Core Poem by Digby Mackworth Dolben

Where in dawnward Sicily
Gentle rivers wed the sea,
Bitter life was given me.


Gods that are most desolate
For their loveliness and state
Being made the mock of fate,


Mingling wine with ruddy fire
And the passion of the lyre,
Filled my veins with all desire.


Twain the robes they fashioned me,
Dainty, delicate to see,
Girt about with mockery:


Dowers twain for me they planned,
Holding in their other hand
All my times, an hour's sand;-


Love, the mystic rose of life,
Grafted with a sanguine knife
On the thorns of sin and strife;


Poetry, the hand that wrings
(Bruised albeit at the strings)
Music from the soul of things.


But to either gift a mate
Added they in subtle hate-
This the trick they learned of Fate;-


Shame, to draw the tender blood
From the palm of maidenhood,
Leaving it a yellow rod;


Weariness of all that is,
Tired sorrow, tired bliss,
Nothing is more sore than this.


Therefore turn thy eyes on me,
O Thou Praise of Sicily,
Honey-sweet Persephone,


Who, beyond all ban and bale,
With supreme compassion pale,
Spreadest quiet for a veil.


In the soft Catanian hills,
Gleaming by the gleaming rills
Yet are blown thy daffodils;


See, I bear them as is meet,
Lay them on thy pallid feet,
Where in marble thou art sweet.


Hear the story of my wrong,
Thou to whom all perished song
And departed loves belong.


Even as the maiden grass,
Recreating all that pass,
Mine exceeding beauty was.


Men, who heard me singing, said
'Bays are heavy on thy head;
'Take a myrtle leaf instead'.


'How shall Erôs' call be still'-
Ever answered I-'until
'Anterôs the song fulfil?'


Once at vesper-tide I sat
In a bower of pomegranate,
Where it was my use to wait,


Till the hour of phantasies
Bade my soul's desire arise
Veiled, against the blinded skies.


But unveiled he came to me,
With the passion of the sea,
That night, by the scarlet tree.


Lightly from the boat he leapt;
Snowy surge the shingle swept;
Whiter were his feet that stepped


Up the jewelled beach;-and on
As a pillared flame he shone,
Clear, and glad to look upon.


Was he one whom years alloy
Or the god of ageless joy,
Dionysos, or a boy?


Never was such hair, I wist,
Lighted as a water-mist,
In the noons of amethyst;-


Eyes, of colour only seen
Where the far waves' palest green
Faints into the azure sheen.


There his eyes were full on me
With the passion of the sea,
That night, by the scarlet tree.


'Lily of the amber west,
'Whither over ocean's breast
'Suns and heroes drop to rest,


'From the morning lands I come,
'Laughing through the laughing foam,
'Seeking Love in Vesper's home.


'Sudden as the falling star,
'Wingèd as the victor car,
'Nears the doom to blight and mar.


'Full desire, and faint delight,
'Words that leap, and lips that bite
'With the panther lithe and light,-


'These-while blushes bud and blow,
'While life's purple torrents flow-
'If we know not, shall we know?


'Are they hid beyond the hours?
'Shall they feed on lotus-flowers?
'Warm us in the sunless bowers?


'Thou art beautiful, and I
'Beautiful; I know not why,
'Save to love before we die.'


But a day-a year is sped
Since these words were sung or said,
Since he loved me-he is dead.