WHAT are you, love? A flame from heaven? A radiant smile are you ? The heaven has not your eyes’ bright gleams, The heaven has not their blue.
The rose has not your snowy breast; In the moon’s face we seek In vain the rosy flush that dyes Your soft and blushing cheek.
By night you smile upon the stars, And on the amorous moon, By day upon the waves, the flowers — Why not on one alone?
But, though I pray to you with tears, With tears and bitter sighs, You will not deign me yet one glance Cast by your shining eyes.
O love, are you a mortal maid, Or angel formed of light ? The spring rose and the radiant moon Envy your beauty bright;
And when your sweet and thrilling voice Is heard upon the air, In cypress depths the nightingale Is silent in despair.
Would I, a zephyr, might caress Your bright brow’s dreams in sleep, Breathe gently on your lips, and dry Your tears, if you should weep !
Or would that in your garden fair A weeping rose I grew; And when you came resplendent there At morning with the dew,
I’d give fresh color to your cheek That makes the rose look pale, Shed on your breast my dew, and there My latest breath exhale.
Oh, would I were a limpid brook! If softly you drew nigh, And smiled into my mirror clear, My blue waves would run dry.
Oh, would I were a sunbeam bright, To make you seem more fair, Touching your face, and dying soon Amid your fragrant hair !
But, if you love another, His gravestone may I be ! Then you would linger near me, Your tears would fall on me ;
Your sighs would wander o’er me, Sighs for his early doom. To touch you, O beloved, I must become a tomb !
6. I HAVE LOVED THEE
IT was the hour of dew and light; In heaven a conflagration cold Of roses burned, instead of clouds ; There was a rain of pearls and gold.
Then deep within a flowering grove I saw thee, love, reclined at ease, And thou wast languishing and pale, And sighing like a summer breeze,
Plucking a blossom’s leaves apart With fingers fair as lilies are ; Thine eyes, the temples of love’s fire, Were fixed upon the heavens afar.
I marvelled that thy fingers soft, Wherein the haughty rose was pressed, Had power to pluck her leaves away And scatter them upon thy breast.
A strange new heaven shone within Thine eyes, so dark and languishing; A heaven where, instead of stars, Arrows of fire were glittering.
Ah, thou hast made of me a slave To one bright glance, one word of thine ! The rays thy soul sheds, cruel maid, Become as fetters laid on mine.
Oh, leave my heart, from me depart! I for my queen desire not thee ; Thy breast is like the rose’s leaf, Thy heart as granite hard to me,
Thou knowest naught, thou fragrant one, Save wounds in tender hearts to make, Happy when thine adorer’s breast Bleeds in profusion for thy sake.
When, lonely in a grove’s deep shade, I weep, and all my sad heart grieves, Lo, thou art there! Thou findest me, Thou speakest to me through the leaves.
When in the swift and shining stream I seek oblivion of thy face, Thou findest me, and from the waves Thou smilest up with witching grace.
When to the rocks and mountains steep To break my heart and lyre I flee, Thou murmurest ever in the wind That thou hadst never love for me.
I will embrace the frozen earth, And hide from thee in dreamless sleep. The dark grave is a virgin too ; Is any other heart so deep ?