Classic and Contemporary Poetry
DAPHNE; FOR GRAHAM ROBERTSON, by GORDON BOTTOMLEY Poet's Biography First Line: That white and wondrous city near the sea Last Line: "that love has sacrificed thee to despair." Subject(s): Daphne (mythology) | ||||||||
THAT white and wondrous city near the sea Where Daphne walked, a whiter pageantry, Was still, as though it listened for her feet; And each vague-pillared moon-abandoned street Held its dark breath to know if she were there Mid the late feasters who with bloom-pearled hair Went down its drowning dimness out of sight Parting the heavy hangings of the night, Mingling with silence and the distant gloom. Ah, never came such else unknown perfume, So clear a song, such whispering sandal-sounds As Daphne scattered in those Cyprian rounds; And those late lovers, arm and waist, forgot To think of love when every moment's thought Of love brought Daphne to their hearts again Till man and woman felt with eager pain In her the incarnation of desire; Even women loved her with the lover's fire For her imperial quiet, a crowned dove That seemed to seek no lovers, only love. And love was stirred by baffled questioning Of this white maiden's source and issuing: "Whence came she, by what faint exotic roads, This handmaid of what pale forgotten gods? First through gray streets seen lately wandering Like an annunciation of new Spring; Then since, with face uplifted, hands uptwined, Passing us daily in white robes enshrined, As though a sudden burst of music waved Silk portals and the entering sunlight laved A vision where an image had been seen. She seems descendent from some banished queen Who ruled here long ago in woodland days; Her unfamiliar half-remembered gaze Stirs faded love, old regal sins forgot." But Daphne waked in a white hush of thought Beside her dreaming lover slumber-deep In their white ivory bed as cool as sleep. The doubtful darkness, tangible yet not dense Shewed little save a lighter darkness whence A sound of wearying ebbing tides sobbed on Beyond the glimmering foam-faint templed town; But here and there upon the unseen walls, Storied with Psyche, gleamed dim golden palls And then a rose-white body calmly glowed Where'er the Cyprian mid her flower-queens stood; While a grey thing before that bright hard queen Faint as by fluttering flitted in each scene Like a bruised moth; no more of Psyche shewed, Though ever implacably the goddess glowed. "O me" mused Daphne, "that love's earliest bond Should thwart the last essential love beyond." At last she rose, no more than Psyche seeming, A swaying dream scarce seen enough for dreaming, And sought her heaped-up raiment by its scent, White privet and rose almond blandly blent As though in a May coppice: none might know Her cheeks flushed with an unaccustomed glow, Though night to her with musky crimson shook. Then trickling flickering tire and robe she took, And felt the linen soft like slow cream slide, The frost-white falling silks purl down her side And the cold opal clasps her shoulders touch. Then, loosing from a pillar of the couch The snood of faded poppy-white that tied Last night's white jasmine garlands violet-pied, Set there to lull her with their death-drowsed fume, She bound her narded tresses, while the room Seemed rippling with a rustling softness sweet As from worn Psyche's wet rain-silent feet: "Only the falling flowerets faint and fleet" Sighed Daphne. To the greying casement turning And leaning forth long-throated in tired yearning, She murmured in waiting for the day's discerning "This night that is the shadow of a star Is like love's shade of unsuspected care, And those within it passionately forget The radiance that casts it at their feet. Love never soothes till its fresh joys depart; Pain is its food and fear is at its heart; Its kindest, restful hours are when unease Is dulled by aching till sensation flees. 'Tis love that makes the whole glad world less fair And dims the face of friendship everywhere By its new longings, strange, unsatisfied; It knows not pity, of its end denied, The end it never knows unendingly. From this dear lover near me I would flee Although his name, being uttered, makes for me An ampler music than the choral stars, And at its sound the chilly darkness flares: For all that love to heal love's sadness brings Is glad contempt for old, far dearer things And fair forgetfulness of calmer joys, Until the memory of the kiss-faint noise Of my cool stream ebbs in my heedless ears Like the dull lapse of uneventful years. O little stream, wherenigh I found love's sweets While far above us swayed tall marguerites, A firmament of reeling swooning stars, Once more I yearn for thy blue heaving tares, To taste thine easy pleasures of content, Ere, all subdued 'neath love's glad government, I find such peace in gladness nevermore...." At last morn came and shewed the waves dawn-hoar Breaking upon the pallid dawn-lit shore. So, kneeling by her darling's dreaming bliss, She felt his soft brows with a moth-light kiss As though she brushed the very down of sleep, And left him, and with breath-tipped steps did creep Out from the chamber to the mist-white hall; Then, passing a tall curtain's sighing fall, She went down shallow steps into the street; Each made a pool of marble for her feet. Day soon came flushing in a cloudy swirl Across the soft-stirred sea of waking pearl And made the marble rosy as the girl; But Daphne saw no waters' jacinth glow Nor marbles veined dreamily and slow; For, pressing onward with an eager gaze, She left the silent palaces in haze And sought a far-off pathless dewy wood, An undiscerned god-haunted solitude, Where, under her feet and paled by the gleam thereof, Like ladies humble for the sake of love The still, bruised violets gave her sweets for blows. And thus she vanished, like a leaf-hid rose. And when her lover followed her soft flight, Sick with his eagerness to feel the sight Of her green-shadowed raiment water-white, Deep in her stream-side blooms he only found A passionate, lyric youth with laurel crowned, Wide-aureoled as though from green mists round The sudden sun dashed the wet leaves afire; A shining youth who to a shining lyre Sang languidly and lightly, loud and low, A chant half careless joy, half careless woe. "Ah, Daphne, never will thine arms drop down, Leaving my head, to make my waist thine own; But still thine arms give me my laurel crown. The arms that thrust me from thee interfused With trees, as though a dryad sank bemused; Fear gave the laurel that thy love refused. Ah, if thy love had crowned me unafraid, Love's goddess would have been too poor to aid; But then my fruitful sorrow were unmade. Love is the poet's craft; 'tis never wrong; Triumphant or rejected, brief or long, The poorest passion yields at least a song. Dear nymph, I joy that thou art thus leaf-blent, For now I shall not to my punishment Desert thee but to hear thy sweet lament. Despised love is best; it never tires; It knows no surfeit of attained desires, But to unsullied visions e'er aspires. Daphne, thy leaf-frail hands are in my hair, While thy poor chosen love sleeps unaware That love has sacrificed thee to despair." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...APOLLO AND DAPHNE by PHILIP AYRES TOWARDS DEMOCRACY: PART 4. THE COAST OF LIGURIA by EDWARD CARPENTER AN ECOLOGE BETWEN A SHEPHEARDE AND A HEARDMAN by ARTHUR GORGES APOLLO AND DAPHNE by GIAMBATTISTA MARINI DAPHNE by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY METAMORPHOSES: BOOK 1. DAPHNE AND APOLLO by PUBLIUS OVIDIUS NASO |
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