A BALLAD OF LIFE. I FOUND in dreams a place of wind and flowers, Full of sweet trees and colour of glad grass, A lady clothed like summer with sweet hours, Made my blood burn and swoon Like a flame rained upon. Sorrow had filled her shaken eyelids' blue, She held a little cithern by the strings, Shaped heartwise, strung with subtle-coloured hair Of some dead lute player That in dead years had done delicious things. B The seven strings were named accordingly; The first string charity, The second tenderness, The rest were pleasure, sorrow, sleep, and sin, There were three men with her, each garmented With gold and shod with gold upon the feet; And with plucked ears of wheat. The first man's hair was wound upon his head: His face was red, and his mouth curled and sad; All his gold garment had Pale stains of dust and rust. A riven hood was pulled across his eyes; The next was Shame, with hollow heavy face Coloured like green wood when flame kindles it. He hath such feeble feet They may not well endure in any place. His face was full of grey old miseries, And all his blood's increase Was even increase of pain. The last was Fear, that is akin to Death; He is Shame's friend, and always as Shame saith Fear answers him again. My soul said in me; This is marvellous, If sin and she be kin or amorous. And seeing where maidens served her on their knees, I bade one crave of these To know the cause thereof. Then Fear said: I am Pity that was dead. Thereat her hands began a lute-playing And her sweet mouth a song in a strange tongue; And all the while she sung There was no sound but long tears following Long tears upon men's faces, waxen white With extreme sad delight. But those three following men Became as men raised up among the dead; Great glad mouths open, and fair cheeks made red Then I said: Now assuredly I see My lady is perfect, and transfigureth Making them fair as her own eyelids be, Or lips wherein my whole soul's life abides; B 2 And bosom carved to kiss. Now therefore, if her pity further me, Forth, ballad, and take roses in both arms, And girdled in thy golden singing-coat, Borgia, thy gold hair's colour burns in me, Thy mouth makes beat my blood in feverish rhymes; Therefore so many as these roses be, Kiss me so many times. Then it may be, seeing how sweet she is, That she will stoop herself none otherwise Than a blown vine-branch doth, And kiss thee with soft laughter on thine eyes, A BALLAD OF DEATH. NEEL down, fair Love, and fill thyself with tears, ΚΑ Girdle thyself with sighing for a girth Upon the sides of mirth, Cover thy lips and eyelids, let thine ears Set pains therein and many a grievous thing, For armlet and for gorget and for sleeve. O Love's lute heard about the lands of death, Three singing mouths that mourn now under breath, O smitten lips wherethrough this voice of mine Abide a little for our lady's love. The kisses of her mouth were more than wine, |