FullReads

Then they ceased–I had heard as the voice of my star
That told me the truth of my fortunes–thus far
I had read of my sorrow, and lay in the hush
Of deep meditation,–when lo! a light crush
Of the reeds, and I turn’d and look’d round in the night
Of new sunshine, and saw, as I sipp’d of the light
Narrow-winking, the realized nymph of the stream,
Rising up from the wave with the bend and the gleam
Of a fountain, and o’er her white arms she kept throwing
Bright torrents of hair, that went flowing and flowing
In falls to her feet, and the blue waters roll’d
Down her limbs like a garment, in many a fold,
Sun-spangled, gold-broider’d, and fled far behind,
Like an infinite train. So she came and reclined
In the reeds, and I hunger’d to see her unseal
The buds of her eyes that would ope and reveal
The blue that was in them;–they oped and she raised
Two orbs of pure crystal, and timidly gazed
With her eyes on my eyes; but their color and shine
Was of that which they look’d on, and mostly of mine–
For she loved me,–except when she blush’d, and they sank,
Shame-humbled, to number the stones on the bank,
Or her play-idle fingers, while lisping she told me
How she put on her veil, and in love to behold me
Would wing through the sun till she fainted away
Like a mist, and then flew to her waters and lay
In love-patience long hours, and sore dazzled her eyes
In watching for mine ‘gainst the midsummer skies.
But now they were heal’d,–O my heart, it still dances
When I think of the charm of her changeable glances,
And my image how small when it sank in the deep
Of her eyes where her soul was,–Alas! now they weep,
And none knoweth where. In what stream do her eyes
Shed invisible tears? Who beholds where her sighs
Flow in eddies, or sees the ascent of the leaf
She has pluck’d with her tresses? Who listens her grief
Like a far fall of waters, or hears where her feet
Grow emphatic among the loose pebbles, and beat
Them together? Ah! surely her flowers float adown
To the sea unaccepted, and little ones drown
For need of her mercy,–even he whose twin-brother
Will miss him forever; and the sorrowful mother
Imploreth in vain for his body to kiss
And cling to, all dripping and cold as it is,
Because that soft pity is lost in hard pain
We loved,–how we loved!–for I thought not again
Of the woes that were whisper’d like fears in that place
If I gave me to beauty. Her face was the face,
Far away, and her eyes were the eyes that were drown’d
For my absence,–her arms were the arms that sought round
And claspt me to nought; for I gazed and became
Only true to my falsehood, and had but one name
For two loves, and call’d ever on AEgle, sweet maid
Of the sky-loving waters,–and was not afraid
Of the sight of her skin;–for it never could be;
Her beauty and love were misfortunes to me!

Thus our bliss had endured for a time-shorten’d space,
Like a day made of three, and the smile of her face
Had been with me for joy,–when she told me indeed
Her love was self-task’d with a work that would need
Some short hours, for in truth ’twas the veriest pity
Our love should not last, and then sang me a ditty,
Of one with warm lips that should love her, and love her
When suns were burnt dim and long ages past over.
So she fled with her voice, and I patiently nested
My limbs in the reeds, in still quiet, and rested
Till my thoughts grew extinct, and I sank in a sleep
Of dreams,–but their meaning was hidden too deep
To be read what their woe was;–but still it was woe
That was writ on all faces that swam to and fro
In that river of night;–and the gaze of their eyes
Was sad,–and the bend of their brows,–and their cries
Were seen, but I heard not. The warm touch of tears
Travell’d down my cold cheeks, and I shook till my fears
Awaked me, and lo! I was couch’d in a bower,
The growth of long summers rear’d up in an hour!
Then I said, in the fear of my dream, I will fly
From this magic, but could not, because that my eye
Grew love-idle among the rich blooms; and the earth
Held me down with its coolness of touch, and the mirth
Of some bird was above me,–who, even in fear,
Would startle the thrush? and methought there drew near
A form as of AEgle,–but it was not the face
Hope made, and I knew the witch-Queen of that place,
Even Circe the Cruel, that came like a Death,
Which I fear’d, and yet fled not, for want of my breath.
There was thought in her face, and her eyes were not raised
From the grass at her foot, but I saw, as I gazed,
Her spite–and her countenance changed with her mind
As she plann’d how to thrall me with beauty, and bind
My soul to her charms,–and her long tresses play’d
From shade into shine and from shine into shade,
Like a day in mid-autumn,–first fair, O how fair!
With long snaky locks of the adder-black hair
That clung round her neck,–those dark locks that I prize,
For the sake of a maid that once loved me with eyes
Of that fathomless hue,–but they changed as they roll’d,
And brighten’d, and suddenly blazed into gold
That she comb’d into flames, and the locks that fell down
Turn’d dark as they fell, but I slighted their brown,
Nor loved, till I saw the light ringlets shed wild,
That innocence wears when she is but a child;
And her eyes,–Oh I ne’er had been witched with their shine,
Had they been any other, my AEgle, than thine!