XXI
"What is poesy," you ask
While you fix your pupil blue on my own. " An easy task
to reply; but why should you put this question unto me ? " You, yourself, are poesy.
XXII
How is it possible, that roses could Live in thy heart's impassioned neighborhood ? Ne'er have I seen until the present hour A dread volcano to produce a flower.
XXIII
I 'd give a world for just one glance from thee; A heaven for a smile were paltry fee; While for a kiss, " I do not know, what I Would for a kiss consider equity.
XXIV
Two red tongues of fire about the same Woodland log entwining, which aie seen
Kissing, as they form a single Rame, Sinuous in motion, serpentine.
Two accords of praise, which at one time Wrested by the hand, approach in space
Forming to a suave, melodious chime Melting in harmonious embrace.
Billows, which together land, to share Common death upon the shelving ground
Which, in breaking up, still proudly wear Silver helmets on their crests encrowned.
Wreaths of misty vapor, which arise
From the surface of the lake and vowed
To unite within the vasty skies. Merging in a single, snowy cloud.
Two deep kisses, which together sound. Two ideas, which one birth unrolls,
Two keen echoes, which themselves confound, Two such twin -concept ions are our souls.
XXV
When thee, at night, sleep's gauzy wings enfold
And thy spread eyelids seem like ebon bows, To listen to thy heart-throbs uncontrolled
And bear upon my breast, thy head in deep repose " I 'd gladly give my soul
Whatever I possess: The light, the air, my dole
Of thought and consciousness!
When thy eyes ñx their gaze on things unseen
And some reflected smile thy lips illumes. To read the silent thou}^ht within thy mien.
As o'er the sea's broad mirror pass the clouded fumes " I *d gladly give my soul
Whatever I desire: Fame, glory, wealth, the whole
Of genius' brilliant hret
When mute thy tongue and breathing is oppressed.
Thy black eye rolling and thy cheek inflamed. To see between thy lashes, thy unrest
Emit volcanic sparks from thy desires untamed, I 'd gladly give my soul
Whate'er 1 hope for most My faith, my spirit's goal.
Of earth and heaven.
XXVI
In spítfi of selfish interest
Let it be frankly here confessed
That I with thee
Must quite agree
That odes are only good, when seen
Endorsed on bank-notes crisp and green. -
Some dolts will not be wanting, who
Will cross themselves with much ado
And vent their rank acerbity
Upon our nineteenth century.
Declaring modern women ail
Prosaic and material. "
Such sentiments but serve to make
Four frozen poets run and quake,
When they essay in winter's ire
To wrap themselves within their lyre.
These are the dogs who bay their tune
To spite the poor, defenceless moon.
For you know well
And I can tell.
That there are very few of us
Who boast of real genius
While any booby may with gold
A world of poesy unfold.
XXVII
I tremble to look at thee, while awake; But when asleep, a glance I dare to take; Therefore I watch, while in enthrallment deep O soul of my soul, thou art held by sleep.
Awakened, thou dost laugh, and thus, thy lips Appear like restless, scarlet lightning tips Dazzling and fitful in their zig-zag glow. Coiled like a serpent on a sky of snow.
Asleep, the angle of thy mouth beguiles With tender folds of reminiscent smiles. Mild as the radiance, which the dying sun Leaves in its wake, whene'er his course is run . . . . Sleep thou!
Awakened, thou dost gaze and then thy eyes With humid lire are glistening, such as lies Upon the blue waves' crest, in mobile mounds And which the sparkling sun by contact wounds. "
Asleep, across thy eye-lids thou dost shed A tranquil brightness, constant, limited. Just as a lamp's transparencies invite Transmission of a tempered ray of light. . . . Sleep thou!
Awakened, thou dost speak and speaking seem Thy words vibrating a torrential stream Or rain of pearls precipitately rolled With clank and clatter in a cup of gold.
Asleep, I listen to thy measured flow Of respiration, regular and low; And hear a poem in its murmurs bland. Which my enamored soul can understand.... Sleep thou!
I place my hand above my heart, to still Its restless beating, so that nothing will Thy welcome and paciüc slumbers blight, And mar the solemn stillness of the night.
And now the shutters of thy balcony I 'II gently close, so that no curious ray Of morning's dawning may seek entrance here And with annoying brightness interfere. . . , Sleep thou I
XXVIII
When a voice in dusky shadows hidden Murmurs and disturbs its mournful calm,
If I hear its sweet resonate
In my soul's recesses like a psalm;
Tell me; " Is it but the wind lamenting In its flurries circumventing.
Or may I interpret, that thy sigh Speaks to me of love in passing by?
When the red sun on my window glistens
In the morn and love invokes thy shade. If I feel with sensitive persistence
How another mouth on mine is laid; Tell me, is it but a frantic madness
Blindly generated by my sadness. Or else did thy heart, a true ally
Waft to me a kiss within a sigh ?
If, the brilliant day with night confounding,
I, who love thee, seem so near to thee. If, in every object me surrounding
Proves thy presence its ubiquity; Tell me: " Is my whole existence seeming,
Do I touch and breathe while I am dreaming. Or, in sighs transmitted, shall 1 think
Thou hast given me thy breath to drink ?
XXIX
Upon her lap she heó an open book
While furtively her black curls touched my cheek; For all its letters not a passing look.
In sultry silence no attempt to speak. " How long we sat? " I did not know it then;
I only know, that nothing but our breath Was audible, escaping just as when
Oppressed, it flies the shrivelled lips of death. " I only know, that we both turned at once.
Instinctively attracted, that our eyes Sought, found each other like two flaming suns
And that a kiss was heard in Paradise.
It was Dante's "Hell," which we had both perused ; When we resumed, I trembling said and low: "Canst thou perceive intelligibly how
"A poem in one verse may be infused?" And, blushing, she replied: "I see it now,"
XXX
A melting tear was rising in her eye And to my lips argued an apology, Deep, contrite, self-accusing; " but our pride Banished the guardian angel from our side; It dried her tear with its devouring blaze And hushed was my conciliatory phrase.
She follows her path; I pursue my own,
Yet oft, when thinking of our love, alone,
Marvel, why I was silent on that day;
While she, perhaps, with saddened heart may say:
"Why did I not relent? " Alas, I reap
"My folly's harvest. Why did I not weep?"