IV.

Pursuer and pursued. And who Are these that make the sable crew; These mighty Titans, black and nude, And hairy-breasted, bronzed and broad

Of chest as any demi-god, That dare this peopled solitude? And who is he that leads them here, And breaks the hush of wave and wood?

Comes he for evil or for good? Brave Jesuit or bold buccaneer? Nay, these be idle themes. Let pass. These be but men. We may forget

The wild sea-king, the tawny brave, The frowning wold, the woody shore, The tall-built, sunburnt men of Mars.... But what and who was she, the fair?

The fairest face that ever yet Look'd in a wave as in a glass; That look'd as look the still, far stars, So woman-like, into the wave

To contemplate their beauty there, Yet look as looking anywhere? And who of all the world was she? A bride, or not a bride? A thing

To love? A prison'd bird to sing? You shall not know. That shall not be Brought from the future's great profound This side the happy hunting-ground.

I only saw her, heard the sound Of murky waters gurgling round In counter-currents from the shore, But heard the long, strong stroke of oar

Against the waters gray and vast. I only saw her as she pass'd — A great, sad beauty, in whose eyes Lay all the loves of Paradise....

You shall not know her — she who sat Unconscious in my heart all time I dreamed and wove this wayward rhyme, And loved and did not blush thereat.

The sunlight of a sunlit land, A land of fruit, of flowers, and A land of love and calm delight; A land where night is not like night,

And noon is but a name for rest, And love for love is reckoned best. Where conversations of the eyes Are all enough; where beauty thrills

The heart like hues of harvest-home; Where rage lies down, where passion dies, Where peace hath her abiding place.... A face that lifted up; sweet face

That was so like a life begun, That rose for me a rising sun Above the bended seven hills Of dead and risen old new Rome.

Not that I deem'd she loved me. Nay, I dared not even dream of that. I only say I knew her; say She ever sat before me, sat

All still and voiceless as love is, And ever look'd so fair, divine, Her hush'd, vehement soul fill'd mine, And overflowed with Runic bliss,

And made itself a part of this. O you had loved her sitting there, Half hidden in her loosen'd hair: Why, you had loved her for her eyes,

Their large and melancholy look Of tenderness, and well mistook Their love for light of Paradise. Yea, loved her for her large dark eyes;

Yea, loved her for her brow's soft brown; Her hand as light as heaven's bars; Yea, loved her for her mouth. Her mouth Was roses gather'd from the south,

The warm south side of Paradise, And breathed upon and handed down, By angels on a stair of stars. Her mouth!‘ twas Egypt's mouth of old,

Push'd out and pouting full and bold With simple beauty where she sat. Why, you had said, on seeing her, This creature comes from out the dim

Far centuries, beyond the rim Of time's remotest reach or stir. And he who wrought Semiramis And shaped the Sibyls, seeing this,

Had bow'd and made a shrine thereat, And all his life had worshipp'd her, Devout as north-Nile worshipper. I dared not dream she loved me. Nay,

Her love was proud; and pride is loth To look with favor, own it fond Of one the world loves not to-day.... No matter if she loved or no,

God knows I loved enough for both, And knew her as you shall not know Till you have known sweet death, and you Have cross'd the dark; gone over to

The great majority beyond.