House by the Sea, The - 1
Wandering over the summer plain,
Like one gone, for love, insane,
And gathering through field and lane,
Those wild blooms whose breath is bane,
Passed Agatha, her golden hair
More golden in the noonday air,
Fluttering free from the wonted braid
Which her hand no longer made;
But twined with such wild vines and weeds
As the rank marsh and woodland breeds:
And like pale Autumn, when she grieves,
Her brow was bound with crimson leaves
Plucked from the woodbine, and her breast
In a scarf of withered vines was drest;
Her cheeks were white, her eyes were bright,
And full of supernatural light.
Oh, Heaven! it is a sight to make
The heart of the stoutest stoic ache,
To see a maid so young and fair
Decked in the garments of despair!
Like a statued sorrow, overrun
With garlands yellowing in the sun.
And thus as she gathered the leaves and flowers,
Fit only to deck the forbidden bowers
Wherein some pale enchantress fiend
ln noxious odours is veiled and screened,
She murmured her fancies as they came
Out of her brain like wings of flame: —
" They are gone, all the blooms by the wild April strown
In the pathway of May;
For the passionate breath of the Summer has blown
Their leaves to decay.
" And the flowers of childhood must wither and fall,
And pine unto death,
When the summer of passion breathes over them all
Its feverish breath.
" Where the violets out from the green hedges stole,
Unnoticed to shine,
The poppy is waving its fiery bowl,
A bowl of red wine.
" These goblets of crimson, these beakers of sleep,
Each a chalice of flame,
I will pluck for my lady, her soul they shall steep
In desires without name.
" And the berries that burn on the poisonous vine,
Like embers blown red,
I will gather and string, and gayly entwine
Round her beautiful head.
" From this wild ivy-climber, that strangles the tree
And robs it of green,
I will weave for my lady a garland, and she
Shall be crowned like a queen.
" Once I knew where to find the most beautiful blooms
When the year was at noon,
Those delicate spirits called out of their tombs
By the trumpet of June: —
" Now the daisies and buttercups fade at my touch —
And even the sweet-brier,
That wild parent of roses my heart loved so much,
Now wilts in my hand as if held in the clutch
Of fingers of fire.
" Oh, this beautiful ring! and this gem in its head
So scarlet and bright!
I feel a soft warmth through my quick pulses shed
With a sense of delight!
Like a spark caught from Mars, as lovely and red
It burns in the night!
" Since I knew the fair donor, a wonderful change
Has mantled the earth;
The summer goes by, and no longer I range
Through its bowers of mirth.
" The birds have grown hateful that sing in the light;
No longer I hark
To any save those which talk madness all night
To the fiery-eyed dark!
" Thou gem, let me press thee again and again
With a passionate kiss!
Oh! a pleasure inflames me that almost is pain,
The pain of pure bliss! "
Like one gone, for love, insane,
And gathering through field and lane,
Those wild blooms whose breath is bane,
Passed Agatha, her golden hair
More golden in the noonday air,
Fluttering free from the wonted braid
Which her hand no longer made;
But twined with such wild vines and weeds
As the rank marsh and woodland breeds:
And like pale Autumn, when she grieves,
Her brow was bound with crimson leaves
Plucked from the woodbine, and her breast
In a scarf of withered vines was drest;
Her cheeks were white, her eyes were bright,
And full of supernatural light.
Oh, Heaven! it is a sight to make
The heart of the stoutest stoic ache,
To see a maid so young and fair
Decked in the garments of despair!
Like a statued sorrow, overrun
With garlands yellowing in the sun.
And thus as she gathered the leaves and flowers,
Fit only to deck the forbidden bowers
Wherein some pale enchantress fiend
ln noxious odours is veiled and screened,
She murmured her fancies as they came
Out of her brain like wings of flame: —
" They are gone, all the blooms by the wild April strown
In the pathway of May;
For the passionate breath of the Summer has blown
Their leaves to decay.
" And the flowers of childhood must wither and fall,
And pine unto death,
When the summer of passion breathes over them all
Its feverish breath.
" Where the violets out from the green hedges stole,
Unnoticed to shine,
The poppy is waving its fiery bowl,
A bowl of red wine.
" These goblets of crimson, these beakers of sleep,
Each a chalice of flame,
I will pluck for my lady, her soul they shall steep
In desires without name.
" And the berries that burn on the poisonous vine,
Like embers blown red,
I will gather and string, and gayly entwine
Round her beautiful head.
" From this wild ivy-climber, that strangles the tree
And robs it of green,
I will weave for my lady a garland, and she
Shall be crowned like a queen.
" Once I knew where to find the most beautiful blooms
When the year was at noon,
Those delicate spirits called out of their tombs
By the trumpet of June: —
" Now the daisies and buttercups fade at my touch —
And even the sweet-brier,
That wild parent of roses my heart loved so much,
Now wilts in my hand as if held in the clutch
Of fingers of fire.
" Oh, this beautiful ring! and this gem in its head
So scarlet and bright!
I feel a soft warmth through my quick pulses shed
With a sense of delight!
Like a spark caught from Mars, as lovely and red
It burns in the night!
" Since I knew the fair donor, a wonderful change
Has mantled the earth;
The summer goes by, and no longer I range
Through its bowers of mirth.
" The birds have grown hateful that sing in the light;
No longer I hark
To any save those which talk madness all night
To the fiery-eyed dark!
" Thou gem, let me press thee again and again
With a passionate kiss!
Oh! a pleasure inflames me that almost is pain,
The pain of pure bliss! "
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