葡萄牙人十四行诗集
葡萄牙人十四行诗集
葡萄牙人十四行诗集我想起，當年希臘的詩人曾經歌詠：
年復一年，那良辰在殷切的盼望中
翩然降臨，各自帶一份禮物
分送給世人－－年老或是年少。
當我這麽想，感嘆着詩人的古調，
穿過我淚眼所逐漸展開的幻覺，
我看見，那歡樂的歲月、哀傷的歲月－－
我自己的年華，把一片片黑影接連着
掠過我的身。緊接着，我就覺察
（我哭了）我背後正有個神秘的黑影
在移動，而且一把揪住了我的發，;
往後拉，還有一聲吆喝（我衹是在掙紮）：
“這回是誰逮住了你？猜！”“死，”我答話。
聽哪，那銀鈴似的回音：“不是死，是愛！”
2
可是在上帝的全宇宙裏，總共纔衹
三個人聽見了你那句話：除了
講話的你、聽話的我，就是他－－
上帝自己！我們中間還有一個
出來答話；那昏黑的詛咒落上
我的眼皮，擋了你，不讓我看見，
就算我瞑了目，放上沉沉的“壓眼錢”，
也不至於那麽徹底隔絶。唉，
比誰都厲害，上帝的那一聲“不行！”
要不然，世俗的誹謗離間不了我們，
任風波飛揚，也不能動搖那堅貞；
我們的手要伸過山嶺，互相接觸；
有那麽一天，天空滾到我倆中間，
我倆嚮星辰起誓，還要更加握緊。
3
我們原不一樣，尊貴的人兒呀，
原不一樣是我們的職司和前程。
你我頭上的天使，迎面飛來，
翅膀碰上了翅膀，彼此瞪着
驚愕的眼睛。你想，你是華宮裏
後妃的上賓，千百雙殷勤的明眸
（哪怕挂滿了淚珠，也不能教我的眼
有這份光彩）請求你擔任領唱。
那你幹什麽從那燈光輝映的紗窗裏
望嚮我？－－我，一個凄涼、流浪的
歌手，疲乏地靠着柏樹，吟嘆在
茫茫的黑暗裏。聖油搽在你頭上－－
可憐我，頭上承受着涼透的夜露。
衹有死，才能把這樣的一對扯個平。
4
你曾經受到邀請，進入了宮廷，
溫雅的歌手！你唱着崇高的詩篇；
貴客們停下舞步，為了好瞻仰你，
期待那豐滿的朱唇再吐出清音；
而你卻抽起我的門閂，你果真
不嫌它褻瀆了你的手？沒誰看見，
你甘讓你那音樂飄落在我門前，
疊作層層金聲的富麗？你忍不忍？
你往上瞧，看這窗戶都被闖破－－
是蝙蝠和夜鶯的窠巢盤踞在頂梁，
是 編 的蟋蟀在跟你的琵琶應和！
住聲，別再激起回聲來加深荒涼！
那裏邊有一個哀音，它必須深躲，
在暗裏哭泣－－正象你應該當衆歌唱。
5
我肅穆地端起了我沉重的心，
象當年希臘女兒捧着那壇屍灰；
眼望着你，我把灰撒在你腳下。
請看呀，有多大一堆悲哀埋藏在
我這心坎裏；而在那灰暗的深處，
那慘紅的灰燼又怎樣在隱約燃燒。
要是那點點火星給你鄙夷地
一腳踏滅、還它們一片黑暗，
這樣也好。可是，你偏不，
你要守在我身旁，等風來把塵土
揚起，把死灰吹活；愛呀，那戴在
你頭上的桂冠可不能給你做屏障，
保護你不讓這一片火焰燒壞了
那底下的發絲。快站遠些呀，快走！
6
捨下我，走吧。可是我覺得，從此
我就一直徘徊在你的身影裏。
在那孤獨的生命的邊緣，從今再不能
掌握自己的心靈，或是坦然地
把這手伸嚮日光，象從前那樣，
而能約束自己不感到你的指尖
碰上我的掌心。劫運教天懸地殊
隔離了我們，卻留下了你那顆心，
在我的心房裏搏動着雙重聲響。
正象是酒，總嘗得出原來的葡萄，
我的起居和夢寐裏，都有你的份。
當我嚮上帝祈禱，為着我自個兒
他卻聽到了一個名字、那是你的；
又在我眼裏，看見有兩個人的眼淚。
7
全世界的面目，我想，忽然改變了，
自從我第一次在心靈上聽到你的步子
輕輕、輕輕，來到我身旁－－穿過我和
死亡的邊緣：那幽微的間隙。站在
那裏的我，衹道這一回該倒下了，
卻不料被愛救起，還教給一麯
生命的新歌。上帝賜我洗禮的
那一杯苦酒，我甘願飲下，贊美它
甜蜜－－甜蜜的，如果有你在我身旁。
天國和人間，將因為你的存在
而更改模樣；而這麯歌，這支笛，
昨日裏給愛着，還讓人感到親切，
那歌唱的天使知道，就因為
一聲聲都有你的名字在蕩漾。
8
你那樣慷慨豪爽的施主呀，你把
你心坎裏金 襢 煌的寶藏、
原封地掏出來，衹往我墻外推，
任憑象我這樣的人去揀起，還是
把這罕見的捨施丟下；教我拿什麽
來作為你應得的報答？請不要
說我太冷漠、太寡恩，你那許多
重重疊疊的深情厚意，我卻
沒有一些兒回敬；不，並不是
冷漠無情，實在我太寒傖。你問
上帝就明白。那連綿的淚雨衝盡了
我生命的光彩，衹剩一片死沉沉的
蒼白，不配給你當偎依的枕頭。
走吧！盡把它踏在腳下，作墊石。
9
我能不能有什麽、就拿什麽給你？
該不該讓你緊挨著我，承受
我簌簌的苦淚；聽著那傷逝的青春，
在我的唇邊重複著嘆息，偶而
浮起一絲微笑，哪怕你連勸帶哄，
也隨即在嘆息裏寂滅？啊，我但怕
這並不應該！我倆是不相稱的
一對，哪能匹配作情侶？我承認，
我也傷心，象我這樣的施主
衹算得鄙吝。唉，可是我怎能夠讓
我滿身的塵土玷污了你的紫袍，
叫我的毒氣噴嚮你那威尼斯晶杯！
我什麽愛也不給，因為什麽都不該給。
愛呀，讓我衹愛著你，就算數了吧！
10
不過衹要是愛，是愛，可就是美，
就值得你接受。你知道，愛就是火，
火總是光明的，不問着火的是廟堂
或者柴堆－－那棟梁還是荊榛在燒，
火焰裏總跳得出同樣的光輝。當我
不由得傾吐出：“我愛你！”在你的眼裏，
那榮耀的瞬息，我忽然成了一尊金身，
感覺到有一道新吐的皓光從我天庭
投嚮你臉上。是愛，就無所謂卑下，
即使是最微賤的在愛：那微賤的生命
獻愛給上帝，寬宏的上帝受了它、
又回賜給它愛。我那迸發的熱情
就象道光，通過我這陋質，昭示了
愛的大手筆怎樣給造物潤色。
11
_ _， 。
這麽說，把愛情作為我的名份，
我還不是完全不配承受。雖然，
你看，兩頰那麽蒼白，那搖晃的
雙膝仿佛負擔不了沉重的心房；
這疲乏的行吟生涯也曾想望過
把奧納斯山 迮 登，卻衹落得一片
辛酸的哀吟，怎好去跟𠔌鶯競奏？－－
幹嗎提這些來着？啊，親愛的，
不用講，我高攀不上，不配在你身邊
占一個位置。可是，就因為我愛你，
這片愛情提拔我，讓我擡起了頭、
承受着光明，許我繼續活下去，
哪怕是怎樣枉然，也要愛你到底；
也要祝福你－－即使拒絶你在當面。
12
說真的，就是這為我所誇耀的愛吧，
當它從胸房涌上眉梢，給我加上
一頂皇冠－－那一顆巨大的紅寶石，
光彩奪目，讓人知道它價值連城……
就算我這全部的、最高成就的愛吧，
我也不懂得怎樣去愛，要不是你
先立下示範，教給我該怎麽辦－－
當你懇切的目光第一次對上了
我的目光，而愛呼應了愛。很明白，
即使愛，我也不能誇說是我的美德。
是你，把我從一片昏迷的軟乏中
抱起，高置上黃金的寶座，靠近在
你的身旁。而我懂得了愛，衹因為
緊挨着你－－我唯一愛慕的人。
13
你可是要我把對你涌起的恩情，
形之於言詞，而且還覺得十分充裕；
不管有多猛的風，高舉起火炬，
讓光輝，從兩張臉兒間，把我倆照明？
我卻把它掉在你腳邊，沒法命令
我的手托着我的心靈，那麽遠距
自己；難道我就能藉文字作契據，
掏給你看、那無從抵達的愛情
在我的心坎？不，我寧願表達
女性的愛憑她的貞靜，而換來
你的諒解－－看見我終不曾軟化，
任你怎樣地央求，我衹是咬緊着嘴，
狠心撕裂着生命的衣裙；生怕
這顆心一經接觸，就泄露了悲哀。
14
如果你一心要愛我，那就別為了麽，
衹是為了愛纔愛我。別這麽講：
“我愛她，為了她的一笑，她的模樣，
她柔語的聲氣；為了她這感觸
正好合我的心意，那天裏，的確
給我帶來滿懷的喜悅和舒暢。”
親愛的，這些好處都不能持常，
會因你而變，而這樣唱出的愛麯
也將這樣啞寂。也別愛我因為你
又憐又惜地給我揩幹了淚腮，
一個人會忘了哭泣，當她久受你
溫柔的慰安－－卻因此失了你的愛。
愛我，請衹是為了那愛的意念，
那你就能繼續地愛，愛我如深海。
15.
請不要這樣指責我：我在你面前
露出一副太冷靜、憂鬱的面容；
你我原是面朝着兩個不同的方向，
那普照的陽光照不到兩人的前額。
你看着我，心中沒半點兒不踏實，
象看着一隻籠罩在水晶裏的蜜蜂；
哀怨把我密封在聖潔的愛情中，
想張開雙翼，撲嚮外面的空間、
是絶不可能的失敗－－哪怕我狠着心
追求這顛撲和失敗。可是我嚮你看，
我看見了愛，還看到了愛的結局，
聽到了記憶外層的哪一片寂寥！
就象從千層萬丈之上，你嚮下眺望，
衹見滾滾的浪濤盡嚮大海裏流。
16
然而，因為你完全徵服了我，
因為你那樣高貴、象尊嚴的帝皇，
你能消除我的惶恐，把你的
紫袍裹繞住我，直到我的心
跟你的貼得那麽緊，再想不起
當初怎樣獨自在悸動。那宣撫，
就象把人踐踏在腳下，一樣是
威嚴和徹底完滿的徵服！就象
投降的兵士捧着戰刀呈交給
把他從血灘裏攙扶起來的主人；
親愛的，我終於認了輸，承認：
我的抗拒到此為止。假如你召喚我，
聽着這話，我要從羞愧中站起。
擴大些你的愛，好提高些我的價值。
17
我的詩人，在上帝的宇宙裏，從洪荒
到終極，那參差的音律，無一不能
從你的指尖彈出。你一揮手
就打斷了人世間熙熙攘攘的聲浪，
奏出清音，在空氣裏悠然蕩漾；
那柔和的旋律，象一劑涼藥，把安慰
帶給痛苦的心靈。上帝派給你
這一個職司，而吩咐我伺候你。
親愛的，你打算把我怎樣安排？－－
作為一個希望、給歡樂地歌唱？還是
纏綿的回憶、溶化入抑揚的音調？
還是棕櫚，還是松樹－－那一樹緑蔭
讓你在底下歌唱；還是一個青塚，
唱倦了，你來這裏躺下？請挑吧。
18
我從不曾拿我的捲發送給誰，
除非是這一束，我最親愛的，給你；
滿懷心事，我把它抽開在指尖，
拉成棕黃色的一長段；我說：“愛，
收下吧。”我的青春已一去不回，;
這一頭散發再也不跟着我腳步一起
雀躍，也不再象姑娘們，在鬢發間
插滿玫瑰和桃金娘，卻讓它披垂，
從一個老是歪着的頭兒－－由於
憂鬱的癖性－－披下來遮掩着淚痕。
原以為理屍的剪刀會先把它收去，
可不想愛情的名份得到了確認。
收下吧，那上面有慈母在彌留時給兒女
印下的一吻－－這些年始終保持着潔淨。
19
心靈跟心靈也有市場和貿易，
在那兒我拿捲發去跟捲發交換；
從我那詩人的前額，我收下了
這一束，幾根發絲，在我心裏
卻重過了飄洋大船。它那帶紫的烏亮，
在我眼裏，就象當初平達所看見的
斜披在繆斯玉額前暗紫色的秀發。
為了媲美，我猜想那月桂冠的陰影
依然逗留在發尖－－愛，你看它
有多麽黑！我藉輕輕的一吻，吐出
溫柔的氣息，綰住了那陰影，不讓它
溜走；又把禮品放在最妥貼的地方－－
我的心頭，叫它就象生長在你額上，
感受着體熱，直到那心兒有一天冷卻。
20
親愛的，我親愛的，我想到從前－－
一年之前，當時你正在人海中間，
我卻在這一片雪地中獨坐，
望不見你邁步留下的蹤跡，
也聽不見你的謦咳衝破了這死寂；
我衹是一環又一環計數着我周身
沉沉的鐵鏈，怎麽也想不到還有你－－
仿佛誰也別想把那鎖鏈打開。
啊，我喝了一大杯美酒：人生的奇妙！
奇怪啊，我從沒感覺到白天和黑夜
都有你的行動、聲音在空中震蕩，
也不曾從你看着成長的白花裏，
探知了你的消息－－就象無神論者
那樣鄙陋，猜不透神在神的化外！
21
請說了一遍，再嚮我說一遍，
說“我愛你！”即使那樣一遍遍重複，
你會把它看成一支“布𠔌鳥的歌麯”；
可是記着，在那青山和緑林間，
那山𠔌和田野中，縱使清新的春天
披着全身緑裝降臨、也不算完美無缺，
要是她缺少了那串布𠔌鳥的音節。
愛，四周那麽黑暗，耳邊衹聽見
驚悸的心聲，處於那痛苦的不安中，
我嚷道：“再說一遍：我愛你！”誰嫌
太多的星，即使每顆都在太空轉動；
太多的花，即使每朵洋溢着春意？
說你愛我，你愛我，一聲聲敲着銀鐘！
衹是記住，還得用靈魂愛我，在默默裏。
22
當我倆的靈魂壯麗地挺立起來，
默默地，面對着面，越來越靠攏，
那伸張的翅膀在各自彎圓的頂端，
迸出了火星。世上還有什麽苦惱，
落到我們頭上，而叫我們不甘心
在這裏長留？你說哪。再往上，就有
天使抵在頭上，為我們那一片
深沉、親密的靜默落下成串
金黃和諧的歌麯。親愛的，讓我倆
就相守在地上吧－－人世的爭吵、熙攮
都嚮後退隱，留給純潔的靈魂
一方隔絶，容許在這裏面立足，
在這裏愛，愛上一天，儘管昏黑的
死亡，不停地在它的四圍打轉。
23
真是這樣嗎？如果我死了，你可會，
失落一些生趣、由於失去了我？
陽光照着你，你會覺得它帶一絲寒意，
為着潮濕的黃土已蓋沒了我的臉？
真沒想到啊！我體味到你這份情意
在信中。愛，我是你的，可就這樣
給珍重？我能用我那雙發抖的手
為你斟酒？好吧，那我就拋開了
死的夢幻，重新捧起來那生命。
愛我吧，看着我，用暖氣呵我吧！
多少閨秀，為着愛不惜犧牲了
財富和身份；我也要放棄那墳墓－－
為了你；把我那迫近而可愛的天國的
景象、來跟載着你的土地交換！
24
讓世界象一把摺刀，把它的鋒芒
在自身內斂藏，埋進在愛情的
掌握內、溫柔的中心，而不再為害。
讓嗒的一聲，刀子合上之後，
我們就此再聽不見人世的爭吵。
親愛的，我緊挨着你，生命貼戀着
生命，什麽也不怕，我衹覺得安全，
象有了神符的保護，世人的刀槍
怎麽稠密也不能傷害毫發。我們
生命中的素蓮，依然能開出純潔
雪白的花朵；那底下的根，衹仰賴
天降的甘露，從山頭往上挺伸，
高出世間的攀折。衹有上帝，
他賜我們富有，才能叫我們窮。
25
親愛的，年復一年，我懷着一顆
沉重的心，直到我瞧見了你的面影。
一個個憂傷已相繼剝奪了我所有的
歡欣－－象一串輕貼在胸前的珍珠，
在跳舞的當兒，給一顆跳動的心兒
逐一地撥弄。希望隨即轉成了
漫長的失望，縱使上帝的厚恩，
也沒法從那凄涼的人世舉起來
我這顆沉甸甸的心。可是你，
你當真命令我捧着它，投到
你偉大深沉的跟前！它立即往下沉，
就象墮落是它的本性；而你的心，
立即緊跟着，貼在它上面，擋在
那照臨的星辰和未完功的命運間。
26
是幻想——並不是男友還是女伴，
多少年來，跟我生活在一起，做我的
親密的知友。它們為我而奏的音樂，
我不想聽到還有比這更美的。
可是幻想的輕飄的紫袍，免不了
沾上人世的塵土，那琴聲終於逐漸
消歇，而我也在那些逐漸隱滅的
眸子下頭暈眼花。於是，親愛的，
你來了——仿佛來接替它們。就象
河水盛入了洗禮盆、水就更聖潔，
它們的輝煌的前額、甜蜜的歌聲，
都聚集在你一身，通過你而徵服了我，
給予我最大的滿足。上帝的禮物
叫人間最絢爛的夢幻失落了顔色。
27
愛人，我親愛的人，是你把我，
一個跌倒在塵埃的人，扶起來，
又在我披垂的鬢發間吹入了一股
生氣，好讓我的前額又亮光光地
閃耀着希望——有所有的天使當着
你救難的吻為證！親愛的人呀，
當你來到我跟前，人世已捨我遠去，
而一心仰望上帝的我、卻獲得了你！
我發現了你，我安全了，強壯了，快樂了。
象一個人站立在幹潔的香草地上
回顧他曾捱過來的苦惱的年月；
我擡起了胸脯，拿自己作證：
這裏，在一善和那一惡之間，愛，
象死一樣強烈，帶來了同樣的解脫。
28
我的信！一堆堆死沉沉的紙，蒼白又無聲，
可是它們又象具有生命、顫動在
我拿不穩的手內——是那發抖的手
解開絲帶，讓它們今晚散滿在
我膝上。這封說：他多盼望有個機會，
能作為朋友，見一見我。這一封又訂了
春天裏一個日子，來見我，跟我
握握手——平常的事，我可哭了！
這封說（不多幾個字）：“親，我愛你！”
而我卻惶恐得象上帝的未來在轟擊
我的過去。這封說：“我屬於你！”那墨跡，
緊貼在我悸跳的心頭，久了，褪了色。
而這封……愛啊，你的言詞有什麽神妙，
假如這裏吐露的，我敢把它再說！
29
我想你！我的相思圍抱住了你，
繞着你而抽芽，象蔓藤捲纏着樹木、
遍發出肥大的葉瓣，除了那蔓延的
青翠把樹身掩藏，就什麽都看不見。
可是我的棕櫚樹呀，你該明白，
我怎願懷着我的思念而失去了
更親更寶貴的你！我寧可你顯現
你自己的存在；象一株堅強的樹
成車匾『持 杈，掙出了赤裸的
軀幹來，叫這些重重疊疊的緑葉
都給摔下來狼藉滿地。因為在
看着你、聽着你、在你蔭影裏呼吸着
清新的空氣，洋溢着深深的喜悅時，
我再不想你——我是那麽地貼緊你。
30
今晚，我淚眼晶瑩，恍惚瞧見了
你的形象；然而不是今朝，我還看到
你在笑？愛人，這是為什麽？是你，
還是我——是誰叫我黯然愁苦？
一個浸沉在歡頌和崇拜中的僧侶
把蒼白無知覺的額頭投在祭壇下，
或許就這樣俯伏。正象他耳內轟響着
“阿門”的歌聲；我聽得你親口的盟誓，
心裏卻一片怔忡不安，因為不見你
在我的眼前。親愛的，你當真愛我？
我當真看見了那恍如夢境的榮光，
並且經不起那強烈的逼射而感到了
眩暈？這光可會照臨，就象那
盈盈的淚，一顆顆滾下來，又熱又真？
31
你來了！還沒開口，心意都表明了。
我坐在你的容光下，象沐浴在陽光中的
嬰孩，那閃爍的眸子無聲地泄露了
顫動在那顆小心裏的無比的喜悅。
看哪，我這最後的疑慮是錯了！
可是我不能衹埋怨自己，你想，
這是怎樣的情景，怎樣的時辰？
這一刻，我倆競輕易地並站在一起。
啊，靠近我，讓我挨着你吧；當我
涌起了疑慮，你寬坦的心胸給我
清澈而溫柔的慰撫；用你崇高的
光輝來孵育我那些思念吧；失了
你的庇護，它們就要戰慄－－就象
那羽翼未豐的小鳥給撇下在天空裏。
32
當金黃的太陽升起來，第一次照上
你愛的盟約，我就預期着明月
來解除那情結、係的太早太急。
我衹怕愛的容易、就容易失望，
引起悔心。再回顧我自己，我哪象
讓你愛慕的人！－－卻象一具啞澀
破損的弦琴、配不上你那麽清澈
美妙的歌聲！而這琴，匆忙裏給用上，
一發出沙沙的音，就給惱恨地
扔下。我這麽說，並不曾虧待
自己，可是我冤了你。在樂聖的
手裏，一張破琴也可以流出完美
和諧的韻律；而憑一張弓，真誠的
靈魂，可以在勒索、也同時在溺愛。
33
對啦，叫我的小名兒呀！讓我再聽見
我一嚮飛奔著去答應的名字－－那時，
還是個小女孩，無憂無慮，沉浸於
嬉戲，偶爾從一大堆野草野花間
擡起頭來，仰望那用和藹的眼
撫愛我的慈顔。我失去了那仁慈
親切的呼喚，那靈襯給我的是
一片寂靜，任憑我高呼著上天，
那慈聲歸入了音樂華嚴的天國。
讓你的嘴來承繼那寂滅的清音。
采得北方的花，好完成南方的花束，
在遲暮的歲月裏趕上早年的愛情。
對啦，叫我的小名兒吧，我，就隨即
答應你，懷著當初一模樣的心情。
34
懷著當初一模樣的心情，我說，
我要答應你，當你叫我的小名。
唉，這分明是空的願心！我的心
還能是一模樣－－飽受了人生的磨折？
從前，我聽得一聲喊，就扔下花束，
要不，從遊戲裏跳起，奔過去答應，
一路上都是我的笑容笑聲在致敬，
眼星裏還閃爍著方纔那一片歡樂。
現在我應你，我捨下一片沉重的
憂思，從孤寂裏驚起。可是，我的心
還是要嚮你飛奔，你不是我一種的
善，而是百善所鐘！我最可愛的人，
你把手按著我的心口，同意嗎：孩童的
小腳從沒跑得這麽快－－象這血輪。
35
要是我把一切都交給你，你可願意
作為交換，把什麽都歸給我？
我可是永不會缺少傢常的談笑、
互酬接吻、彼此的祝福？也不會
感到生疏、當我擡起頭來打量
新的墻壁和地板－－傢以外另一個傢？
不，我還要問，你可願頂替那一雙
瞑合了的柔眼在我身旁留下的位置
而一樣地不懂得變心？這可是難！
徵服愛如果費事，徵服怨，那就更難。
怨是，愛不算，再得加上個怨。我的怨，
唉，那麽深，就那麽不輕易愛。可是，
你依然愛我－－你願？敞開些你的心，
好讓你那羽翼濕透的鴿子撲進來！ 。
36
當初我倆相見、一見而傾心的時光，
我怎敢在這上面，建起大理石宮殿，
難道這也會久長－－那來回搖擺在
憂傷與憂傷間的愛？不，我害怕，
我信不過那似乎浮泛在眼前的
一片金光，不敢伸出手指去碰一下。
到後來纔坦然、堅定了；可我又覺得，
上帝總該另有恐懼安排在後面……
愛啊，要不然，這雙緊握著的手
就不會接觸；這熱熱的親吻，一旦
從嘴唇上冷卻了，何以不變成虛文？
愛情啊，你快變了心吧！要是命運
這樣註定：他，為了信守一個盟誓
就非得拿犧牲一個喜悅作代價。
37
原諒我，啊，請原諒吧，並非我無知，
不明白一切德性全歸於你、屬於你；
可是，你在我心裏構成的形象，
卻就象一堆虛浮不實的泥沙！
是那年深月久的孤僻，象遭了
當頭一棒，從你面前盡往後縮，
迫使我眩暈的知覺涌起了疑慮和
恐懼，盲目地捨棄了你純潔的面目，
最崇高的愛給我歪麯成最荒謬的
形狀。就象一個沉了船的異教徒，
安然脫險，上了岸，酬謝保佑他的
海神，獻上了一尾木雕的海豚——
那兩腮呼呼作響、尾巴掀起了
怒浪的龐大的海族——在廟宇的門墻內。
38
第一次他親我，他衹是親了一下
在寫這詩篇的手，從此我的手就越來
越白淨晶瑩，不善作世俗的招呼，
而敏於呼召：“啊，快聽哪，快聽
天使在說話哪！”即使在那兒戴上一個
紫玉瑛戒指，也不會比那第一個吻
在我的眼裏顯現得更清楚。
第二個吻，就往高處升，它找到了
前額，可是偏斜了一些，一半兒
印在發絲上。這無比的酬償啊，
是愛神擦的聖油！－－先於愛神的
華美的皇冠。那第三個，那麽美妙，
正好按在我嘴唇上，從此我就
自傲，敢於呼喚：“愛，我的愛！”
39
為着你的魄力和盛德－－你那樣
犀利地望着我，通過我那給淚雨
衝洗得成了灰白的面具、照徹了
我靈魂的真實面目（灰暗疲乏的
人生的證明！）也為着你衹知道忠誠，
衹知道愛，衹是朝我看，通過我那
麻木的靈魂，看到了那忍耐的天使
一心期待着天堂裏的位置；又為着
無論是罪惡、是哀怨、甚至上帝的譴責，
死神的逼近的威脅－－不管這一切，
叫人們一看就掉首而去，叫自己
想着都厭惡……卻沒什麽能嚇退你；
親愛的，那你教我吧，教我怎麽樣
把感激盡量傾吐，正象你把恩惠布施。
40
是啊，咱們這世道，談情說愛，多的是！
我不想問：真有愛這回事嗎？有就有吧——
從小，我就聽慣了人們嘴裏的“愛”，
直到纔不久——那會兒采來的鮮花
香味還沒散呢。不管是回教徒、“外教徒”，
笑一笑，手絹兒就摔過來；可是一哭，
誰也不理了。“獨眼竜”的白牙齒咬不緊
硬果子，假使淋過了幾陣驟雨，
果殼變得滑溜溜——從沒想把這稱做
“愛”的東西，也跟他們的“恨”、以至
跟“淡漠”並列。可是你，親愛的，你不是
那樣的情人！你從那哀怨和疾病裏
伺候了過來，教心靈終於接通了心靈，
人傢會嫌“太晚”了，而你想還沒想到。
41
我滿懷着感激和愛，嚮凡是在心裏
愛過我的人們道謝。深深的感謝啊，
好心的人們，打牢墻外經過，駐足
聽取我三兩聲稍微響亮些的音樂，
這纔繼續趕路，奔赴市場或是聖殿、
各自的前程，再無從召喚。可是你，
當我的歌聲低落了、接不上了，代之以
哭泣，你卻叫神的最尊貴的樂器
掉在腳下，傾聽我那夾雜在淚珠裏的
怨聲……啊，指點我，該怎麽報答
你的恩情吧！怎麽能把這一片
迴旋蕩漾的情意奉獻給未來的
歲月，由它來給我表白，嚮耐久的
愛情致敬，憑着那短暫的人生！
42
“未來啊，任你怎樣臨摹，也描不成
我過去的樣本了，”我曾這麽寫過，
以為守護在我身畔的天使會同意
這話，把仰天呼籲的眼光瞥嚮那
高踞玉座的上帝。待我回過頭來，
看見的卻是你，還有你我的天使
結伴在一起！一嚮為哀怨、病痛
所折磨的我，就把幸福抱得那麽緊。
一見了你，我那朝拜的手杖
抽了芽、發出了緑葉，承受着
清晨的露珠。如今，我再不追尋
我生命中前半的樣本，讓那些反復
吟嘆、捲了角的書頁放過在一邊，
我給我重寫出新的一章生命！
43
我是怎樣地愛你？讓我逐一細算。
我愛你盡我的心靈所能及到的
深邃、寬廣、和高度－－正象我探求
玄冥中上帝的存在和深厚的神恩。
我愛你的程度，就象日光和燭焰下
那每天不用說得的需要。我不加思慮地
愛你，就象男子們為正義而鬥爭；
我純潔地愛你，象他們在贊美前低頭。
我愛你以我童年的信仰；我愛你
以滿懷熱情，就象往日滿腔的辛酸；
我愛你，抵得上那似乎隨着消失的聖者
而消逝的愛慕。我愛你以我終生的
呼吸，微笑和淚珠－－假使是上帝的
意旨，那麽，我死了我還要更加愛你！
44
親愛的，你從一整個夏天到鼕天，
從園子裏採集了那麽多的花
送給我；而這幽閉的小室裏，它們
繼續生長，仿佛並不缺少陽光和
雨水的滋養。那麽同樣地憑着
這愛的名義－－那愛是屬於我倆的，
也請收下了我的回敬；那在熱天，
在冷天，發自我心田的情思的花朵。
不錯，在我那園圃裏確是長滿着
野草和苦艾，有待於你來耘除；
嚮你自己說，它們的根都埋在我的深心。
可這兒也有白玫瑰，也有常春藤！
請收下吧，就象我慣常接受你的花。
好生地護養着，別讓它褪落了顔色，
INDEX OF FIRST LINES
I I thought once how Theocritus had sung
II But only three in all God's universe
III Unlike are we, unlike, O princely Heart!
IV Thou hast thy calling to some palace-floor
V I lift my heavy heart up solemnly
VI Go from me. Yet I feel that I shall stand
VII The face of all the world is changed, I think
VIII What can I give thee back, O liberal
IX Can it be right to give what I can give?
X Yet, love, mere love, is beautiful indeed
XI And therefore if to love can be desert
XII Indeed this very love which is my boast
XIII And wilt thou have me fashion into speech
XIV If thou must love me, let it be for nought
XV Accuse me not, beseech thee, that I wear
XVI And yet, because thou overcomest so
XVII My poet thou canst touch on all the notes
XVIII I never gave a lock of hair away
XIX The soul's Rialto hath its merchandize
XX Beloved, my beloved, when I think
XXI Say over again, and yet once over again
XXII When our two souls stand up erect and strong
XXIII Is it indeed so? If I lay here dead
XXIV Let the world's sharpness like a clasping knife
XXV A heavy heart, Beloved, have I borne
XXVI I lived with visions for my company
XXVII My own Beloved, who hast lifted me
XXVIII My letters! all dead paper, mute and white!
XXIX I think of thee!--my thoughts do twine and bud
XXX I see thine image through my tears to-night
XXXI Thou comest! all is said without a word
XXXII The first time that the sun rose on thine oath
XXXIII Yes, call me by my pet-name! let me hear
XXXIV With the same heart, I said, I'll answer thee
XXXV If I leave all for thee, wilt thou exchange
XXXVI When we met first and loved, I did not build
XXXVII Pardon, oh, pardon, that my soul should make
XXXVIII First time he kissed me, he but only kissed
XXXIX Because thou hast the power and own'st the grace
XL Oh, yes! they love through all this world of ours!
XLI I thank all who have loved me in their hearts
XLII My future will not copy fair my past
XLIII How do I love thee? Let me count the ways
XLIV Beloved, thou hast brought me many flowers
I
I thought once how Theocritus had sung
Of the sweet years, the dear and wished-for years,
Who each one in a gracious hand appears
To bear a gift for mortals, old or young:
And, as I mused it in his antique tongue,
I saw, in gradual vision through my tears,
The sweet, sad years, the melancholy years,
Those of my own life, who by turns had flung
A shadow across me. Straightway I was 'ware,
So weeping, how a mystic Shape did move
Behind me, and drew me backward by the hair;
And a voice said in mastery, while I strove,--
"Guess now who holds thee!"--"Death," I said, But, there,
The silver answer rang, "Not Death, but Love."
II
But only three in all God's universe
Have heard this word thou hast said,--Himself, beside
Thee speaking, and me listening! and replied
One of us . . . that was God, . . . and laid the curse
So darkly on my eyelids, as to amerce
My sight from seeing thee,--that if I had died,
The death-weights, placed there, would have signified
Less absolute exclusion. "Nay" is worse
From God than from all others, O my friend!
Men could not part us with their worldly jars,
Nor the seas change us, nor the tempests bend;
Our hands would touch for all the mountain-bars:
And, heaven being rolled between us at the end,
We should but vow the faster for the stars.
III
Unlike are we, unlike, O princely Heart!
Unlike our uses and our destinies.
Our ministering two angels look surprise
On one another, as they strike athwart
Their wings in passing. Thou, bethink thee, art
A guest for queens to social pageantries,
With gages from a hundred brighter eyes
Than tears even can make mine, to play thy part
Of chief musician. What hast thou to do
With looking from the lattice-lights at me,
A poor, tired, wandering singer, singing through
The dark, and leaning up a cypress tree?
The chrism is on thine head,--on mine, the dew,--
And Death must dig the level where these agree.
IV
Thou hast thy calling to some palace-floor,
Most gracious singer of high poems! where
The dancers will break footing, from the care
Of watching up thy pregnant lips for more.
And dost thou lift this house's latch too poor
For hand of thine? and canst thou think and bear
To let thy music drop here unaware
In folds of golden fulness at my door?
Look up and see the casement broken in,
The bats and owlets builders in the roof!
My cricket chirps against thy mandolin.
Hush, call no echo up in further proof
Of desolation! there's a voice within
That weeps . . . as thou must sing . . . alone, aloof.
V
I lift my heavy heart up solemnly,
As once Electra her sepulchral urn,
And, looking in thine eyes, I over-turn
The ashes at thy feet. Behold and see
What a great heap of grief lay hid in me,
And how the red wild sparkles dimly burn
Through the ashen greyness. If thy foot in scorn
Could tread them out to darkness utterly,
It might be well perhaps. But if instead
Thou wait beside me for the wind to blow
The grey dust up, . . . those laurels on thine head,
O my Beloved, will not shield thee so,
That none of all the fires shall scorch and shred
The hair beneath. Stand further off then! go!
VI
Go from me. Yet I feel that I shall stand
Henceforward in thy shadow. Nevermore
Alone upon the threshold of my door
Of individual life, I shall command
The uses of my soul, nor lift my hand
Serenely in the sunshine as before,
Without the sense of that which I forbore--
Thy touch upon the palm. The widest land
Doom takes to part us, leaves thy heart in mine
With pulses that beat double. What I do
And what I dream include thee, as the wine
Must taste of its own grapes. And when I sue
God for myself, He hears that name of thine,
And sees within my eyes the tears of two.
VII
The face of all the world is changed, I think,
Since first I heard the footsteps of thy soul
Move still, oh, still, beside me, as they stole
Betwixt me and the dreadful outer brink
Of obvious death, where I, who thought to sink,
Was caught up into love, and taught the whole
Of life in a new rhythm. The cup of dole
God gave for baptism, I am fain to drink,
And praise its sweetness, Sweet, with thee anear.
The names of country, heaven, are changed away
For where thou art or shalt be, there or here;
And this . . . this lute and song . . . loved yesterday,
(The singing angels know) are only dear
Because thy name moves right in what they say.
VIII
What can I give thee back, O liberal
And princely giver, who hast brought the gold
And purple of thine heart, unstained, untold,
And laid them on the outside of the wall
For such as I to take or leave withal,
In unexpected largesse? am I cold,
Ungrateful, that for these most manifold
High gifts, I render nothing back at all?
Not so; not cold,--but very poor instead.
Ask God who knows. For frequent tears have run
The colours from my life, and left so dead
And pale a stuff, it were not fitly done
To give the same as pillow to thy head.
Go farther! let it serve to trample on.
IX
Can it be right to give what I can give?
To let thee sit beneath the fall of tears
As salt as mine, and hear the sighing years
Re-sighing on my lips renunciative
Through those infrequent smiles which fail to live
For all thy adjurations? O my fears,
That this can scarce be right! We are not peers
So to be lovers; and I own, and grieve,
That givers of such gifts as mine are, must
Be counted with the ungenerous. Out, alas!
I will not soil thy purple with my dust,
Nor breathe my poison on thy Venice-glass,
Nor give thee any love--which were unjust.
Beloved, I only love thee! let it pass.
X
Yet, love, mere love, is beautiful indeed
And worthy of acceptation. Fire is bright,
Let temple burn, or flax; an equal light
Leaps in the flame from cedar-plank or weed:
And love is fire. And when I say at need
I love thee . . . mark! . . . I love thee--in thy sight
I stand transfigured, glorified aright,
With conscience of the new rays that proceed
Out of my face toward thine. There's nothing low
In love, when love the lowest: meanest creatures
Who love God, God accepts while loving so.
And what I feel, across the inferior features
Of what I am, doth flash itself, and show
How that great work of Love enhances Nature's.
XI
And therefore if to love can be desert,
I am not all unworthy. Cheeks as pale
As these you see, and trembling knees that fail
To bear the burden of a heavy heart,--
This weary minstrel-life that once was girt
To climb Aornus, and can scarce avail
To pipe now 'gainst the valley nightingale
A melancholy music,--why advert
To these things? O Beloved, it is plain
I am not of thy worth nor for thy place!
And yet, because I love thee, I obtain
From that same love this vindicating grace
To live on still in love, and yet in vain,--
To bless thee, yet renounce thee to thy face.
XII
Indeed this very love which is my boast,
And which, when rising up from breast to brow,
Doth crown me with a ruby large enow
To draw men's eyes and prove the inner cost,--
This love even, all my worth, to the uttermost,
I should not love withal, unless that thou
Hadst set me an example, shown me how,
When first thine earnest eyes with mine were crossed,
And love called love. And thus, I cannot speak
Of love even, as a good thing of my own:
Thy soul hath snatched up mine all faint and weak,
And placed it by thee on a golden throne,--
And that I love (O soul, we must be meek!)
Is by thee only, whom I love alone.
XIII
And wilt thou have me fashion into speech
The love I bear thee, finding words enough,
And hold the torch out, while the winds are rough,
Between our faces, to cast light on each?--
I drop it at thy feet. I cannot teach
My hand to hold my spirits so far off
From myself--me--that I should bring thee proof
In words, of love hid in me out of reach.
Nay, let the silence of my womanhood
Commend my woman-love to thy belief,--
Seeing that I stand unwon, however wooed,
And rend the garment of my life, in brief,
By a most dauntless, voiceless fortitude,
Lest one touch of this heart convey its grief.
XIV
If thou must love me, let it be for nought
Except for love's sake only. Do not say
"I love her for her smile--her look--her way
Of speaking gently,--for a trick of thought
That falls in well with mine, and certes brought
A sense of pleasant ease on such a day"--
For these things in themselves, Beloved, may
Be changed, or change for thee,--and love, so wrought,
May be unwrought so. Neither love me for
Thine own dear pity's wiping my cheeks dry,--
A creature might forget to weep, who bore
Thy comfort long, and lose thy love thereby!
But love me for love's sake, that evermore
Thou may'st love on, through love's eternity.
XV
Accuse me not, beseech thee, that I wear
Too calm and sad a face in front of thine;
For we two look two ways, and cannot shine
With the same sunlight on our brow and hair.
On me thou lookest with no doubting care,
As on a bee shut in a crystalline;
Since sorrow hath shut me safe in love's divine,
And to spread wing and fly in the outer air
Were most impossible failure, if I strove
To fail so. But I look on thee--on thee--
Beholding, besides love, the end of love,
Hearing oblivion beyond memory;
As one who sits and gazes from above,
Over the rivers to the bitter sea.
XVI
And yet, because thou overcomest so,
Because thou art more noble and like a king,
Thou canst prevail against my fears and fling
Thy purple round me, till my heart shall grow
Too close against thine heart henceforth to know
How it shook when alone. Why, conquering
May prove as lordly and complete a thing
In lifting upward, as in crushing low!
And as a vanquished soldier yields his sword
To one who lifts him from the bloody earth,
Even so, Beloved, I at last record,
Here ends my strife. If thou invite me forth,
I rise above abasement at the word.
Make thy love larger to enlarge my worth!
XVII
My poet, thou canst touch on all the notes
God set between His After and Before,
And strike up and strike off the general roar
Of the rushing worlds a melody that floats
In a serene air purely. Antidotes
Of medicated music, answering for
Mankind's forlornest uses, thou canst pour
From thence into their ears. God's will devotes
Thine to such ends, and mine to wait on thine.
How, Dearest, wilt thou have me for most use?
A hope, to sing by gladly? or a fine
Sad memory, with thy songs to interfuse?
A shade, in which to sing--of palm or pine?
A grave, on which to rest from singing? Choose.
XVIII
I never gave a lock of hair away
To a man, Dearest, except this to thee,
Which now upon my fingers thoughtfully
I ring out to the full brown length and say
"Take it." My day of youth went yesterday;
My hair no longer bounds to my foot's glee,
Nor plant I it from rose- or myrtle-tree,
As girls do, any more: it only may
Now shade on two pale cheeks the mark of tears,
Taught drooping from the head that hangs aside
Through sorrow's trick. I thought the funeral-shears
Would take this first, but Love is justified,--
Take it thou,--finding pure, from all those years,
The kiss my mother left here when she died.
XIX
The soul's Rialto hath its merchandize;
I barter curl for curl upon that mart,
And from my poet's forehead to my heart
Receive this lock which outweighs argosies,--
As purply black, as erst to Pindar's eyes
The dim purpureal tresses gloomed athwart
The nine white Muse-brows. For this counterpart, . . .
The bay crown's shade, Beloved, I surmise,
Still lingers on thy curl, it is so black!
Thus, with a fillet of smooth-kissing breath,
I tie the shadows safe from gliding back,
And lay the gift where nothing hindereth;
Here on my heart, as on thy brow, to lack
No natural heat till mine grows cold in death.
XX
Beloved, my Beloved, when I think
That thou wast in the world a year ago,
What time I sat alone here in the snow
And saw no footprint, heard the silence sink
No moment at thy voice, but, link by link,
Went counting all my chains as if that so
They never could fall off at any blow
Struck by thy possible hand,--why, thus I drink
Of life's great cup of wonder! Wonderful,
Never to feel thee thrill the day or night
With personal act or speech,--nor ever cull
Some prescience of thee with the blossoms white
Thou sawest growing! Atheists are as dull,
Who cannot guess God's presence out of sight.
XXI
Say over again, and yet once over again,
That thou dost love me. Though the word repeated
Should seem a "cuckoo-song," as thou dost treat it,
Remember, never to the hill or plain,
Valley and wood, without her cuckoo-strain
Comes the fresh Spring in all her green completed.
Beloved, I, amid the darkness greeted
By a doubtful spirit-voice, in that doubt's pain
Cry, "Speak once more--thou lovest!" Who can fear
Too many stars, though each in heaven shall roll,
Too many flowers, though each shall crown the year?
Say thou dost love me, love me, love me--toll
The silver iterance!--only minding, Dear,
To love me also in silence with thy soul.
XXII
When our two souls stand up erect and strong,
Face to face, silent, drawing nigh and nigher,
Until the lengthening wings break into fire
At either curved point,--what bitter wrong
Can the earth do to us, that we should not long
Be here contented? Think! In mounting higher,
The angels would press on us and aspire
To drop some golden orb of perfect song
Into our deep, dear silence. Let us stay
Rather on earth, Beloved,--where the unfit
Contrarious moods of men recoil away
And isolate pure spirits, and permit
A place to stand and love in for a day,
With darkness and the death-hour rounding it.
XXIII
Is it indeed so? If I lay here dead,
Wouldst thou miss any life in losing mine?
And would the sun for thee more coldly shine
Because of grave-damps falling round my head?
I marvelled, my Beloved, when I read
Thy thought so in the letter. I am thine--
But . . . so much to thee? Can I pour thy wine
While my hands tremble? Then my soul, instead
Of dreams of death, resumes life's lower range.
Then, love me, Love! look on me--breathe on me!
As brighter ladies do not count it strange,
For love, to give up acres and degree,
I yield the grave for thy sake, and exchange
My near sweet view of heaven, for earth with thee!
XXIV
Let the world's sharpness like a clasping knife
Shut in upon itself and do no harm
In this close hand of Love, now soft and warm,
And let us hear no sound of human strife
After the click of the shutting. Life to life--
I lean upon thee, Dear, without alarm,
And feel as safe as guarded by a charm
Against the stab of worldlings, who if rife
Are weak to injure. Very whitely still
The lilies of our lives may reassure
Their blossoms from their roots, accessible
Alone to heavenly dews that drop not fewer;
Growing straight, out of man's reach, on the hill.
God only, who made us rich, can make us poor.
XXV
A heavy heart, Beloved, have I borne
From year to year until I saw thy face,
And sorrow after sorrow took the place
Of all those natural joys as lightly worn
As the stringed pearls, each lifted in its turn
By a beating heart at dance-time. Hopes apace
Were changed to long despairs, till God's own grace
Could scarcely lift above the world forlorn
My heavy heart. Then thou didst bid me bring
And let it drop adown thy calmly great
Deep being! Fast it sinketh, as a thing
Which its own nature does precipitate,
While thine doth close above it, mediating
Betwixt the stars and the unaccomplished fate.
XXVI
I lived with visions for my company
Instead of men and women, years ago,
And found them gentle mates, nor thought to know
A sweeter music than they played to me.
But soon their trailing purple was not free
Of this world's dust, their lutes did silent grow,
And I myself grew faint and blind below
Their vanishing eyes. Then thou didst come--to be,
Beloved, what they seemed. Their shining fronts,
Their songs, their splendours, (better, yet the same,
As river-water hallowed into fonts)
Met in thee, and from out thee overcame
My soul with satisfaction of all wants:
Because God's gifts put man's best dreams to shame.
XXVII
My own Beloved, who hast lifted me
From this drear flat of earth where I was thrown,
And, in betwixt the languid ringlets, blown
A life-breath, till the forehead hopefully
Shines out again, as all the angels see,
Before thy saving kiss! My own, my own,
Who camest to me when the world was gone,
And I who looked for only God, found thee!
I find thee; I am safe, and strong, and glad.
As one who stands in dewless asphodel,
Looks backward on the tedious time he had
In the upper life,--so I, with bosom-swell,
Make witness, here, between the good and bad,
That Love, as strong as Death, retrieves as well.
XXVIII
My letters! all dead paper, mute and white!
And yet they seem alive and quivering
Against my tremulous hands which loose the string
And let them drop down on my knee to-night.
This said,--he wished to have me in his sight
Once, as a friend: this fixed a day in spring
To come and touch my hand . . . a simple thing,
Yet I wept for it!--this, . . . the paper's light . . .
Said, Dear I love thee; and I sank and quailed
As if God's future thundered on my past.
This said, I am thine--and so its ink has paled
With lying at my heart that beat too fast.
And this . . . O Love, thy words have ill availed
If, what this said, I dared repeat at last!
XXIX
I think of thee!--my thoughts do twine and bud
About thee, as wild vines, about a tree,
Put out broad leaves, and soon there's nought to see
Except the straggling green which hides the wood.
Yet, O my palm-tree, be it understood
I will not have my thoughts instead of thee
Who art dearer, better! Rather, instantly
Renew thy presence; as a strong tree should,
Rustle thy boughs and set thy trunk all bare,
And let these bands of greenery which insphere thee,
Drop heavily down,--burst, shattered everywhere!
Because, in this deep joy to see and hear thee
And breathe within thy shadow a new air,
I do not think of thee--I am too near thee.
XXX
I see thine image through my tears to-night,
And yet to-day I saw thee smiling. How
Refer the cause?--Beloved, is it thou
Or I, who makes me sad? The acolyte
Amid the chanted joy and thankful rite
May so fall flat, with pale insensate brow,
On the altar-stair. I hear thy voice and vow,
Perplexed, uncertain, since thou art out of sight,
As he, in his swooning ears, the choir's amen.
Beloved, dost thou love? or did I see all
The glory as I dreamed, and fainted when
Too vehement light dilated my ideal,
For my soul's eyes? Will that light come again,
As now these tears come--falling hot and real?
XXXI
Thou comest! all is said without a word.
I sit beneath thy looks, as children do
In the noon-sun, with souls that tremble through
Their happy eyelids from an unaverred
Yet prodigal inward joy. Behold, I erred
In that last doubt! and yet I cannot rue
The sin most, but the occasion--that we two
Should for a moment stand unministered
By a mutual presence. Ah, keep near and close,
Thou dove-like help! and when my fears would rise,
With thy broad heart serenely interpose:
Brood down with thy divine sufficiencies
These thoughts which tremble when bereft of those,
Like callow birds left desert to the skies.
XXXII
The first time that the sun rose on thine oath
To love me, I looked forward to the moon
To slacken all those bonds which seemed too soon
And quickly tied to make a lasting troth.
Quick-loving hearts, I thought, may quickly loathe;
And, looking on myself, I seemed not one
For such man's love!--more like an out-of-tune
Worn viol, a good singer would be wroth
To spoil his song with, and which, snatched in haste,
Is laid down at the first ill-sounding note.
I did not wrong myself so, but I placed
A wrong on thee. For perfect strains may float
'Neath master-hands, from instruments defaced,--
And great souls, at one stroke, may do and doat.
XXXIII
Yes, call me by my pet-name! let me hear
The name I used to run at, when a child,
From innocent play, and leave the cowslips plied,
To glance up in some face that proved me dear
With the look of its eyes. I miss the clear
Fond voices which, being drawn and reconciled
Into the music of Heaven's undefiled,
Call me no longer. Silence on the bier,
While I call God--call God!--so let thy mouth
Be heir to those who are now exanimate.
Gather the north flowers to complete the south,
And catch the early love up in the late.
Yes, call me by that name,--and I, in truth,
With the same heart, will answer and not wait.
XXXIV
With the same heart, I said, I'll answer thee
As those, when thou shalt call me by my name--
Lo, the vain promise! is the same, the same,
Perplexed and ruffled by life's strategy?
When called before, I told how hastily
I dropped my flowers or brake off from a game.
To run and answer with the smile that came
At play last moment, and went on with me
Through my obedience. When I answer now,
I drop a grave thought, break from solitude;
Yet still my heart goes to thee--ponder how--
Not as to a single good, but all my good!
Lay thy hand on it, best one, and allow
That no child's foot could run fast as this blood.
XXXV
If I leave all for thee, wilt thou exchange
And be all to me? Shall I never miss
Home-talk and blessing and the common kiss
That comes to each in turn, nor count it strange,
When I look up, to drop on a new range
Of walls and floors, another home than this?
Nay, wilt thou fill that place by me which is
Filled by dead eyes too tender to know change
That's hardest. If to conquer love, has tried,
To conquer grief, tries more, as all things prove,
For grief indeed is love and grief beside.
Alas, I have grieved so I am hard to love.
Yet love me--wilt thou? Open thy heart wide,
And fold within, the wet wings of thy dove.
XXXVI
When we met first and loved, I did not build
Upon the event with marble. Could it mean
To last, a love set pendulous between
Sorrow and sorrow? Nay, I rather thrilled,
Distrusting every light that seemed to gild
The onward path, and feared to overlean
A finger even. And, though I have grown serene
And strong since then, I think that God has willed
A still renewable fear . . . O love, O troth . . .
Lest these enclasped hands should never hold,
This mutual kiss drop down between us both
As an unowned thing, once the lips being cold.
And Love, be false! if he, to keep one oath,
Must lose one joy, by his life's star foretold.
XXXVII
Pardon, oh, pardon, that my soul should make
Of all that strong divineness which I know
For thine and thee, an image only so
Formed of the sand, and fit to shift and break.
It is that distant years which did not take
Thy sovranty, recoiling with a blow,
Have forced my swimming brain to undergo
Their doubt and dread, and blindly to forsake
Thy purity of likeness and distort
Thy worthiest love to a worthless counterfeit.
As if a shipwrecked Pagan, safe in port,
His guardian sea-god to commemorate,
Should set a sculptured porpoise, gills a-snort
And vibrant tail, within the temple-gate.
XXXVIII
First time he kissed me, he but only kissed
The fingers of this hand wherewith I write;
And ever since, it grew more clean and white.
Slow to world-greetings, quick with its "O, list,"
When the angels speak. A ring of amethyst
I could not wear here, plainer to my sight,
Than that first kiss. The second passed in height
The first, and sought the forehead, and half missed,
Half falling on the hair. O beyond meed!
That was the chrism of love, which love's own crown,
With sanctifying sweetness, did precede
The third upon my lips was folded down
In perfect, purple state; since when, indeed,
I have been proud and said, "My love, my own."
XXXIX
Because thou hast the power and own'st the grace
To look through and behind this mask of me,
(Against which, years have beat thus blanchingly,
With their rains,) and behold my soul's true face,
The dim and weary witness of life's race,--
Because thou hast the faith and love to see,
Through that same soul's distracting lethargy,
The patient angel waiting for a place
In the new Heavens,--because nor sin nor woe,
Nor God's infliction, nor death's neighbourhood,
Nor all which others viewing, turn to go,
Nor all which makes me tired of all, self-viewed,--
Nothing repels thee, . . . Dearest, teach me so
To pour out gratitude, as thou dost, good!
XL
Oh, yes! they love through all this world of ours!
I will not gainsay love, called love forsooth:
I have heard love talked in my early youth,
And since, not so long back but that the flowers
Then gathered, smell still. Mussulmans and Giaours
Throw kerchiefs at a smile, and have no ruth
For any weeping. Polypheme's white tooth
Slips on the nut if, after frequent showers,
The shell is over-smooth,--and not so much
Will turn the thing called love, aside to hate
Or else to oblivion. But thou art not such
A lover, my Beloved! thou canst wait
Through sorrow and sickness, to bring souls to touch,
And think it soon when others cry "Too late."
XLI
I thank all who have loved me in their hearts,
With thanks and love from mine. Deep thanks to all
Who paused a little near the prison-wall
To hear my music in its louder parts
Ere they went onward, each one to the mart's
Or temple's occupation, beyond call.
But thou, who, in my voice's sink and fall
When the sob took it, thy divinest Art's
Own instrument didst drop down at thy foot
To harken what I said between my tears, . . .
Instruct me how to thank thee! Oh, to shoot
My soul's full meaning into future years,
That they should lend it utterance, and salute
Love that endures, from life that disappears!
XLII
My future will not copy fair my past--
I wrote that once; and thinking at my side
My ministering life-angel justified
The word by his appealing look upcast
To the white throne of God, I turned at last,
And there, instead, saw thee, not unallied
To angels in thy soul! Then I, long tried
By natural ills, received the comfort fast,
While budding, at thy sight, my pilgrim's staff
Gave out green leaves with morning dews impearled.
I seek no copy now of life's first half:
Leave here the pages with long musing curled,
And write me new my future's epigraph,
New angel mine, unhoped for in the world!
XLIII
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints,--I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life!--and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.
XLIV
Beloved, thou hast brought me many flowers
Plucked in the garden, all the summer through,
And winter, and it seemed as if they grew
In this close room, nor missed the sun and showers.
So, in the like name of that love of ours,
Take back these thoughts which here unfolded too,
And which on warm and cold days I withdrew
From my heart's ground. Indeed, those beds and bowers
Be overgrown with bitter weeds and rue,
And wait thy weeding; yet here's eglantine,
Here's ivy!--take them, as I used to do
Thy flowers, and keep them where they shall not pine.
Instruct thine eyes to keep their colours true,
And tell thy soul, their roots are left in mine.