Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, ROMANCE, by MAXWELL STRUTHERS BURT

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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

ROMANCE, by             Poet's Biography
First Line: You were made of dew and light
Last Line: O life! O woman! It is I!
Alternate Author Name(s): Burt, Struthers
Subject(s): Love; Man-woman Relationships; Nature; Male-female Relations


YOU were made of dew and light;
You were made of sun and sky;
Near a thyme-delightful height,
When the clouds were riding high
And the mists were all unfurled
In the morning of the world.

On a temple-pearléd hill
Where the bees wove drowsy hum,
You lay and dreamed your fill
Of the ages yet to come.
And a sly Pan crept and peered;
And a sly Pan wept and feared;
For he knew no age could hold
You forever in its fold
Till time with centuries fraught
Found the lover that you sought.


You were made of storm and rains;
You were made of mist and spray;
Out of bitter striving pains
In the battle-haunted gray,
Where the fir and sea-scud meet
At the northern ocean's feet.

In the shadow of an oak
When the winds were holding mirth,
Life came to you and spoke
Of a sorrow-gladdened earth;
For a Viking found you fair,
For a Viking kissed you there;
And, though glory swept your face,
Yet you fled from his embrace,
Trembling, wept within the wood;
Pale with thought of motherhood.


You were made from breath of fern,
From the spell of mossgrown shades,
'Neath a crystal lily's urn,
In the mystic silver glades,
Where, between the beech tree boles,
Trod the deer on velvet soles.

Near a still enchanted pool —
Threads of sunlight webbed your hair —
You lay and drank the cool
Of the flower-haunted air;
And a knight came riding by;
And a knight remained to sigh;
For your beauty made him love
You, whose heart no man could move.
So he sang full mournfully
Of "La Belle Dame Sans Merci."


You were made of springtime nights;
Of the dear earth-smelling winds;
Of perfumes and delights
That stir mysterious blinds,
In that wonder-working hour
When first blooms the crocus-flower.

By a window dark you knelt
Where the night wind stirred your hair,
And the breathing presence felt
Of a love that waited there.
And I groped and found you, sweet,
And I kissed your hands and feet,
Till your heart, awaiting me,
From the mist-dim ages free
Leapt — at my broken cry —
O life! O woman! It is I!

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