And yet for that past folly must he weep, As one might mourn the parted happiness That, mixed with madness, made him smile in sleep; And still some lingering sweetness seemed to bless
The hard life left of toil and loneliness, Like a past song too sweet, too short, and yet Immeshed forever in the memory's net. Weeping he entered, murmuring, “O fair Queen,
I thank thee that my prayer was not for naught; Truly a present helper hast thou been To those who faithfully thy throne have sought! Yet, since with pain deliverance I have bought,
Hast thou not yet some gift in store for me, That I thine happy slave henceforth may be?” Thus to his chamber at the last he came, And, pushing through the still half-opened door,
He stood within; but there, for very shame Of all the things that he had done before, Still kept his eyes bent down upon the floor, Thinking of all that he had done and said
Since he had wrought that luckless marble maid. Yet soft his thoughts were, and the very place Seemed perfumed with some nameless heavenly air; So gaining courage, did he raise his face
Unto the work his hands had made so fair, And cried aloud to see the niche all bare Of that sweet form, while through his heart again There shot a pang of his old yearning pain.
Yet while he stood, and knew not what to do With yearning, a strange thrill of hope there came, A shaft of new desire now pierced him through, And therewithal a soft voice called his name;
And when he turned, with eager eyes aflame, He saw, betwixt him and the setting sun, The lively image of his loved one. He trembled at the sight, for though her eyes,
Her very lips, were such as he had made, And though her tresses fell but in such guise As he had wrought them, now was she arrayed In that fair garment that the priests had laid
Upon the goddess on that very morn, Dyed like the setting sun upon the corn. Speechless he stood, but she now drew anear, Simple and sweet as she was wont to be,
And once again her silver voice rang clear, Filling his soul with great felicity, And thus she spoke: “Wilt thou not come to me, O dear companion of my new-found life,
For I am called thy lover and thy wife? “Listen, these words the Dread One bade me say That was with me e'en now, Pygmalion, My new-made soul I give to thee to-day,
Come, feel the sweet breath that thy prayer has won, And lay thine hand this heaving breast upon! Come, love, and walk with me between the trees, And feel the freshness of the evening breeze.
“Sweep mine hair round thy neck; behold my feet, The oft-kissed feet thou thoughtst should never move, Press down the daisies! draw me to thee, sweet, And feel the warm heart of thy living love
Beat against thine, and bless the Seed of Jove, Whose loving, tender heart hath wrought all this, And wrapped us both in such a cloud of bliss. “Ah, thou art wise to know what this may mean!
Sweet seem the words to me, and needs must I Speak all the lesson of the lovely Queen; But this I know, I would we were more nigh, I have not heard thy voice but in the cry
Thou utteredst then, when thou believedst gone The marvel of thine hands, the maid of stone.” She reached her hand to him, and with kind eyes Gazed into his; but he the fingers caught
And drew her to him, and midst ecstasies Passing all words, yea, wellnigh passing thought, Felt that sweet breath that he so long had sought, Felt the warm life within her heaving breast
As in his arms his living love he pressed. But as his cheek touched hers he heard her say, “Wilt thou not speak, O love? Why dost thou weep? Art thou then sorry for this long-wished day,
Or dost thou think perchance thou wilt not keep This that thou holdest, but in dreamy sleep? Nay, let us do the bidding of the Queen, And hand in hand walk through thy garden green;
“Then shalt thou tell me, still beholding me, Full many things whereof I wish to know; And as we walk from whispering tree to tree Still more familiar to thee shall I grow,
And such things shalt thou say unto me now As when thou deemedst thou wast quite alone, A madman, kneeling to a thing of stone.” But at that word a smile lit up his eyes,
And therewithal he spake some loving word, And she at first looked up in grave surprise When his deep voice and musical she heard, And clung to him as somewhat grown afeard;
Then cried aloud and said, “O mighty one! What joy with thee to look upon the sun!” Then into that fair garden did they pass, And all the story of his love he told;
And as the twain went o'er the dewy grass, Beneath the risen moon could he behold The bright tears trickling down; then, waxen bold, He stopped and said, “Ah, love, what meaneth this?
Seest thou how tears still follow earthly bliss?” Then both her white arms round his neck she threw, And, sobbing, said: “O love, what hurteth me? When first the sweetness of my life I knew,
Not this I felt; but when I first saw thee A little pain and great felicity Rose up within me, and thy talk e'en now Made pain and pleasure ever greater grow.”
“O sweet,” he said, “this thing is even love, Whereof I told thee; that all wise men fear, But yet escape not; nay, to gods above, Unless the old tales lie, it draweth near.
But let my happy ears, I pray thee, hear Thy story, too, and how thy blessed birth Has made a heaven of this once lonely earth. “My sweet,” she said, “as yet I am not wise,
Or stored with words, aright the tale to tell; But listen: when I opened first mine eyes I stood within the niche thou knowest well, And from mine hand a heavy thing there fell,
Carved like these flowers, nor could I see things clear, And but a strange, confused noise could hear. “At last mine eyes could see a woman fair, But awful as this round, white moon o'erhead.
So that I trembled when I saw her there, For with my life was born some touch of dread, And therewithal I heard her voice, that said, ‘ Come down, and learn to love and be alive,
For thee, a well-prized gift, to-day I give.’ “Then on the floor I stepped, rejoicing much, Not knowing why, not knowing aught at all, Till she reached out her hand my breast to touch;
And when her fingers thereupon did fall, Thought came unto my life, and therewithal I knew her for a goddess, and began To murmur in some tongue unknown to man.
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