Andrew Macphail, comp. The Book of Sorrow. 1916.
XXVI. Melancholy. The Desolate CityWilfred Scawen Blunt (18401922)
D
Where is she that I loved, the woman with eyes like stars?
Desolate are the streets. Desolate is the city.
A city taken by storm, where none are left but the slain.
Thinking to let in light, but I only let in love.
Birds in the boughs were awake; I listen’d to their chaunting;
Each one sang to his love; only I was alone.
Now each creature on earth has his joy, and lives in the sun,
Each in another’s eyes finds light, the light of compassion,
This is the moment of pity, this is the moment of love.
Where is she that I loved in my strength, that spoke to my soul?
Where are those passionate eyes that appeal’d to my eyes in passion?
Where is the mouth that kiss’d me, the breast I laid to my own?
Tell me, where didst thou flee on the day of destruction and fear?
See, my arms still enfold thee, enfolding thus all heaven,
See, my desire is fulfill’d in thee, for it fills the earth.
Turn’d to the stair, and the open door, and the empty street,
Crying aloud in my grief, for there was none to chide me,
None to mock my weakness, none to behold my tears.
There I stopp’d at the silent door, and listen’d and tried the latch.
Love, I cried, dost thou slumber? This is no hour for slumber,
This is the hour of love, and love I bring in my hand.
Climbing round by the doorstep, the only one in the street;
I knew where my hope had climb’d to its goal and there encircled
All that those desolate walls once held, my belovèd’s heart.
She put her hand in my hand, and set her lips to my lips.
She told me all her pain and show’d me all her trouble.
I, like a fool, scarce heard, hardly return’d her kiss.
Love, thy lips were like gems, the seal thou sett’st on my life.
Love, if I loved not then, behold this hour thy vengeance;
This is the fruit of thy love and thee, the unwise grown wise.
Blindly the windows gazed back at me, dumbly the door;
She whom I love, who loved me, look’d not on my yearning,
Gave me no more her hands to kiss, show’d me no more her soul.
Therefore I go in tears and alone, by night and day;
Therefore I find no love in heaven, no light, no beauty.
A heaven taken by storm, where none are left but the slain!