Poems (Whitney)/Ariadne
For works with similar titles, see Ariadne.
ARIADNE.
Shame on these tears! disown them, lofty heart!On this bald peak where now I stand alone,Like some poor weed, sea-driven and flung apart,Bear witness all ye Gods, that I disownTheir traitorous record!—Yet nay, let them runInto the deep-mouthed wave—and take alongMemories I want no more;—soft, rustling throngOf old, untold delights, pass, every one!With empty arms outstretehed, I cry, O sea,That took so much, take these!—see there! I flingThe clinging warmth of that first kiss to thee,The pulses' lingering lightnings, that they bring Unto this bitter, burning soul no moreThe wild renewal of that past delight,When love sprang sudden to its perfect height,Unfolded sweet, yet fearful, like a flower'Neath the mute throbbings of the conscious night!Pass, pass, as ravings of a drunken soul!Yet, Gods, who rule this empty, awful world,Who mete to highest and meanest things their dole,Ye know no sight more fearful than one hurledFrom some great joy into a doom of painO'er-deep for fathoming—no sight save this,Of a proud heart that flings away all blissOf hope or memory; nor asks againThe friendly shadow of some little grief,Or some sharp pang, its numbness to o'erbear,But lightning-proof and desolate, a leafLeft living and alone in wintry air,Meets feelingless and dumb the evil wind,Nor cares what woes are laboring up behind.
Still, still a sickening sense creeps o'er me. Still,O Tethys, whose mad daughters, every one,Clap their white hands above the waters dun,My heart is like thy waves, that proudly fillAnd roar, yet bound and break when all is done.Speed, bitter droppings, to the bitter sea!All worthiness is gone, all memoryOf truth, and nobleness, and charity!And I, alone, and pressed by this great void,Bend shameless to the earth with unalloyedAnd boundless wretchedness. I am no moreThan a dull sbail left houseless on the shore.Hide me, O pitying Gods! Ay, let me findSome wind-wrung peak or cataract-gated cave,Whose thunderous roof through the dread years shall bindThese throbs to silence!—This, O fearful Powers,That send the black, inexplicable hours,This, or the dear and all-forgetting grave!