FREE BOOKS

Author's List




PREV.   NEXT  
|<   5714   5715   5716   5717   5718   5719   5720   5721   5722   5723   5724   5725   5726   5727   5728   5729   5730   5731   5732   5733   5734   5735   5736   5737   5738  
5739   5740   5741   5742   5743   5744   5745   5746   5747   5748   5749   5750   5751   5752   5753   5754   5755   5756   5757   5758   5759   5760   5761   5762   5763   >>   >|  
We two have taken up a lifeless vow To rob a living passion: dust for fire! Madam is grave, and eyes the clock that tells Approaching midnight. We have struck despair Into two hearts. O, look we like a pair Who for fresh nuptials joyfully yield all else? XLII I am to follow her. There is much grace In woman when thus bent on martyrdom. They think that dignity of soul may come, Perchance, with dignity of body. Base! But I was taken by that air of cold And statuesque sedateness, when she said 'I'm going'; lit a taper, bowed her head, And went, as with the stride of Pallas bold. Fleshly indifference horrible! The hands Of Time now signal: O, she's safe from me! Within those secret walls what do I see? Where first she set the taper down she stands: Not Pallas: Hebe shamed! Thoughts black as death Like a stirred pool in sunshine break. Her wrists I catch: she faltering, as she half resists, 'You love . . .? love . . .? love . . .?' all on an indrawn breath. XLIII Mark where the pressing wind shoots javelin-like Its skeleton shadow on the broad-backed wave! Here is a fitting spot to dig Love's grave; Here where the ponderous breakers plunge and strike, And dart their hissing tongues high up the sand: In hearing of the ocean, and in sight Of those ribbed wind-streaks running into white. If I the death of Love had deeply planned, I never could have made it half so sure, As by the unblest kisses which upbraid The full-waked sense; or failing that, degrade! 'Tis morning: but no morning can restore What we have forfeited. I see no sin: The wrong is mixed. In tragic life, God wot, No villain need be! Passions spin the plot: We are betrayed by what is false within. XLIV They say, that Pity in Love's service dwells, A porter at the rosy temple's gate. I missed him going: but it is my fate To come upon him now beside his wells; Whereby I know that I Love's temple leave, And that the purple doors have closed behind. Poor soul! if, in those early days unkind, Thy power to sting had been but power to grieve, We now might with an equal spirit meet, And not be matched like innocence and vice. She for the Temple's worship has paid price, And takes the coin
PREV.   NEXT  
|<   5714   5715   5716   5717   5718   5719   5720   5721   5722   5723   5724   5725   5726   5727   5728   5729   5730   5731   5732   5733   5734   5735   5736   5737   5738  
5739   5740   5741   5742   5743   5744   5745   5746   5747   5748   5749   5750   5751   5752   5753   5754   5755   5756   5757   5758   5759   5760   5761   5762   5763   >>   >|  



Top keywords:

dignity

 
temple
 

morning

 
Pallas
 

Passions

 

restore

 

lifeless

 
degrade
 

tragic

 

failing


villain

 

forfeited

 
passion
 

deeply

 

planned

 

running

 

hearing

 

ribbed

 

streaks

 

upbraid


kisses
 

unblest

 

living

 

grieve

 

spirit

 
unkind
 

worship

 
Temple
 

matched

 

innocence


closed
 

dwells

 

porter

 
service
 

missed

 

Whereby

 

purple

 

betrayed

 

Fleshly

 

indifference


horrible

 
stride
 
secret
 

despair

 

struck

 

Within

 

signal

 

hearts

 

follow

 

martyrdom