On the lady's head and face intent; For, coiled at her feet like a child at ease, And o'er them the lady's clasped hands met, And on those hands her chin was set, And her upturned face met the face of the crone When, just as I thought to spring in to the rescue, Told you no single drop they were leaving— Into her very hair, back swerving Over each shoulder, loose and abundant, As her head thrown back showed the white throat curving, And the very tresses shared in the pleasure, Moving to the mystic measure, Bounding as the bosom bounded. I stopped short, more and more confounded, When all at once a hand detained me, "And so at last we find my tribe, I trace them the vein and the other vein Like the spots that snap, and burst, and flee, Circling over the midnight sea. And on that young round cheek of thine I make them recognise the tinge, As when of the costly scarlet wine And spread in a thinnest scale afloat One thick gold drop from the olive's coat Still thro' the mixture shall be seen. To take the vow, and stand the test When the breast is bare and the arms are wide, For there is probation to decree, And many and long must the trials be Thou shalt victoriously endure, If that brow is true and those eyes are sure; Like a jewel-finder's fierce assay Of the prize he dug from its mountain tomb,-- Let once the vindicating ray Leap out amid the anxious gloom, And steel and fire have done their part And the prize falls on its finder's heart; So, trial after trial past, Wilt thou fall at the very last Breathless, half in trance With the thrill of the great deliverance, Into our arms for evermore; And thou shalt know, those arms once curled About thee, what we knew before, How love is the only good in the world. Henceforth be loved as heart can love, Stand up, look below, It is our life at thy feet we throw To step with into light and joy; Art thou the tree that props the plant, Or the climbing-plant that seeks the tree? They would do more than the world has done; Yet vainly thro' the world should ye seek For the knowledge and the might As climbing-plant or propping-tree, While not a leaf of thine is sere? Thy future portion, sure and well— But those passionate eyes speak true, speak true, And let them say what thou shalt do! Only, be sure thy daily life, We pursue thy whole career, And hope for it, or doubt, or fear,— Lo, hast thou kept thy path or swerved, Our shame to feel, our pride to show, For the good of us all, where the haters meet Or thou step alone thro' the morass Save the dry quick clap of the stork's bill, Decrepit as befits that stage; How else wouldst thou retire apart With the hoarded memories of thy heart, And gather all to the very least Of the fragments of life's earlier feast, Laid together thus at last, When the twilight helps to fuse The first fresh, with the faded hues, And the outline of the whole, As round eve's shades their framework roll, Grandly fronts for once thy soul: And then as, 'mid the dark, a gleam Of yet another morning breaks, |