‘Chose Vue’
A METRICAL CAPRICE
UP she rose, fair daughter—well she was gracedAs a cloud her going, stept from her chair,As a summer-soft cloud, in her going paced,Down dropped her riband-band, and all her waving hairShook like loosened music cadent to her waist;—Lapsing like music, wavery as water,Slid to her waist.
‘Whereto Art Thou Come?’
‘FRIEND, whereto art thou come?’ Thus Verity;Of each that to the world’s sad OlivetComes with no multitude, but alone by night,Lit with the one torch of his lifted soul,Seeking her that he may lay hands on her;Thus: and waits answer from the mouth of deed.Truth is a maid, whom men woo diversely;This, as a spouse; that, as a light-o’-love,To know, and having known, to make his brag.But woe to him that takes the immortal kiss,And not estates her in his housing life,Mother of all his seed! So he betrays,Not Truth, the unbetrayable, but himself:And with his kiss’s rated traitor-craft,The Haceldama of a plot of daysHe buys, to consummate his JudasryTherein with Judas’ guerdon of despair.