• ‘Then I fell back from them, and lay
• Outwearied. My tired sense
• Soon filmed and settled, and like stone
• I slept; till something made me moan,
• 740 And I woke up at night alone.

• ‘I woke at midnight, cold and dazed;
• Because I found myself
• Seated upright, with bosom bare,
• Upon my bed, combing my hair,
• Ready to go, I knew not where.

• It dawned light day,—the last of those
• Long months of longing days.
• That noon, the change was wrought on me
• In somewise,—nought to hear or see,—
• 750 Only a trance and agony.’

• The bride's voice failed her, from no will
• To pause. The bridesmaid leaned,
• And where the window-panes were white,
• Looked for the day: she knew not quite
• If there were either day or night.

• It seemed to Aloÿse that the whole
• Day's weight lay back on her
• Like lead. The hours that did remain
• Beat their dry wings upon her brain
• 760 Once in mid-flight, and passed again.

• There hung a cage of burnt perfumes
• In the recess: but these,
• For some hours, weak against the sun,
• Had simmered in white ash. From One
• The second quarter was begun.

• They had not heard the stroke. The air,
• Though altered with no wind,
• Breathed now by pauses, so to say:
• Each breath was time that went away,—
• 770 Each pause a minute of the day.

• I' the almonry, the almoner,
• Hard by, had just dispensed
• Church-dole and march-dole. High and wide
• Now rose the shout of thanks, which cried
• On God that He should bless the bride.

• Its echo thrilled within their feet,
• And in the furthest rooms
• Was heard, where maidens flushed and gay
• Wove with stooped necks the wreaths alway
• 780 Fair for the virgin's marriage-day.

• The mother leaned along, in thought
• After her child; till tears,
• Bitter, not like a wedded girl's,
• Fell down her breast along her curls,
• And ran in the close work of pearls.

• The speech ached at her heart. She said:
• ‘Sweet Mary, do thou plead
• This hour with thy most blessed Son
• To let these shameful words atone,
• 790 That I may die when I have done.’

• The thought ached at her soul. Yet now:—
• ‘Itself—that life’ (she said,)
• Out of my weary life—when sense
• Unclosed, was gone. What evil men's
• Most evil hands had borne it thence

• ‘I knew, and cursed them. Still in sleep
• I have my child; and pray
• To know if it indeed appear
• As in my dream's perpetual sphere,
• 800 That I—death reached—may seek it there.

• ‘Sleeping, I wept; though until dark
• A fever dried mine eyes
• Kept open; save when a tear might
• Be forced from the mere ache of sight.
• And I nursed hatred day and night.

• ‘Aye, and I sought revenge by spells;
• And vainly many a time
• Have laid my face into the lap
• Of a wise woman, and heard clap
• 810 Her thunder, the fiend's juggling trap.

• ‘At length I feared to curse them, lest
• From evil lips the curse
• Should be a blessing; and would sit
• Rocking myself and stifling it
• With babbled jargon of no wit.

• ‘But this was not at first: the days
• And weeks made frenzied months
• Before this came. My curses, pil'd
• Then with each hour unreconcil'd,
• 820 Still wait for those who took my child.’

• She stopped, grown fainter. ‘Amelotte,
• Surely,’ she said, ‘this sun
• Sheds judgment-fire from the fierce south:
• It does not let me breathe: the drouth
• Is like sand spread within my mouth.’

• The bridesmaid rose. I' the outer glare
• Gleamed her pale cheeks, and eyes
• Sore troubled; and aweary weigh'd
• Her brows just lifted out of shade;
• 830 And the light jarred within her head.

• 'Mid flowers fair-heaped there stood a bowl
• With water. She therein
• Through eddying bubbles slid a cup,
• And offered it, being risen up,
• Close to her sister's mouth, to sup.

• The freshness dwelt upon her sense,
• Yet did not the bride drink;
• But she dipped in her hand anon
• And cooled her temples; and all wan
• 840 With lids that held their ache, went on.

• Through those dark watches of my woe,
• Time, an ill plant, had waxed
• Apace. That year was finished. Dumb
• And blind, life's wheel with earth's had come
• Whirled round: and we might seek our home.

• ‘Our wealth was rendered back, with wealth
• Snatched from our foes. The house
• Had more than its old strength and fame:
• But still 'neath the fair outward claim
• 850 I rankled,—a fierce core of shame.

• ‘It chilled me from their eyes and lips
• Upon a night of those
• First days of triumph, as I gazed
• Listless and sick, or scarcely raised
• My face to mark the sports they praised.

• ‘The endless changes of the dance
• Bewildered me: the tones
• Of lute and cithern struggled tow'rds
• Some sense; and still in the last chords
• 860 The music seemed to sing wild words.

• ‘My shame possessed me in the light
• And pageant, till I swooned.
• But from that hour I put my shame
• From me, and cast it over them
• By God's command and in God's name

• ‘For my child's bitter sake. O thou
• Once felt against my heart
• With longing of the eyes,—a pain
• Since to my heart for ever,—then
• 870 Beheld not, and not felt again!’

• She scarcely paused, continuing:—
• ‘That year drooped weak in March;
• And April, finding the streams dry,
• Choked, with no rain, in dust: the sky
• Shall not be fainter this July.

• ‘Men sickened; beasts lay without strength;
• The year died in the land.
• But I, already desolate,
• Said merely, sitting down to wait,—
• 880 “The seasons change and Time wears late.”

• ‘For I had my hard secret told,
• In secret, to a priest;
• With him I communed; and he said
• The world's soul, for its sins, was sped,
• And the sun's courses numberèd.

• ‘The year slid like a corpse afloat:
• None trafficked,—who had bread
• Did eat. That year our legions, come
• Thinned from the place of war, at home
• 890 Found busier death, more burdensome.

• ‘Tidings and rumours came with them,
• The first for months. The chiefs
• Sat daily at our board, and in
• Their speech were names of friend and kin:
• One day they spoke of Urscelyn.

• ‘The words were light, among the rest:
• Quick glance my brothers sent
• To sift the speech; and I, struck through,
• Sat sick and giddy in full view:
• 900 Yet did none gaze, so many knew.

• ‘Because in the beginning, much
• Had caught abroad, through them
• That heard my clamour on the coast:
• But two were hanged; and then the most
• Held silence wisdom, as thou know'st.

• ‘That year the convent yielded thee
• Back to our home; and thou
• Then knew'st not how I shuddered cold
• To kiss thee, seeming to enfold
• 910 To my changed heart myself of old.

• ‘Then there was showing thee the house,
• So many rooms and doors;
• Thinking the while how thou would'st start
• If once I flung the doors apart
• Of one dull chamber in my heart.

• And yet I longed to open it;
• And often in that year
• Of plague and want, when side by side
• We've knelt to pray with them that died,
• 920 My prayer was, “Show her what I hide!”’

       

• Between the hands, between the brows,
• Between the lips of Love-Lily,
• A spirit is born whose birth endows
• My blood with fire to burn through me;
• Who breathes upon my gazing eyes,
• Who laughs and murmurs in mine ear,
• At whose least touch my colour flies,
• And whom my life grows faint to hear.

• Within the voice, within the heart,
• 10 Within the mind of Love-Lily,
• A spirit is born who lifts apart
• His tremulous wings and looks at me;
• Who on my mouth his finger lays,
• And shows, while whispering lutes confer,
• That Eden of Love's watered ways
• Whose winds and spirits worship her.

• Brows, hands, and lips, heart, mind, and voice,
• Kisses and words of Love-Lily,—
• Oh! bid me with your joy rejoice
• 20 Till riotous longing rest in me!
• Ah! let not hope be still distraught,
• But find in her its gracious goal,
• Whose speech Truth knows not from her thought
• Nor Love her body from her soul.

   

• Peace in her chamber, wheresoe'er
• It be, a holy place:
• The thought still brings my soul such grace
• As morning meadows wear.

• Whether it still be small and light,
• A maid's who dreams alone,
• As from her orchard-gate the moon
• Its ceiling showed at night:

• Or whether, in a shadow dense
• 10 As nuptial hymns invoke,
• Innocent maidenhood awoke
• To married innocence:

• There still the thanks unheard await
• The unconscious gift bequeathed:
• For there my soul this hour has breathed
• An air inviolate.

   

• In a soft-complexioned sky,
• Fleeting rose and kindling grey,
• Have you seen Aurora fly
• At the break of day?
• So my maiden, so my plighted may
• Blushing cheek and gleaming eye
• Lifts to look my way.

• Where the inmost leaf is stirred
• With the heart-beat of the grove,
• 10 Have you heard a hidden bird
• Cast her note above?
• So my lady, so my lovely love,
• Echoing Cupid's prompted word,
• Makes a tune thereof.