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(From Long Ago, 1889)
“FOOL, faint not thou!” I laughed in blame | |
| Of Larichus, pale in the flame | |
| Of Hymen’s torches: while, alas, | |
| I feel my senses swoon, | |
| Or quicken with delight | 5 |
| At Nature’s simplest boon: | |
| Unmoved I cannot pass | |
| The fine bloom of the grass, | |
| Or watch the dimpling shadows on the white, | |
| Vibrating poplar with unshaken frame. | 10 |
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| “Faint not,” I said—and yet my breath | |
| Comes sharp as I were nigh to death | |
| If suddenly across the grove | |
| The lovely laugh I hear, | |
| Or catch the lovely speech | 15 |
| Of one who makes a peer | |
| Of the blest gods above | |
| The man she deigns to love. | |
| O Anactoria, wast thou born to teach | |
| Sappho how vainly she admonisheth? | 20 |
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| “Faint not”—the poet must dare all; | |
| Me no experience shall appal, | |
| No pang that can make shrill my song: | |
| Though Atthis, hateful, flit | |
| From my fond arms, and by | 25 |
| Andromeda dare sit, | |
| I will not let my strong | |
| Heart fail, will bear the wrong, | |
| With piercing accents for Adonis cry, | |
| Or thrice on perished Timas vainly call. | 30 |
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| “Faint not,” I said. Would’st thou be great, | |
| Thou must with every shock vibrate | |
| That life can bring thee; seek and yearn; | |
| Feel in thyself the stroke | |
| Of love, although it rive | 35 |
| As mountain-wind an oak; | |
| Let jealous passion burn | |
| If Rhodope must turn | |
| To other love; and laugh that age should strive | |
| The ardours of thy bosom to abate. | 40 |
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