English

How can I cease to sing? thou art not soon
Exhausted, fathomed, done with — like a girl
Who claims one sonnet on a golden curl,
And that's the scope and end of passion's tune!
Thou art as endless as the endless moon
That broods above the waters as they swirl,
Not twice the same, — now white, now silver-pearl,
Now golden-red: thou art my boundless June.

Thou art my love, my summer, my delight;

And then comes perfect peace: the leaves are dead
And not one trace of summer lingers now
Within the woods; yet summer round our brow
Its own eternal coronet hath shed,
And we are summer-souled, and crowned with red
Blossoms that never for the winter bow
Fear-darkened petals or subservient head,
Or even the stress of autumn mists allow.

Spring we have had, and summer, and the gay
Death-gilded foliage of the autumn day,
And winter now with snows about us stands;
But, dying into life, we heed him not.

Then autumn comes, — and the wild woods retain,
Sighing, their golden splendour for awhile,
Maddened at heart for lack of summer's smile
And all the reckless glory of her reign.
Calm settles down o'er valley, hill, and plain,
And quiet meadow and red-leafed defile, —
And fair blue glimpses in the skies beguile,
Nor yet the first frost stiffens in the lane.

The calm of autumn round our brows we bind,
Love, for a circlet: not the summer day
Brought more of peace than this sky cold and grey

The glory of summer with its banks of rose
And fields of blossoms, and its moonlit night
Flooded with marvellous entrancing light,
And dewy plains whereover love's foot goes,
Is as our sacred love — wherethrough there glows
Passion, divine, and limitlessly bright:
Passion which deepens as the hours take flight;
Passion which scorns the pale thought of repose.

In all the life of summer we are one:
One in its splendour and triumphant power;
One with its every star and leaf and flower

When spring's hand wakes the meadows and the plains,
And the bright cowslips in the wet low fields
Flash through the grass their shining yellow shields,
And the gay daffodils repay the rains,
And fern-fronds cluster in the high-banked lanes,
And, trembling at the sword the sun's hand wields,
Each morn the iron-footed North Wind yields,
While inch by inch the fragrant West Wind gains: —
Then, love, we too the promise of the air
Partake: we know that for our souls as well
Breathes forth in heaven the spring-tide, and the smell

We give to others, — give them day by day
Of our hearts' best: we strengthen and make whole:
We soothe the sorrows of the weary soul;
We pour our spirits in eager help away.
But for the strength our stronger souls convey
To theirs, what gift is ours? what glad return
Of strength is given us when our own hearts burn,
When we lie sleepless till the morning grey?

If we shield others, God behind us stands,
A strength perpetual, a surpassing power,
And guards us with invincible great hands;

If thou wert dead, O love, — if thou wert dead, —
How could one summer sunset dare to gleam
Above the ripples of the rosied stream?
How could one rose blush into mocking red?
If death's wreath whitened round thy dear dark head
No leaf of bay would lure my glance again:
For thou art as the fountain of my strain,
Whence buoyant waters towards the plains are led.

If thou wert gone, O love, — if thou wert gone, —
How could the thoughtless heartless sun shine on!
How could the same chant fill the sea's dull soul

No more as separate souls we move along, —
The work of blending is divinely done;
From now till setting of our earthly sun
Joined are our voices in one wedding-song.
Thou art to me my whiteness, — I thy strong
Singer through whom thy laurel-wreath is won;
By thee my robe of victory is spun,
And mine are the swift thoughts that round thee throng.

Never, though all the ages stormed foam-white
Upon our path, should they the souls divide:
Through all eternity thou art my Bride

On lovers loving in the silent night
The holy spirit of spotless God descends
And with their souls magnificently blends,
Till as their lips touch lo! their souls are white,
And as their eyes meet lo! those eyes are bright
With the eternal power God's spirit sends:
Far-off from home, apart from fame or friends,
They rest in God's unutterable light.

O love, we were unspeakably alone
With Love and God: thou wast alone with me,
And I with God who claimed us for his own,
And thou with God, and I alone with thee, —

Thou art equal with me, — lo! thou art the breeze
That passes sighing o'er the water-way,
And I am the wild song within the seas
Driving up toward thee the sonorous spray
And glimmering sheet on sheet of sea-shine grew;
Thou art the moon above the tides at night
Glittering above them with most tender ray,
And I laugh underneath thy magic light
And clothe myself with limitless loud might
Of song: thou art the sun, — my free waves follow
Thine all-alluring splendour calm and bright,