JUST kissing-high. Full-fleshed, yet not Too flesh-ful. Limbs Whose subtle shape Long years know not to rape From mem'ry. Time's march dims Nothing: nay, tarriance brings, And yet gives wings To thought. To-night The ancient, dear delight Abides, abates no jot. ... Your wide, grey eyes Emparadise My heart. Your lips, your oval, Celtic face, Your Mona Lisa mouth cry out for quick embrace. How did we meet? Just when and where I have forgot. Some happy chance Or sudden, mutual glance 'Twas, surely, that begot Fond and fortuitous flame Which, instant, came To fuse and fill Two hungry hearts and thrill Them through, to ensphere Love in twin souls— Love who unrolls, E'en as a parchment, fresh and passionate page Of new, yet old, experience 'neath proud seignorage. Yes, though forgotten time and place Of meeting, much Else yet remains, Waxes, wins strength, not wanes. ... I feel the tender touch Of your sweet, soft, warm flesh 'Gainst mine afresh. ... Your voice's sound Soothes, heals sharp, deep, profound Soul-wounds awhile, gives grace, Respite, release And magic ease From strife and tension, serves as spell to assoil Me for glad space from striving, nerves me to new toil. I live again our one-time walks Of noon and night Across the moor To Zennor—whose tall Tor Looks on the Lizard Light, Ponders the wind-swept scene 'Neath proud Pendean, Sees Scilly sweep Bright pencils 'cross the deep. ... I share gay-spoken talks, Or silent, strange, Close interchange Of thought, of understanding, tenderness, One-ness and all-but-overwhelming happiness. You were that moor's own offspring, born Of farming stock, Though finer clay Than were your kinsfolk. Nay, I think Tor, moor and rock Once saw, once had your sires As lords, as squires, That you we knew As little milliner drew Innate refinement—lorn And lost long since— From Chief, from Prince Celtic and Cornish, e'en from Phoenician flung By wind and wave ashore, Penwith's rude shores among. I wait once more, agog to hear Soft footsteps sound On ladder'd stair. ... Alert, leap forth from chair, Hold door ajar, profound Soulagement feel, see you Slip, smiling, through, Swift to illume That lofty, Spartan room— That studio-study where I worked and strove Day-long—and wove My music's web, what time the Atlantic beat Beneath, majestic, or, in lull, lapped lone retreat. I see the table spread, the gleam Of silver, taste In joy again The simple meal, am fain For frugal, fond repast, Hear glad yet gentle laugh, Watch while you quaff That modest wine— Grown nectarous, made divine By your mere presence—dream Of glad release From care, surcease Of grief, taste ached-for domesticity, Live at long last, lose storm and stress, in soul set free. We front again the flame-filled fire Which lights alone That lofty room. Less as one new come home From cruel exile known For half a lifetime, lo! I look on you. Less as a man In prime of life may scan His love with fierce desire. . . More as small boy, In hungry joy, Looks on long absent mother, soothed and blest, Clings to her bosom, speechless, seeks for, finds lost rest. Not that, my dear, in Cornish days Was tepid, tame The love I bore To you. In ample store, Fire, fuel, fiercest flame Lurked and lay latent, hid, Burning but bid To stay suppressed In body, being, breast, For fear lest Passion's blaze And strong turmoil Might break, mar, soil, Darken and damn, destroy, expel, extrude Our exquisite, infinite Peace, rare sense of Rest renewed. Not that what some men call and name "Virtue" forbade Union complete, Physical one-ness, sweet Madness, forgetfulness Of self in other's joy Without alloy. ... Not that I held You virgin ... who revealed, Frankly, ere then, in thrall To love, much woo'd You had sealed and proved Love to the full, true Trilby of St. Ives, Had given without shame, put forth no palliatives. But, as I say, that—loth to spoil Peace so profound, So royal, rare, So rich, so long-sought, fair, Fresh, fugitive, fecund— For Peace I craved, I joy'd: In thought scarce toy'd With things to be, Stayed a space all but free From Passion's wild turmoil ... Repressed and hushed It, kept it crushed. ... Fearful of love's fulfilment lest it bring Unrest, transmute rare gold to common chambering. It must have come, natheless, that change (Love was so deep, Its spell so strong!) Had not—harsh, hateful throng!— Wild hounds of War from keep And kennel burst, and bay'd (Base, black brigade!) High summer noons, Bright, cold and midnight moons; Come, ruthless, to estrange, Mock and arride, Sever, divide Not merely you and me but myriad more Women and men who, luckless, loved the wide world o'er. We parted. War's web meshed me. You, Long ere its end, Impulsive, wed Within your sphere and fled From old St. Ives, to lend Colour and light to some Drear, drab, humdrum And inland town. ... Peace—so-called Peace—her throne Assumed. Afresh, anew, In sad unrest I walked, unblest Awhile; then, blind, in love with love, I fell Love's fool, Fate's whipping-boy, beneath unworthier spell. Enchained, but not enchanted, walks In grief, by night, Across the moor I took where Zennor Tor Looks on the Lizard Light, Ponders the wave-swept scene 'Neath proud Pendean, Sees Scilly sweep Bright pencils 'cross the deep. ... Mused on remembered talks, Cursed me in wrath For one-time sloth To pluck the hour, which bade me in escheat And forfeiture for ever dwell, tame, mansuete. Then, lo! beneath the Hunter's moon I saw you come Up from that cove We once were wont to rove In sweet delirium. The ancient, exquisite charm Lived on, to warm My being. You Yet thrilled me through and through, Brought back that blessèd boon Of instant peace, Respite, release From strife and tension, stood as spell to assoil Me a glad space from striving, nerved me to new toil. We spoke a slender space, (each one Held back from old Forthrightness by New chains, fresh loyalty), And then I asked, in cold, Seeming indifference, Level pretence, If happiness Were yours in weddedness, (A-blush for deed undone, For joys forborne As though in scorn. ...!) Saw your lips tremble, heard fond truth confest, "'Twas you I loved, still love ... you spoiled me for the rest!" | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EVERYBODY KNOWS by DAVID IGNATOW LOST ILLUSIONS by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON DOMESDAY BOOK: THE VERDICT by EDGAR LEE MASTERS GOD AND MY COUNTRY by EDGAR LEE MASTERS HOMAGE TO SEXTUS PROPERTIUS: 10 by EZRA POUND |