red, with all his hair undone,         Should smile at me and yet begrudge me still     The sight of thee that art my worshipp'd one!     xix.     I count my moments as a cloister'd man         May count his beads; and through the weary span     Of each long day I peer into my heart     For hints of comfort; and I find, in part,     A self-committal, and a glimpse withal     Of some new menace in the rise and fall         Of days and nights that are the test of Time     Though Fate would make a mockery of them all.     xx.     There's a disaster worse than loss of gold,         Worse than remorse, and worse a thousand-fold,     Than pangs of hunger. 'Tis the thirst of love,     The rage and rapture of the ravening dove     We name Desire. Ah, pardon! I offend;     My fervor blinds me to the withering end         Of all good council, and, accurst thereby,     I vaunt anew the faults I cannot mend.