Ay, from his birth each man is vowed and given
To a vast loneliness, ungauged,
unspanned,
Whether by pain and woe his soul be riven,
Or all fair pleasures clustered
’neath his hand.
His gain by day, his ecstasy by night,—
His force, his folly, fierce or faint delight,—
Suffering or sorrow, fortune, feud, or care,—
Whate’er he find or feel,—he may
not share.
Lonely we join the world, and we depart
Even as lonely, having lived
alone,
The breast that feeds us, the beloved one’s
heart,
The lips we kiss,—or
curse—alike unknown.
Ay, even these lips of thine, so often kissed,
What certitude have I that they exist?
Alas, it is the truth, though harsh it seems,
I have been loved as sweetly in my dreams.
Therefore if I should seem too fiercely fond,
Too swift to love, too eager
to attain,
Forgive the fervour that would forge beyond
The limits set to mortal joy
and pain.
Knowing the soul’s unmeasured loneliness,
My passion must be mingled with distress,
As I, despairing, struggle to draw near
What is as unattainable as dear.
Thirst may be quenched at any kindly river,
Rest may be found ’neath
any arching tree.
No sleep allures, no draughts of love deliver
My spirit from its aching
need of thee.
Thy sweet assentiveness to my demands,
All the caressive touches of thy hands,—
These soft cool hands, with fingers tipped with fire,—
They can do nothing to assuage desire.
Sometimes I think my longing soul remembers
A previous love to which it
aims and strives,
As if this fire of ours were but the embers
Of some wild flame burnt out
in former lives.
Perchance in earlier days I did attain
That which I seek for now so all in vain,
Maybe my soul with thine was fused and wed
In some great night, long since dissolved and dead.
We may progress; but who shall answer clearly
The riddle of the endless
change of things.
Perchance in other days men loved more dearly,
Or Love himself had wider
ways and wings,
Maybe we gave ourselves with less control,
Or simpler living left more free the soul,
So that with ease the flesh aside was flung,—
Or was it merely that Mankind was young?
Or has my spirit a divine prevision
Of vast vague passions stored
in days to be,
When some strong souls shall conquer their division
And two shall be as one, eternally?
Finding at last upon each other’s breast,
Unutterable calm and infinite rest,
While love shall burn with such intense a glow
That both shall die, and neither heed or know.
Why do I question thus, and wake confusion
In the soft thought that lights
thy perfect face,
Ah, shed once more thy perfumed hair’s profusion,
Open thine arms and make my
resting place.
Lay thy red lips on mine as heretofore,
Grant me the treasure of thy beauty’s store,
Stifle all thought in one imperious kiss,—
What shall I ask for more than this,—and
this?