Love








It’s all I have to bring to-day,

This, and my heart beside,

This, and my heart, and all the fields,

And all the meadows wide.

Be sure you count, should I forget,—

Some one the sun could tell,—

This, and my heart, and all the bees

Which in the clover dwell.








I

Mine by the right of the white election!

Mine by the royal seal!

Mine by the sign in the scarlet prison

Bars cannot conceal!

Mine, here in vision and in veto!

Mine, by the grave’s repeal

Titled, confirmed,—delirious charter!

Mine, while the ages steal!

II

You left me, sweet, two legacies,—

A legacy of love

A Heavenly Father would content,

Had He the offer of;

You left me boundaries of pain

Capacious as the sea,

Between eternity and time,

Your consciousness and me.

III

Alter? When the hills do.

Falter? When the sun

Question if his glory

Be the perfect one.

Surfeit? When the daffodil

Doth of the dew:

Even as herself, O friend!

I will of you!

IV

Elysium is as far as to

The very nearest room,

If in that room a friend await

Felicity or doom.

What fortitude the soul contains,

That it can so endure

The accent of a coming foot,

The opening of a door!

V

Doubt me, my dim companion!

Why, God would be content

With but a fraction of the love

Poured thee without a stint.

The whole of me, forever,

What more the woman can,—

Say quick, that I may dower thee

With last delight I own!

It cannot be my spirit,

For that was thine before;

I ceded all of dust I knew,—

What opulence the more

Had I, a humble maiden,

Whose farthest of degree

Was that she might

Some distant heaven,

Dwell timidly with thee!

VI

If you were coming in the fall,

I’d brush the summer by

With half a smile and half a spurn,

As housewives do a fly.

If I could see you in a year,

I’d wind the months in balls,

And put them each in separate drawers,

Until their time befalls.

If only centuries delayed,

I’d count them on my hand,

Subtracting till my fingers dropped

Into Van Diemen’s land.

If certain, when this life was out,

That yours and mine should be,

I’d toss it yonder like a rind,

And taste eternity.

But now, all ignorant of the length

Of time’s uncertain wing,

It goads me, like the goblin bee,

That will not state its sting.

VII

I hide myself within my flower,

That wearing on your breast,

You, unsuspecting, wear me too—

And angels know the rest.

I hide myself within my flower,

That, fading from your vase,

You, unsuspecting, feel for me

Almost a loneliness.

VIII

That I did always love,

I bring thee proof:

That till I loved

I did not love enough.

That I shall love alway,

I offer thee

That love is life,

And life hath immortality.

This, dost thou doubt, sweet?

Then have I

Nothing to show

But Calvary.

IX

Have you got a brook in your little heart,

Where bashful flowers blow,

And blushing birds go down to drink,

And shadows tremble so?

And nobody knows, so still it flows,

That any brook is there;

And yet your little draught of life

Is daily drunken there.

Then look out for the little brook in March,

When the rivers overflow,

And the snows come hurrying from the hills,

And the bridges often go.

And later, in August it may be,

When the meadows parching lie,

Beware, lest this little brook of life

Some burning noon go dry!

X

As if some little Arctic flower,

Upon the polar hem,

Went wandering down the latitudes,

Until it puzzled came

To continents of summer,

To firmaments of sun,

To strange, bright crowds of flowers,

And birds of foreign tongue!

I say, as if this little flower

To Eden wandered in—

What then? Why, nothing, only

Your inference therefrom!

XI

My river runs to thee:

Blue sea, wilt welcome me?

My river waits reply.

Oh sea, look graciously!

I’ll fetch thee brooks

From spotted nooks,—

Say, sea,

Take me!

XII

I cannot live with you,

It would be life,

And life is over there

Behind the shelf

The sexton keeps the key to,

Putting up

Our life, his porcelain,

Like a cup

Discarded of the housewife,

Quaint or broken;

A newer Sèvres pleases,

Old ones crack.

I could not die with you,

For one must wait

To shut the other’s gaze down,—

You could not.

And I, could I stand by

And see you freeze,

Without my right of frost,

Death’s privilege?

Nor could I rise with you,

Because your face

Would put out Jesus’,

That new grace

Glow plain and foreign

On my homesick eye,

Except that you, than he

Shone closer by.

They’d judge us—how?

For you served Heaven, you know,

Or sought to;

I could not,

Because you saturated sight,

And I had no more eyes

For sordid excellence

As Paradise.

And were you lost, I would be,

Though my name

Rang loudest

On the heavenly fame.

And were you saved,

And I condemned to be

Where you were not,

That self were hell to me.

So we must keep apart,

You there, I here,

With just the door ajar

That oceans are,

And prayer,

And that pale sustenance,

Despair!

XIII

There came a day at summer’s full

Entirely for me;

I thought that such were for the saints,

Where revelations be.

The sun, as common, went abroad,

The flowers, accustomed, blew,

As if no sail the solstice passed

That maketh all things new.

The time was scarce profaned by speech;

The symbol of a word

Was needless, as at sacrament

The wardrobe of our Lord.

Each was to each the sealed church,

Permitted to commune this time,

Lest we too awkward show

At supper of the Lamb.

The hours slid fast, as hours will,

Clutched tight by greedy hands;

So faces on two decks look back,

Bound to opposing lands.

And so, when all the time had failed,

Without external sound,

Each bound the other’s crucifix,

We gave no other bond.

Sufficient troth that we shall rise—

Deposed, at length, the grave—

To that new marriage, justified

Through Calvaries of Love!

XIV

I’m ceded, I’ve stopped being theirs;

The name they dropped upon my face

With water, in the country church,

Is finished using now,

And they can put it with my dolls,

My childhood, and the string of spools

I’ve finished threading too.

Baptized before without the choice,

But this time consciously, of grace

Unto supremest name,

Called to my full, the crescent dropped,

Existence’s whole arc filled up

With one small diadem.

My second rank, too small the first,

Crowned, crowing on my father’s breast,

A half unconscious queen;

But this time, adequate, erect,

With will to choose or to reject,

And I choose—just a throne.

XV

’T was a long parting, but the time

For interview had come;

Before the judgment-seat of God,

The last and second time

These fleshless lovers met,

A heaven in a gaze,

A heaven of heavens, the privilege

Of one another’s eyes.

No lifetime set on them,

Apparelled as the new

Unborn, except they had beheld,

Born everlasting now.

Was bridal e’er like this?

A paradise, the host,

And cherubim and seraphim

The most familiar guest.

XVI

I’m wife; I’ve finished that,

That other state;

I’m Czar, I’m woman now:

It’s safer so.

How odd the girl’s life looks

Behind this soft eclipse!

I think that earth seems so

To those in heaven now.

This being comfort, then

That other kind was pain;

But why compare?

I’m wife! stop there!

XVII

She rose to his requirement, dropped

The playthings of her life

To take the honorable work

Of woman and of wife.

If aught she missed in her new day

Of amplitude, or awe,

Or first prospective, or the gold

In using wore away,

It lay unmentioned, as the sea

Develops pearl and weed,

But only to himself is known

The fathoms they abide.

XVIII

Come slowly, Eden!

Lips unused to thee,

Bashful, sip thy jasmines,

As the fainting bee,

Reaching late his flower,

Round her chamber hums,

Counts his nectars—enters,

And is lost in balms!

XIX

Of all the souls that stand create

I have elected one.

When sense from spirit files away,

And subterfuge is done;

When that which is and that which was

Apart, intrinsic, stand,

And this brief tragedy of flesh

Is shifted like a sand;

When figures show their royal front

And mists are carved away,—

Behold the atom I preferred

To all the lists of clay!

XX

I have no life but this,

To lead it here;

Nor any death, but lest

Dispelled from there;

Nor tie to earths to come,

Nor action new,

Except through this extent,

The realm of you.

XXI

Your riches taught me poverty.

Myself a millionnaire

In little wealths,—as girls could boast,—

Till broad as Buenos Ayre,

You drifted your dominions

A different Peru;

And I esteemed all poverty,

For life’s estate with you.

Of mines I little know, myself,

But just the names of gems,—

The colors of the commonest;

And scarce of diadems

So much that, did I meet the queen,

Her glory I should know:

But this must be a different wealth,

To miss it beggars so.

I’m sure ’t is India all day

To those who look on you

Without a stint, without a blame,—

Might I but be the Jew!

I’m sure it is Golconda,

Beyond my power to deem,—

To have a smile for mine each day,

How better than a gem!

At least, it solaces to know

That there exists a gold,

Although I prove it just in time

Its distance to behold!

It’s far, far treasure to surmise,

And estimate the pearl

That slipped my simple fingers through

While just a girl at school!

XXII

I gave myself to him,

And took himself for pay.

The solemn contract of a life

Was ratified this way.

The wealth might disappoint,

Myself a poorer prove

Than this great purchaser suspect,

The daily own of Love

Oepreciate the vision;

But, till the merchant buy,

Still fable, in the isles of spice,

The subtle cargoes lie.

At least, ’t is mutual risk,—

Some found it mutual gain;

Sweet debt of Life,—each night to owe,

Insolvent, every noon.

XXIII

“Going to him! Happy letter! Tell him—

Tell him the page I did n’t write;

Tell him I only said the syntax,

And left the verb and the pronoun out.

Tell him just how the fingers hurried,

Then how they waded, slow, slow, slow;

And then you wished you had eyes in your pages,

So you could see what moved them so.

’Tell him it was n’t a practised writer,

You guessed, from the way the sentence toiled;

You could hear the bodice tug, behind you,

As if it held but the might of a child;

You almost pitied it, you, it worked so.

Tell him—No, you may quibble there,

For it would split his heart to know it,

And then you and I were silenter.

’Tell him night finished before we finished,

And the old clock kept neighing ‘day!’

And you got sleepy and begged to be ended—

What could it hinder so, to say?

Tell him just how she sealed you, cautious,

But if he ask where you are hid

Until to-morrow,—happy letter!

Gesture, coquette, and shake your head!”

XXIV

The way I read a letter’s this:

’T is first I lock the door,

And push it with my fingers next,

For transport it be sure.

And then I go the furthest off

To counteract a knock;

Then draw my little letter forth

And softly pick its lock.

Then, glancing narrow at the wall,

And narrow at the floor,

For firm conviction of a mouse

Not exorcised before,

Peruse how infinite I am

To—no one that you know!

And sigh for lack of heaven,—but not

The heaven the creeds bestow.

XXV

Wild nights! Wild nights!

Were I with thee,

Wild nights should be

Our luxury!

Futile the winds

To a heart in port,—

Done with the compass,

Done with the chart.

Rowing in Eden!

Ah! the sea!

Might I but moor

To-night in thee!

XXVI

The night was wide, and furnished scant

With but a single star,

That often as a cloud it met

Blew out itself for fear.

The wind pursued the little bush,

And drove away the leaves

November left; then clambered up

And fretted in the eaves.

No squirrel went abroad;

A dog’s belated feet

Like intermittent plush were heard

Adown the empty street.

To feel if blinds be fast,

And closer to the fire

Her little rocking-chair to draw,

And shiver for the poor,

The housewife’s gentle task.

“How pleasanter,” said she

Unto the sofa opposite,

“The sleet than May—no thee!”

XXVII

Did the harebell loose her girdle

To the lover bee,

Would the bee the harebell hallow

Much as formerly?

Did the paradise, persuaded,

Yield her moat of pearl,

Would the Eden be an Eden,

Or the earl an earl?

XXVIII

A charm invests a face

Imperfectly beheld,—

The lady dare not lift her veil

For fear it be dispelled.

But peers beyond her mesh,

And wishes, and denies,—

Lest interview annul a want

That image satisfies.

XXIX

The rose did caper on her cheek,

Her bodice rose and fell,

Her pretty speech, like drunken men,

Did stagger pitiful.

Her fingers fumbled at her work,—

Her needle would not go;

What ailed so smart a little maid

It puzzled me to know,

Till opposite I spied a cheek

That bore another rose;

Just opposite, another speech

That like the drunkard goes;

A vest that, like the bodice, danced

To the immortal tune,—

Till those two troubled little clocks

Ticked softly into one.

XXX

In lands I never saw, they say,

Immortal Alps look down,

Whose bonnets touch the firmament,

Whose sandals touch the town,—

Meek at whose everlasting feet

A myriad daisies play.

Which, sir, are you, and which am I,

Upon an August day?

XXXI

The moon is distant from the sea,

And yet with amber hands

She leads him, docile as a boy,

Along appointed sands.

He never misses a degree;

Obedient to her eye,

He comes just so far toward the town,

Just so far goes away.

Oh, Signor, mine the amber hand,

And mine the distant sea,—

Obedient to the least command

Thine eyes impose on me.

XXXII

He put the belt around my life,—

I heard the buckle snap,

And turned away, imperial,

My lifetime folding up

Deliberate, as a duke would do

A kingdom’s title-deed,—

Henceforth a dedicated sort,

A member of the cloud.

Yet not too far to come at call,

And do the little toils

That make the circuit of the rest,

And deal occasional smiles

To lives that stoop to notice mine

And kindly ask it in,—

Whose invitation, knew you not

For whom I must decline?

XXXIII

I held a jewel in my fingers

And went to sleep.

The day was warm, and winds were prosy;

I said: “ ’T will keep.”

I woke and chid my honest fingers,—

The gem was gone;

And now an amethyst remembrance

Is all I own.

XXXIV

What if I say I shall not wait?

What if I burst the fleshly gate

And pass, escaped, to thee?

What if I file this mortal off,

See where it hurt me,—that’s enough,—

And wade in liberty?

They cannot take us any more,—

Dungeons may call, and guns implore;

Unmeaning now, to me,

As laughter was an hour ago,

Or laces, or a travelling show,

Or who died yesterday!

XXXV

Proud of my broken heart since thou didst break it,

Proud of the pain I did not feel till thee,

Proud of my night since thou with moons dost slake it,

Not to partake thy passion, my humility.

XXXVI

My worthiness is all my doubt,

His merit all my fear,

Contrasting which, my qualities

Do lowlier appear;

Lest I should insufficient prove

For his beloved need,

The chiefest apprehension

Within my loving creed.

So I, the undivine abode

Of his elect content,

Conform my soul as ’t were a church

Unto her sacrament

XXXVII

Love is anterior to life,

Posterior to death,

Initial of creation, and

The exponent of breath.

XXXVIII

One blessing had I, than the rest

So larger to my eyes

That I stopped gauging, satisfied,

For this enchanted size.

It was the limit of my dream,

The focus of my prayer,—

A perfect, paralyzing bliss

Contented as despair.

I knew no more of want or cold,

Phantasms both become,

For this new value in the soul,

Supremest earthly sum.

The heaven below the heaven above

Obscured with ruddier hue.

Life’s latitude leant over-full;

The judgment perished, too.

Why joys so scantily disburse,

Why Paradise defer,

Why floods are served to us in bowls,—

I speculate no more.

XXXIX

When roses cease to bloom, dear,

And violets are done,

When bumble-bees in solemn flight

Have passed beyond the sun,

The hand that paused to gather

Upon this summer’s day

Will idle lie, in Auburn,—

Then take my flower, pray!

XL

Summer for thee grant I may be

When summer days are flown!

Thy music still when whippoorwill

And oriole are done!

For thee to bloom, I’ll skip the tomb

And sow my blossoms o’er!

Pray gather me, Anemone,

Thy flower forevermore!

XLI

Split the lark and you’ll find the music,

Bulb after bulb, in silver rolled,

Scantily dealt to the summer morning,

Saved for your ear when lutes be old.

Loose the flood, you shall find it patent,

Gush after gush, reserved for you;

Scarlet experiment! sceptic Thomas,

Now, do you doubt that your bird was true?

XLII

To lose thee, sweeter than to gain

All other hearts I knew.

’T is true the drought is destitute,

But then I had the dew!

The Caspian has its realms of sand,

Its other realm of sea;

Without the sterile perquisite

No Caspian could be.

XLIII

Poor little heart!

Did they forget thee?

Then dinna care! Then dinna care!

Proud little heart!

Did they forsake thee?

Be debonair! Be debonair!

Frail little heart!

I would not break thee:

Could’st credit me? Could’st credit me?

Gay little heart!

Like morning glory

Thou’ll wilted be; thou’ll wilted be!

XLIV

There is a word

Which bears a sword

Can pierce an armed man.

It hurls its barbed syllables,—

At once is mute again.

But where it fell

The saved will tell

On patriotic day,

Some epauletted brother

Gave his breath away.

Wherever runs the breathless sun,

Wherever roams the day,

There is its noiseless onset,

There is its victory!

Behold the keenest marksman!

The most accomplished shot!

Time’s sublimest target

Is a soul “forgot”!

XLV

I’ve got an arrow here;

Loving the hand that sent it,

I the dart revere.

Fell, they will say, in “skirmish”!

Vanquished, my soul will know,

By but a simple arrow

Sped by an archer’s bow.

XLVI

He fumbles at your spirit

As players at the keys

Before they drop full music on;

He stuns you by degrees,

Prepares your brittle substance

For the ethereal blow,

By fainter hammers, further heard,

Then nearer, then so slow

Your breath has time to straighten,

Your brain to bubble cool,—

Deals one imperial thunderbolt

That scalps your naked soul.

XLVII

Heart, we will forget him!

You and I, to-night!

You may forget the warmth he gave,

I will forget the light.

When you have done, pray tell me,

That I my thoughts may dim;

Haste! lest while you’re lagging,

I may remember him!

XLVIII

Father, I bring thee not myself,—

That were the little load;

I bring thee the imperial heart

I had not strength to hold.

The heart I cherished in my own

Till mine too heavy grew,

Yet strangest, heavier since it went,

Is it too large for you?

XLIX

We outgrow love like other things

And put it in the drawer,

Till it an antique fashion shows

Like costumes grandsires wore.

L

Not with a club the heart is broken,

Nor with a stone;

A whip, so small you could not see it,

I’ve known

To lash the magic creature

Till it fell,

Yet that whip’s name too noble

Then to tell.

Magnanimous of bird

By boy descried,

To sing unto the stone

Of which it died.

LI

My friend must be a bird,

Because it flies!

Mortal my friend must be,

Because it dies!

Barbs has it, like a bee.

Ah, curious friend,

Thou puzzlest me!

LII

He touched me, so I live to know

That such a day, permitted so,

I groped upon his breast.

It was a boundless place to me,

And silenced, as the awful sea

Puts minor streams to rest.

And now, I’m different from before,

As if I breathed superior air,

Or brushed a royal gown;

My feet, too, that had wandered so,

My gypsy face transfigured now

To tenderer renown.

LIII

Let me not mar that perfect dream

By an auroral stain,

But so adjust my daily night

That it will come again.

LIV

I live with him, I see his face;

I go no more away

For visitor, or sundown;

Death’s single privacy,

The only one forestalling mine,

And that by right that he

Presents a claim invisible,

No wedlock granted me.

I live with him, I hear his voice,

I stand alive to-day

To witness to the certainty

Of immortality

Taught me by Time,—the lower way,

Conviction every day,—

That life like this is endless,

Be judgment what it may.

LV

I envy seas whereon he rides,

I envy spokes of wheels

Of chariots that him convey,

I envy speechless hills

That gaze upon his journey;

How easy all can see

What is forbidden utterly

As heaven, unto me!

I envy nests of sparrows

That dot his distant eaves,

The wealthy fly upon his pane,

The happy, happy leaves

That just abroad his window

Have summer’s leave to be,

The earrings of Pizarro

Could not obtain for me.

I envy light that wakes him,

And bells that boldly ring

To tell him it is noon abroad,—

Myself his noon could bring,

Yet interdict my blossom

And abrogate my bee,

Lest noon in everlasting night

Drop Gabriel and me.

LVI

A solemn thing it was, I said,

A woman white to be,

And wear, if God should count me fit,

Her hallowed mystery.

A timid thing to drop a life

Into the purple well,

Too plummetless that it come back

Eternity until.