III

Lo, far in heaven the web of night undone, And on the sudden sea the gradual sun; Wave to wave answers, tree responds to tree; Couldst thou not watch with me?

IV

Sunbeam by sunbeam creeps from line to line, Foam by foam quickens on the brightening brine; Sail by sail pa.s.ses, flower by flower gets free; Couldst thou not watch with me?

V

Last year, a brief while since, an age ago, A whole year past, with bud and bloom and snow, O moon that wast in heaven, what friends were we!

Couldst thou not watch with me?

VI

Old moons, and last year's flowers, and last year's snows!

Who now saith to thee, moon? or who saith, rose?

O dust and ashes, once found fair to see!

Couldst thou not watch with me?

VII

O dust and ashes, once thought sweet to smell!

With me it is not, is it with thee well?

O sea-drift blown from windward back to lee!

Couldst thou not watch with me?

VIII

The old year's dead hands are full of their dead flowers.

The old days are full of dead old loves of ours, Born as a rose, and briefer born than she; Couldst thou not watch with me?

IX

Could two days live again of that dead year, One would say, seeking us and pa.s.sing here, _Where is she?_ and one answering, _Where is he?_ Couldst thou not watch with me?

X

Nay, those two lovers are not anywhere; If we were they, none knows us what we were, Nor aught of all their barren grief and glee.

Couldst thou not watch with me?

XI

Half false, half fair, all feeble, be my verse Upon thee not for blessing nor for curse; For some must stand, and some must fall or flee; Couldst thou not watch with me?

XII

As a new moon above spent stars thou wast; But stars endure after the moon is past.

Couldst thou not watch one hour, though I watch three?

Couldst thou not watch with me?

XIII

What of the night? The night is full, the tide Storms inland, the most ancient rocks divide; Yet some endure, and bow nor head nor knee; Couldst thou not watch with me?

XIV

Since thou art not as these are, go thy ways; Thou hast no part in all my nights and days.

Lie still, sleep on, be glad--as such things be; Thou couldst not watch with me.

THE COMPLAINT OF LISA

(_Double Sestina_)

Decameron, x. 7

There is no woman living that draws breath So sad as I, though all things sadden her.

There is not one upon life's weariest way Who is weary as I am weary of all but death.

Toward whom I look as looks the sunflower All day with all his whole soul toward the sun; While in the sun's sight I make moan all day, And all night on my sleepless maiden bed Weep and call out on death, O Love, and thee, That thou or he would take me to the dead, And know not what thing evil I have done That life should lay such heavy hand on me.

Alas, Love, what is this thou wouldst with me?

What honour shall thou have to quench my breath, Or what shall my heart broken profit thee?

O Love, O great G.o.d Love, what have I done, That thou shouldst hunger so after my death?

My heart is harmless as my life's first day: Seek out some false fair woman, and plague her Till her tears even as my tears fill her bed: I am the least flower in thy flowery way, But till my time be come that I be dead Let me live out my flower-time in the sun Though my leaves shut before the sunflower.

O Love, Love, Love, the kingly sunflower!

Shall he the sun hath looked on look on me, That live down here in shade, out of the sun, Here living in the sorrow and shadow of death?

Shall he that feeds his heart full of the day Care to give mine eyes light, or my lips breath?

Because she loves him shall my lord love her Who is as a worm in my lord's kingly way?

I shall not see him or know him alive or dead; But thou, I know thee, O Love, and pray to thee That in brief while my brief life-days be done, And the worm quickly make my marriage-bed.

For underground there is no sleepless bed: But here since I beheld my sunflower These eyes have slept not, seeing all night and day His sunlike eyes, and face fronting the sun.

Wherefore if anywhere be any death, I would fain find and fold him fast to me, That I may sleep with the world's eldest dead, With her that died seven centuries since, and her That went last night down the night-wandering way.

For this is sleep indeed, when labour is done, Without love, without dreams, and without breath, And without thought, O name unnamed! of thee.

Ah, but, forgetting all things, shall I thee?