Here while I wait it is late
And is past time—
Late,
And love's hours they go, they go.
There is a drawing downward of the night;
The wedded Heaven wends married to the Moon;
Above, the heights hang golden in her light,
Below, the woods bathe dewy in the June.
There through the dew is it you
Coming lawny?
You,
Or a moth in the vines?
You!—at your throat I may note
Twinkling tawny,
Note,
A glow-worm, your brooch that shines.
4.
She speaks.
How many smiles in the asking?—
Herein I can not deceive you;
My "yes" in a "no" was a-masking,
Nor thought, dear, once to grieve you.
I hid. The humming-bird happiness here
Danced up i' the blood … but what are words
When the speech of two souls all truth affords?
Affirmative, negative what in love's ear?—
I wished to say "yes" and somehow said "no";
The woman within me knew you would know,
For it held you six times dear.
He speaks.
So many hopes in a wooing!—
Therein you could not deceive me;
The heart was here and the hope pursuing,
Knew that you loved, believe me.—
Bunched bells o' the blush pomegranate—to fix
At your throat; three drops of fire they are;
And the maiden moon and the maiden star
Sink silvery over yon meadow ricks.
Will you look?—till I hug your head back, so—
For I know it is "yes" though you whisper "no,"—
And my kisses, sweet, are six.
5.
She speaks.
Could I recall every joy that befell me
There in the past with its anguish and bliss,
Here in my heart it has whispered to tell me,
These were no joys to this.
Were it not well if our love could forget them,
Veiling the was with the dawn of the is? Dead with the past we should never regret them, These were no joys to this.
When they were gone and the present stood speechful,
Ardent with word and with look and with kiss,
What though we know that their eyes are beseechful,
These were no joys to this.
Is it not well to have more of the spirit,
Living high futures this earthly must miss?
Less of the flesh with the past pining near it?—
Such is the joy of this.
6.
She sings.
We will leave reason,
Dear, for a season;
Reason were treason
Since yonder nether
Foot-hills are clad now
In nothing sad now;
We will be glad now,
Glad as this weather.
Heart and heart! in the Maytime, Maytime,
Youth and Love take playtime, playtime …
I in the dairy; you are the airy
Majesty passing; Love is the fairy
Bringing us two together.
He sings.
Starlight in masses
Of mist that passes,
Stars in the grasses;
Star-bud and flower
Laughingly know us;
Secretly show us
Earth is below us
And for the hour
Soul has soul. In the Maytime, Maytime,
Youth and Love take playtime, playtime …
You are a song; a singer I hear it
Whispered in star and in flower; the spirit,
Love, is the power.
7.
He speaks.
And say we can not wed us now,
Since roses and the June are here,
Meseems, beneath the beechen bough
'T is just as sweet, my doubly dear,
To swear anew each old love vow,
And love another year.
When breathe green woodlands through and through
Wild scents of heliotrope and rain,
Where deep the moss mounds cool with dew,
Beyond the barley-blowing lane,
More wise than wedding, is to woo—
So we will woo again.
All night I lie awake and mark
The hours by no clanging clock,
But in the dim and dewy dark
Far crowing of some punctual cock;
Until the lyric of the lark
Mounts and Morn's gates unlock.
And would you be a nun and miss
All this delightful ache of love?
Not have the moon for what she is?
Love's honey-horn God holds above—
No world, for worlds are in a kiss
If worlds are good enough.
So say we can not wed us now,
Since roses and the June are here
We 'll stroll beneath the doddered bough,
Heaven's mated songsters singing near,
To swear anew each old love vow,
And love another year.
8.
He opens his heart.
And had we lived in the days
Of the Khalif Haroun er Reshid,
We had loved, as the story says,
Did the Sultan's favorite one
And the Persian Emperor's son