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Blooms of the Berry
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Red brass, – a morning star of jousts
Upon the dawning beaming lone
Burst from the hills' empurpled crusts.
A lying star, whose double tongue
Was slave to gold: "I saw him die! —
'Tis ruth, for he was brave and young, —
I saw him in the close clay lie."
Then passed he rattling from the court…
So grief in furrows ploughed her front's
Smooth surface wan, and toward the eve, —
The bloodshot eve upon the mounts,
Who o'er day's flow'ry bier did grieve
And bow her melancholy star, —
O'er teenful eyes she bent the light
Of her crown-crescent's gem, and far
She lingered till the full-mooned night
Showered ripple-stars the gray mere o'er.
V
"And I'm like her who trims a flame
Of sickly color, bowing low
To balk the wind; in wanton game
One stoops in secret toward her brow
With wind-bulged cheeks, a quick breath sends —
And then the world is blind with gloom,
And filled with phantoms and with fiends,
That strain huge eyes and jibe her doom."
Thus thought Isoud in her despair,
Of Launcelot then thoughts grew on,
And Arthur's lovely queen away
In castled courts of Caerleon,
And all their joy and dalliance gay.
Until she could have thawed the spars
Of her clear-fountained eyes to tears,
And gush wild grief long-seared by wars
Of passionate anguish and great fears:
"Oh Tristram gone! oh death in life!"
Soft down below in the thick dark
A fountain throbbed monotonous foam,
Unseen within the starlit park,
Deep in the tower's shadowed dome.
"And thus my heart drums frigid life
In hateful gloom of fear and woe!
One flood of sorrow, cataract-rife,
My full-flush heart streams come and go
Since Tristram's gone and I'm alone!"
VI
Then sunk the moon, and far away,
Beside the bickering lake, the towers
Of bandit braves shone tall and gray,
Like specters in her lonely hours.
And 'twixt the nodding grove and lake
A glimmering fawn stalked thro' the night;
And with full brow the musks did take,
Then bowed to drink – she veiled her sight
And moaning said, "Death is but life!
The fawn 'mid lilies from the mere
Sucks genial draughts to dull its thirsts;
O fondest spirit, art thou near?
Draw to thy soul this soul that bursts!
The vivid lilies to the stars
Clasp their white eyes and sink to sleep:
O anguish, to thy burning wars
Lock my sad heart and drag it deep!" —
Albeit she slept, she dreamed in grief.
BELTENEBROS AT MIRAFLORES
I
The quickening East climbs to yon star,
That, cradled, rocks herself in morn;
The liquid silver broad'ning far
Dawn drencheth cliff, holt, down and tarn.
The trembling splendors gild the sky,
Breath'd from her tawny champion's lips;
The clear green dews above me lie,
Their lustre the dark eyelash tips
Of Oriana sitting by.
The crested cock 'mid his stout dames
Crows from the purple-clover hill;
His glossy coat the morn enflames,
And all his leaping heart doth thrill.
His curving tail sickles the plume
That rosy nods against his eye.
Laughs from deep beds of twinkling bloom
The lilied East when wand'reth nigh
My Oriana in the gloom.
The rooks swarm clatt'ring 'round the tow'rs;
The falcon jingles in the air;
The bursting dawn around him show'rs
A clinging glory of wan glare.
From the green knoll the shouting hunt
With swollen cheeks clangs his alarms;
Mayhap I hear the bristler's grunt:
Upon the dawning beaming lone
Burst from the hills' empurpled crusts.
A lying star, whose double tongue
Was slave to gold: "I saw him die! —
'Tis ruth, for he was brave and young, —
I saw him in the close clay lie."
Then passed he rattling from the court…
So grief in furrows ploughed her front's
Smooth surface wan, and toward the eve, —
The bloodshot eve upon the mounts,
Who o'er day's flow'ry bier did grieve
And bow her melancholy star, —
O'er teenful eyes she bent the light
Of her crown-crescent's gem, and far
She lingered till the full-mooned night
Showered ripple-stars the gray mere o'er.
V
"And I'm like her who trims a flame
Of sickly color, bowing low
To balk the wind; in wanton game
One stoops in secret toward her brow
With wind-bulged cheeks, a quick breath sends —
And then the world is blind with gloom,
And filled with phantoms and with fiends,
That strain huge eyes and jibe her doom."
Thus thought Isoud in her despair,
Of Launcelot then thoughts grew on,
And Arthur's lovely queen away
In castled courts of Caerleon,
And all their joy and dalliance gay.
Until she could have thawed the spars
Of her clear-fountained eyes to tears,
And gush wild grief long-seared by wars
Of passionate anguish and great fears:
"Oh Tristram gone! oh death in life!"
Soft down below in the thick dark
A fountain throbbed monotonous foam,
Unseen within the starlit park,
Deep in the tower's shadowed dome.
"And thus my heart drums frigid life
In hateful gloom of fear and woe!
One flood of sorrow, cataract-rife,
My full-flush heart streams come and go
Since Tristram's gone and I'm alone!"
VI
Then sunk the moon, and far away,
Beside the bickering lake, the towers
Of bandit braves shone tall and gray,
Like specters in her lonely hours.
And 'twixt the nodding grove and lake
A glimmering fawn stalked thro' the night;
And with full brow the musks did take,
Then bowed to drink – she veiled her sight
And moaning said, "Death is but life!
The fawn 'mid lilies from the mere
Sucks genial draughts to dull its thirsts;
O fondest spirit, art thou near?
Draw to thy soul this soul that bursts!
The vivid lilies to the stars
Clasp their white eyes and sink to sleep:
O anguish, to thy burning wars
Lock my sad heart and drag it deep!" —
Albeit she slept, she dreamed in grief.
BELTENEBROS AT MIRAFLORES
I
The quickening East climbs to yon star,
That, cradled, rocks herself in morn;
The liquid silver broad'ning far
Dawn drencheth cliff, holt, down and tarn.
The trembling splendors gild the sky,
Breath'd from her tawny champion's lips;
The clear green dews above me lie,
Their lustre the dark eyelash tips
Of Oriana sitting by.
The crested cock 'mid his stout dames
Crows from the purple-clover hill;
His glossy coat the morn enflames,
And all his leaping heart doth thrill.
His curving tail sickles the plume
That rosy nods against his eye.
Laughs from deep beds of twinkling bloom
The lilied East when wand'reth nigh
My Oriana in the gloom.
The rooks swarm clatt'ring 'round the tow'rs;
The falcon jingles in the air;
The bursting dawn around him show'rs
A clinging glory of wan glare.
From the green knoll the shouting hunt
With swollen cheeks clangs his alarms;
Mayhap I hear the bristler's grunt:
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