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 disown
Their traitorous record!—Yet nay, let them run
Into the deep-mouthed wave—and take along
Memories I want no more;—soft, rustling throng
Of old, untold delights, pass, every one!
With empty arms outstretehed, I cry, O sea,
That took so much, take these!—see there! I fling
The clinging warmth of that first kiss to thee,
The pulses' lingering lightnings, that they bring
Unto this bitter, burning soul no more
The 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 hurled
From some great joy into a doom of pain
O'er-deep for fathoming—no sight save this,
Of a proud heart that flings away all bliss
Of hope or memory; nor asks again
The friendly shadow of some little grief,
Or some sharp pang, its numbness to o'erbear,
But lightning-proof and desolate, a leaf
Left living and alone in wintry air,
Meets feelingless and dumb the evil wind,
Nor cares what woes are laboring up behind.
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 disown
Their traitorous record!—Yet nay, let them run
Into the deep-mouthed wave—and take along
Memories I want no more;—soft, rustling throng
Of old, untold delights, pass, every one!
With empty arms outstretehed, I cry, O sea,
That took so much, take these!—see there! I fling
The clinging warmth of that first kiss to thee,
The pulses' lingering lightnings, that they bring
Unto this bitter, burning soul no more
The 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 hurled
From some great joy into a doom of pain
O'er-deep for fathoming—no sight save this,
Of a proud heart that flings away all bliss
Of hope or memory; nor asks again
The friendly shadow of some little grief,
Or some sharp pang, its numbness to o'erbear,
But lightning-proof and desolate, a leaf
Left 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 fill
And roar, yet bound and break when all is done.
Speed, bitter droppings, to the bitter sea!
All worthiness is gone, all memory
Of truth, and nobleness, and charity!
And I, alone, and pressed by this great void,
Bend shameless to the earth with unalloyed
And boundless wretchedness. I am no more
Than a dull sbail left houseless on the shore.
Hide me, O pitying Gods! Ay, let me find
Some wind-wrung peak or cataract-gated cave,
Whose thunderous roof through the dread years shall bind
These throbs to silence!—This, O fearful Powers,
That send the black, inexplicable hours,
This, or the dear and all-forgetting grave!
O Tethys, whose mad daughters, every one,
Clap their white hands above the waters dun,
My heart is like thy waves, that proudly fill
And roar, yet bound and break when all is done.
Speed, bitter droppings, to the bitter sea!
All worthiness is gone, all memory
Of truth, and nobleness, and charity!
And I, alone, and pressed by this great void,
Bend shameless to the earth with unalloyed
And boundless wretchedness. I am no more
Than a dull sbail left houseless on the shore.
Hide me, O pitying Gods! Ay, let me find
Some wind-wrung peak or cataract-gated cave,
Whose thunderous roof through the dread years shall bind
These throbs to silence!—This, O fearful Powers,
That send the black, inexplicable hours,
This, or the dear and all-forgetting grave!