though thyself art but a voice, sad maid, Thy love the substance is and my love shade. Alas! for never may I kiss those dumb Sweet lips, nor ever hope to come Into that shadow-world that lies somewhere— Somewhere between the water and the air. Alas! for never shall I clasp that form That mocks me yonder, seeming firm and warm; But if I leap to its embrace, the cold And yielding flood is all my arms enfold. All creatures else, save only me, can share My beauties, be it but to stroke my hair, Or hold my hand in theirs, or hear me speak. The village wives will laugh and clap my cheek; The forest nymphs will beg me for a kiss, To make me blush, or hide themselves by this Clear brook to see me bathe. But I must pine, Loving not me but this dear ghost of mine." Then, bending down the boughs, until they dipped Their broad green fronds, into the wave he slipped, And, floating breast-high, from the branches hung, His body with the current idly swung. And ever and anon he caught the gleam Of a white shoulder swimming in the stream, Pressed close to his, and two young eyes of black Under the dimpling surface answered back His own, just out of kissing distance: then The vain and passionate longing came again Still baffled, still renewed: he loosed his hold Upon the boughs and strove once more to fold To his embrace that fine unbodied shape; But the quick apparition made escape, And once again his empty arms took in Only the water and the shadows thin. Thus every day, when noon lay bright and hot On all the plains, there came to this cool spot, Under the hemlocks by the deepening brook, Narcissus, Phoebus' darling, there to look And pore upon his picture in the flood: Till once a peeping dryad of the wood, Tracking his steps along the slender path Which he between the tree trunks trodden hath, Misses the boy on whom her amorous eyes Where wont to feed; but where he stood she spies A new-made yellow flower, that still doth seem To woo his own pale reflex in the stream; Whom Phoebus kisses when the woods are still And only ceaseless Echo from the hill Unprompted cries Narcissus! 

 

 

   NUNC DIMITTIS 

 Highlands of Navesink, By the blue ocean's brink, Let your gray bases drink Deep of the sea. Tide that comes flooding up, Fill me a stirrup cup, Pledge me a parting sup, Now I go free. 

 Prev. P 12/43 next