Until I thought of those unending skies-- Of stagnant cloud, or fleckless dull blue air, Of days and nights delightless, no surprise, No threat, no sting, no fear;
And of the stirless waters of the mind, Waveless, unfurrowed, of no living hue, With dead eaves dropping slowly in no wind, And nothing flowering new.
And then no more I wished you happiness, But that whatever fell of joy or woe I would not dare, O Sweet, to wish it less, Or wish you less than you.
Flesh and blood, bone and skin, Are the house that beauty lives in. Formed in darkness, grown in light Are they the substance of delight. Who could have dreamed the things he sees In these strong lovely presences-- In cheeks of children, thews of men, Women's bodies beloved of men? Who could have dreamed a thing so wise As that clear look of the child's eyes? Who the thin texture of her hand But with a hand's touch understand? Shaped in eternity were these Body's miracles, where the seas Their continuous rhythm learned, And the stars in their bright order burned. From stars and seas was motion caught When flesh, blood, bone and skin were wrought Into swift lovely liveliness. Oh, but beauty less and less Than beauty grows. The cheeks fall in, Colour dies from the smooth skin, And muscles slack and bones are brittle; Veins and arteries little by little Delay the tides of the blood: That is a ditch that was a flood. Then all but dry bones disappears, White bones that lie a hundred years Cheated of resurrection.... Where is that beauty gone? Escaped even while we watched it so, And none guessed the way it would go? Only it's fled, and here alone Lie blood and skin and flesh and bone. Where is the beauty that was here? --Nowhere, everywhere.
Bind up, bind up your dark bright hair And hide the smouldering sunken fire. Let it be held no more than fair, Nor yourself guess how rare, how rare Its movement, colour and deep fire.
Your eyes they have their consciousness, Your lips their grave reflective smile, Your hands their cunning for distress: Your hair has only beauteousness And hid flame for its only guile.
That glowing hair on shoulders white Is pride past sum: take care, take care! Even to dream of wish'd delight Too much perturbs the ebb of night-- Bind up, bind up your burning hair!