III. THE HUSBANDMEN. THOUGH GOD, as one that is an householder, Burthen of heat was theirs and the dry thirst : Which of ye knoweth he is not that last SONNET LXXVII. SOUL'S BEAUTY. UNDER the arch of Life, where love and death, I drew it in as simply as my breath. Hers are the eyes which, over and beneath, The sky and sea bend on thee,-which can draw, By sea or sky or woman, to one law, The allotted bondman of her palm and wreath. This is that Lady Beauty, in whose praise Thy voice and hand shake still,-long known to ther By flying hair and fluttering hem,-the beat Following her daily of thy heart and feet, How passionately and irretrievably, In what fond flight, how many ways and days! SONNET LXXVIII. BODY'S BEAUTY. Or Adam's first wife, Lilith, it is told (The witch he loved before the gift of Eve,) That, ere the snake's, her sweet tongue could deceive, And her enchanted hair was the first gold. And still she sits, young while the earth is old, And, subtly of herself contemplative, Draws men to watch the bright web she can weave, Till heart and body and life are in its hold. The rose and poppy are her flowers; for where SONNET LXXIX. THE MONOCHORD. Is it this sky's vast vault or ocean's sound Holds my breath quailing on the bitter bound? Now notes my separate wave, and to what sea Oh! what is this that knows the road I came, Upon the devious coverts of dismay ? SONNET LXXX. FROM DAWN TO NOON. As the child knows not if his mother's face What each most is; but as of hill or stream Pausing awhile beneath the high sun-beam And gazing steadily back,-as through a dream, In things long past new features now can trace:Even so the thought that is at length fullgrown Turns back to note the sun-smit paths, all grey And marvellous once, where first it walked alone; And haply doubts, amid the unblenching day, Which most or least impelled its onward way,— Those unknown things or these things overknown. SONNET LXXXI. MEMORIAL THRESHOLDS. WHAT place so strange,-though unrevealed snow With unimaginable fires arise At the earth's end,-what passion of surprise Like frost-bound fire-girt scenes of long ago? Lo! this is none but I this hour; and lo! This is the very place which to mine eyes Those mortal hours in vain immortalize, 'Mid hurrying crowds, with what alone I know. City, of thine a single simple door, By some new Power reduplicate, must be Even with one presence filled, as once of yore: SONNET LXXXII. HOARDED JOY. I SAID: "Nay, pluck not,-let the first fruit be: But let it ripen still. The tree's bent head At the sun's hour that day possess the shade, I say: Alas! our fruit hath wooed the sun And let us sup with summer; ere the gleam SONNET LXXXIII. BARREN SPRING. ONCE more the changed year's turning wheel returns: And as a girl sails balanced in the wind, And now before and now again behind Stoops as it swoops, with cheek that laughs and burns,-So Spring comes merry towards me here, but earns No answering smile from me, whose life is twin'd With the dead boughs that winter still must bind, And whom to-day the Spring no more concerns. Behold, this crocus is a withering flame; This snowdrop, snow; this apple-blossom's part To breed the fruit that breeds the serpent's art. Nay, for these Spring-flowers, turn thy face from them, Nor stay till on the year's last lily-stem The white cup shrivels round the golden heart. SONNET LXXXIV. FAREWELL TO THE GLEN. SWEET Stream-fed glen, why say "farewell" to thee Who far'st so well and find'st for ever smooth The brow of Time where man may read no ruth? Nay, do thou rather say "farewell" to me, Who now fare forth in bitterer fantasy Than erst was mine where other shade might soothe And yet, farewell! For better shalt thou fare SONNET LXXXV. VAIN VIRTUES. WHAT is the sorriest thing that enters Hell? Night sucks them down, the tribute of the pit, Were God's desire at noon. And as their hair The Sin still blithe on earth that sent them there. |