The evening telegraph. [volume] (Philadelphia [Pa.]) 1864-1918, 1871-04-18
THE END OF A MONTH.

For the old loves love-sake dead and buried,
One last time, one more and no more,
We watched the waves set in, the serried
Spears Of the tide storming the shore
Hardly we saw the high moon hanging,
Heard hardly through the windy night
Far waters ringing, low reefs changing,
Under wan skies and waste white light.
With chafe and change of surges Ginning,
The clashing channels rocked and rang
Large music, wave to wild wave timing,
And all the choral water sang.
Faint lights fell this way, that way foated,
Quick sparks of sea-fire keen like eyes
From the rolled surf that flashed and noted
Shores and faint cliffs and bays and skies.
The ghost of sea that shrank up sighing
At the sands edge, a short sad breath
Trembling to touch the goal, and dying
With weak heart heaved up once in death
The rustling sand and shingle shaken
With light sweet touches and small sound
These could not move us, could not waken
Hearts to look forth, eyes to look round.
Silent we went an hour together,
Under grey skies by waters white.
Our hearts were full Of windy weather,
Clouds and blown stars and broken light.
And streaming storms and straying fires,
Our souls in us were stirred and shifted
BY doubts and dreams and foiled desires.
Across, aslant, scudding sea-mew
Swan, dipped, and dropped, and grazed
the sea;
And one with me could not dream you:
And one with you 1 could not be.
AS the white wing the white waves fringes
Touched and slid over and flashed past
AS pale cloud pale fame tinges
From the moons lowest light and last
AS star feels the sun and falters,
Touched to death by diviner eyes
AS on the old gods untended affairs
The old fire of withered worship dies
(Once only, once the shrine relighted
Sees the last fiery shadow shine,
Last shadow of flame and faith benighted,
Sees falter and futter and fail the shrine.)
So once with fiery breath and flying
Your winged heart touched mine and went,
And the swift spirits kissed, and sighing,
Sundered and smiled and were content.
That only touch, that feeling only,
Enough we found, we found too much;
For the unlit shrine is hardly lonely
AS one the old fire forgets to touch.
Slight as the seas sight of the sea- new,
Slight as the suns sight of the star:
Enough to show one must not deem you
For loves sake other than you are.
Who snares and tames with fear and danger
A bright beast of fiery kin,
Only to mar, only to change her
Sleek supple soul and splendid skin?
Easy with blows to mar and MAIN her,
Easy with bonds to bind and bruise;
What profit, if she yield her tanner
The limbs to mar, the soul to lose?
Best leave or take the perfect creature,
Take all she is or leave completes;
Transmute you will not form or feature,
Change feet for wings or wings for feet.
Strange eyes, new limbs, can no man give her;
Sweet is the sweet thing as it is.
No soul she hath, we see, to outlive her;
Hath she for that no lips to kiss?
So may one read his weird, and reason,
And with vain drugs assuage no pain;
For each man in his loving season
Fools and is fooled of these in vain.
Charms that alay not any longing,
Spells that appease not any grief,
Time brings us all by handfuls, wronging
All hurts with nothing of relief.
All, too soon shot, the FOOLS bolt misses!
What help? the world is full of loves;
Night after night of running kisses,
Chirp after chirp of changing doves.
Should Love disown or disesteem you
For loving one man more or less !?
You could not tame your light white sea-
NEW,
Nor my sleek black pantheress.
For new soul let whose please pray,
We are what life made us, and shall be.
For you the jungle and me the sea-spray,
And south for you and north for me.
But this one broken foam-white feather
throw you off the hither wing,
Splashed stiff with sea-scurf and salt weather,
This song for sleep to learn and sing
Sing in your ear when, daytime over,
You, couched at long length on hot sand
With some sleek sun-discolored lover,
Vince from his breath as from brand;
Till dreams of sharp grey north-sea weather
Fsll faint upon your fiery sleep,
As on strange sands strayed birds feather
The wind may choose to lose or keep.
But I, who leave my queen of panthers,
As tired honey heavy bee
Gilt with sweet dust from gold grained snthers
Leaves the rose-chalice, what for me?
From the ardors of the chaliced centre,
From the amorous anthers golden CRIME,
That scorch and smutch all wings that enter
1 fly forth hot from honey-time.
But as to bees gilt thighs and winglets
The fower-dust and the hower-smell clings;
As a snakes mobile rampant ringlets
Leave the sand marked with print Of rings;
So to my soul in surer fashion
Your savage stamp and SAVIOR hangs;
The print and perfume of old passion,
The wild-beast mark of panther's fangs.
ALGERNoN CHARLES SwINBURNE.