English

An English flower thou art and English scenes
Hath given thee half thy beauty, and thy face
From the wind's mouth that o'er our mountains leans
Hath gathered half its bright and wholesome grace;
Our rose and lily in lips and cheeks I trace;
And all the splendour of untrammelled seas
Hath passed into thy spirit, — and thine embrace
Is like the English sweet-limbed June-breathed breeze
That clings around the clover-scented leas,
Copious and gracious, — and thy heart is high
And pure and wide and fearless, and thy knees

Rapture is holiness: God's lips are near,
O tender woman, when thy lips are close
And when thy sweet voice ringeth in mine ear, —
And when I touch thy bosom's soft white rose
Mine heart the eternal Mother Spirit knows,
And when thy beauty bathes my soul in bliss
It seems to me that through my spirit goes
The thrill of God's ineffable pure kiss:
Yea, having thee most surely I have this, —

Thine own soul is of Nature's realm a part,
And so we meet within that wide domain:
Our lips touch in the ripples of the rain,
Ocean's is our own ever-beating heart.
Thou crownest me with love, — I with mine Art
Crown thee, and with the music of my strain,
And with my inmost soul's thorn-crown of pain,
And with the dreams that through my spirit dart.

Beneath the sacred stars our spirits meet
In union wonderful and calm and sweet;
But most of all when music floods the place

Thou art so great in spirit and yet so sweet
In spirit that whoso lists to sing of thee
Must mix his song with the sweet singing sea
That surges ever adoring round thy feet,
And with the passion of the winds that beat
Upon the rocky echoing mountain-sides:
Oh, thou art not possessed like common brides
Whose hearts at love's tumultuous tides retreat!

Nay! thou art as the spirit of the storm,
Sublime yet fragrant, wonderful yet warm,
Gentle yet terrible, most sweet yet great,
Dainty and white as half unfolded flower

Is it not wonderful that when we meet
The whole surrounding world-scene fades away!
We are sufficient each to each: we say,
" Now do the weary rest, — and rest is sweet. "
Thou hast the tenderness of Christlike feet
That flush with rose the worldly waters grey;
And I? God gives me manhood to convey
To thy time-frozen heart new vital heat.

So like two gods we blend our souls in one,
Lords of all seasons, kings of the wide land,
A queen and king with wedded hand in hand, —
Gazing triumphant at our long work done,

Through pain we reach a lonely region fair
With the immortal mountain-winds of God,
Whereunto winds a weird untravelled road,
Thrilled by the high song of the mountain-air.
The altar of our faithful love is there
On the sheer hill-side trackless and untrod;
By power of earnest endless passion shod
Our feet have climbed the rocks and glaciers bare.

And now we stand together on the height
And sweeter than the singing of the vale
Is this my harp-string that the keen airs smite,

We strive together the far heights to reach.
The longing for the mountains and the sea
Doth ever, sweetheart, overshadow thee;
Ever their music ringeth through my speech.
Ours is the rapture of the lonely beach
When the white breakers surge tumultuously,
And ours the glory of the pine-clad lea;
The mountains and the ocean chant to each.

Thou art the mountain-air: I am the sea:
Thou bringest me the breath of all thy pines
And all thy blossoms' beauty and their glee
And all the glory of fern-draped inclines

I waited for thee: ever did I wait.
No music sounded through the shades of night
Or when the moon upon the waves was bright
Or when the sun swept through the morning's gate
Or when the innumerable breakers white
Flung at the scowling clouds their angry hate, —
But, maddened by the loneliness of fate,
I yearned towards thee as towards my soul's own light.

I knew thee not, — but music spake of thee
And of the sacred beauty of thy breast,
And all the voices of the mournful sea

Oh, sweetheart, had I known thee in those days!
How sweet thine eyes were in the early air
Of life when all fair things are yet more fair;
How softly thou didst thread the forest-ways.
The breeze of morning wantoned with thy hair
As thou didst wander through the wooded hollow:
Oh, had mine eager heart been there to follow,
What fruit of joy life might have had to bear!

'Tis late to meet when the chill woods are grey,
No longer rose-flushed with the dawn of day
And beautiful with bloom of early dreams;

Didst thou, sweet, wait for me when thou wast young?
Yea, have we yearned across the bitter seas,
Heart wailing out to heart, — and hath the breeze
Of summer round two souls expectant sung?
Have the pale past years with one weary tongue
Cried out for soul-companionship? the trees
Waved with forlorn grey frondage o'er waste leas,
And through the stars one hopeless music rung?

And, now we find each other, we are barred, —
Barred from each other, though the sad souls cry
" At length, at length, a recompence is nigh,