The moon has risen from her cloudy bed, And soared serenely into cloudless blue, White as a lily in a haze of dew, Pale lady, to the Summer Darkness wed— She leaves her nuptial couch, by breezes spread, And seeks her virgin solitude anew; While all the being of the Dark thrills through With memories, the while her stately head She lifts above him to the purer height, Nor heeds the restless anguish of desire With which he seeks to turn to living fire The icy splendour of her luring light. She drifts, and smiles into his ardent eyes, With cold disdain, and smiling still denies.
If at some future day we two should meet, Stand face to face before the staring crowd, And pull from Love's dead form the decent shroud That time has wound about from head to feet— I scarcely know what words would come to greet Your presence, if they would be soft or loud, Would your head be held high or humbly bowed, And would the moment bitter be or sweet To me, as you pushed back the long past years, Would I rejoice, perhaps, at this new pain? At least 'twould mean that I could live again, And had not washed away my soul with tears. I think there might be much that I could bless In that deliverance out of nothingness.
To meet almost as strangers, who have been Such lovers in the past! no glad delight To thrill our senses, till the wrong seems right, For very joy—I wonder will your mien Be happy? it seems years since I have seen You smiling! I shall take you to the light, And trace new lines upon your brow, and right Above them may be some gray hairs, your clean Strong profile, will it look the very same? Are your hands wrinkled? Oh! my perfect hands! Be not less lovely now that passion stands Aloof, and dare not kiss you into flame— I could not bear it! Time can never blight Such marvels, so divinely slim and white.
Why kinder to the breeze than unto me? For oft you let him play within your hair, Blow its soft curls about, and find it fair, The while he whispers low and tenderly Into your ear; and yet how cold is he! And loves you not, but only frolics there; Sometimes I wish _I_ might be turned to air, And thus be rid of my humanity, That finds no favour in your haughty eyes. Were I a breeze you'd fling your windows wide, And give me welcome, as I swept aside The curtain, kissing all pride now denies, Your lips, your cheeks, your eyes, your throat, your breast, Until with kissing spent I sank to rest.