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


I

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.

II

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.

III

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."

IV

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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