FATIMA. I. O LOVE, Love, Love! O withering might! O sun, that from thy noonday height Throbbing thro' all thy heat and light, Lo, parch'd and wither'd, deaf and blind, II. Last night I wasted hateful hours Below the city's eastern towers : I thirsted for the brooks, the showers : I crush'd them on my breast, my mouth: Of that long desert to the south. Last night, when some one spoke his name, From my swift blood that went and came A thousand little shafts of flame Were shiver'd in my narrow frame. With one long kiss my whole soul thro' IV. Before he mounts the hill, I know He cometh quickly from below : Sweet gales, as from deep gardens, blow In my dry brain my spirit soon, Down-deepening from swoon to swoon, V. The wind sounds like a silver wire, And from beyond the noon a fire And, isled in sudden seas of light, My heart, pierced thro' with fierce delight, Bursts into blossom in his sight. VI. My whole soul waiting silently, Droops blinded with his shining eye: I will grow round him in his place, CENONE. THERE lies a vale in Ida, lovelier Than all the valleys of Ionian hills. The swimming vapour slopes athwart the glen, Behind the valley topmost Gargarus Stands up and takes the morning but in front The gorges, opening wide apart, reveal Troas and Ilion's column'd citadel, The crown of Troas. Hither came at noon Mournful Enone, wandering forlorn Of Paris, once her playmate on the hills. Her cheek had lost the rose, and round her neck She, leaning on a fragment twined with vine, "O mother Ida, many-fountain'd Ida, Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. For now the noonday quiet holds the hill: My eyes are full of tears, my heart of love, |