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Poems (Stuart)/The New Aspasia

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4568802Poems — The New AspasiaMuriel Stuart
THE NEW ASPASIA.
If I have given myself to you and you,And if these pale hands are not virginal,Nor these bright lips beneath your own lips true,What matters it? I do not stand nor fallBy your old foolish judgments of desire:If this were Helen's way it is not mine;I bring you beauty, but no Troys to fire:The cup I hold brims not with Borgia's wine.You, so soon snared of sudden brows and breasts,Lightly you think upon these lips, this hair,My thoughts are kinder: you are pity's guests:Compassion's bed you share.
It was not lust delivered me to you;I gave my wondering mouth for pity's sake,For your strange, sighing lips I did but breakMany times this bread, and poured this wine anew.My body's woven sweetness and kindling hairWere given for heal of hurts unknown of me,For something I could slake but could not share.Sudden and rough and cruel I let you be, I gave my body for what the world calls sin,Even as for your souls the NazareneGave once. Long years in pity I and HeHave served you—Jesus and the Magdalen.
As on the river in the fading lightA rust-red sail across the evening creeps,Torching the gloom, and slowly sinks from sight,The blood may rise to some old face at night,Remembering old sins before it sleeps.So might you hence recall me, were I trueTo your sad violence. Were I not freeSo me you might remember now; but youWere no more loved by meThan clouds at sunset, or the wild bird goingAbout his pleasure on the apple tree,Or wide-blown roses swelling to the bee;No sweeter than flowers suddenly found growingIn frost-bound dells, or, on the bare, high hills,The gold, unlaced, dew-drunken daffodilsShouting the dawn, or the brown river flowingDown quietly to the sea;Or day in twilight's hair bound safe and dim,Stirless in lavender, or the wind blowing,Tumbling the poppy's turban after him. I knew you as I knew these happy things,Passing, unwept, on wide and tranquil wingsTo their own place in nature; below, aboveTransient passion with its stains and stings.For this strange pity that you knew not ofWas neither lust nor love.
Do not repent, nor pity, nor regret.I do not seek your pardon, nor give you mine.Pass by, be silent, drop no tears, forget.Return not, make no signWhen I am dead, nor turn your lips awayFrom Phryne's silver limbs and Faustine's kiss.I need no pity. No word of pity say.I have given a new sweet name and crown to thisThat served men's lust and was Aspasia.