Poems (Blagden)/A love poem
A LOVE POEM.
ROSAMOND.
I.
Oh what a golden swarm of dreams Came to my couch last night, And hovered o'er me with their gleams Of soft and mystic light, And sucked the sweetness of my sleep Through long and quick'ning hours! Then left me dewless, rifled, spent, As satiate bees leave flowers.
II.
O pillow! to thy spell when I Had yielded up my soul, On magic wings o'er earth and sky I flew where yonder roll The waters of that fatal sea, Whose surges heave beside, And lave with ceaseless, wailing tears, The tomb where sleeps my bride.
III.
O couch! whereon I sought my rest, Grief-bowed and passion-worn, Soon as my limbs thy folds had pressed, In spirit was I borne At once, from that dark grave, to heaven! Then pardoned, free I trod, And knelt amid the ransomed ones With her I loved, to God!
IV.
It was so sweet that, even in dreams, I knew the dream was vain. Too soon, I said, the morning beams Will bring back grief again. (For dreams are gems which only shine, Illusive, on Night's brow;—O'er Day's pure forehead, clear and bright, Such jewels may not glow.)
V.
And then this wearied, baffled life, With struggle rent and torn, Must needs resume its toil and strife With the bereaving morn. And beckoning palms, and argent wings, And bowers of asphodel, Will change to sands and dreary wastes, And welcomes, to farewells.
VI.
Yet still I slept; and then, as stars That faintly, one by one, Expectant, hushed, look through cloud-bars At the departing sun;—Or roses flushed with crimson bloom, Mature, perfumed, complete, Drop in their places garland-wise Around a trellised seat;
VII.
Incarnate in fair shapes of light, The hopes of my glad prime Appeared, as seraph faces bright, Circling an arch sublime. A godlike mystery arose Within my 'wildered brain, Still deepening, as a ringer's chime Vibrates and peals again.
VIII.
And there, upheld, made manifest, In all that pomp of light—Wert thou, my loved, my lost, my best, In angel vesture white;Like a Madonna cherub-bound, My rose! I saw thee stand, The halo on thy virgin brow, The lily in thy hand.
IX.
O my beloved! was this a sign, A symbol that in thee My life should merge, and, blent with thine, Thy love its guerdon be?That all the longing infinite, The future, present, past, Should tend through every stage of life To thee, its first, its last?
X.
Since that primeval moment, when From discord God's own breath Evoked one concord, perfect then Of Love, and Life, and Death, Till now, I know I found thee not In my long drought of heart; And, found too late, our lives but met To sever and to part.
XI.
But yet was I made man for this, For this that Cross was mine. The mortal failed to reach his bliss, Not so shall the Divine! And yet—and yet—my human love Still vainly, fondly sighs; I pine to touch thy hand, thy cheek, To kiss thy lips, thine eyes.
XII.
To clasp thee closer, close to press The glory of thy hair, To watch thy blushing loveliness When I proclaim thee fair. . . .Alas! how vain to long, to yearn! How impotent, Desire! An angel waves. a sword which girds My Paradise with fire!
XIII.
And—Death the angel, Life the sword— Thy Death, my Life, must be Both vanquished, ere I claim, Adored! My Eden lost, in thee!