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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=413300" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Late Loved--Well Loved</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">He stood beside her in the dawn<br>(And she his Dawn and she his Spring),<br>From her bright palm she fed her fawn,<br>Her swift eyes chased the swallow's wing:<br>Her restless lips, smile-haunted, cast<br>Shrill silver calls to hound and dove:<br>Her young locks wove them with the blast.<br>To the flush'd, azure shrine above,<br>The light boughs o'er her golden head<br>Toss'd em'rald arm and blossom palm.<br>The perfume of their prayer was spread<br>On the sweet wind in breath of balm.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Dawn of my heart,' he said, 'O child,<br>Knit thy pure eyes a space with mine:<br>O chrystal, child eyes, undefiled,<br>Let fair love leap from mine to thine!'<br>'The Dawn is young,' she smiled and said,<br>'Too young for Love's dear joy and woe;<br>Too young to crown her careless head<br>With his ripe roses. Let me go--<br>Unquestion'd for a longer space,<br>Perchance, when day is at the flood,<br>In thy true palm I'll gladly place<br>Love's flower in its rounding bud.<br>But now the day is all too young,<br>The Dawn and I are playmates still.'<br>She slipped the blossomed boughs among,<br>He strode beyond the violet hill.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Again they stand (Imperial noon<br>Lays her red sceptre on the earth),<br>Where golden hangings make a gloom,<br>And far off lutes sing dreamy mirth.<br>The peacocks cry to lily cloud,<br>From the white gloss of balustrade:<br>Tall urns of gold the gloom make proud,<br>Tall statues whitely strike the shade,<br>And pulse in the dim quivering light<br>Until, most Galatea-wise--<br>Each looks from base of malachite<br>With mystic life in limbs and eyes.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Her robe, (a golden wave that rose,<br>And burst, and clung as water clings<br>To her long curves) about her flows.<br>Each jewel on her white breast sings<br>Its silent song of sun and fire.<br>No wheeling swallows smite the skies<br>And upward draw the faint desire,<br>Weaving its myst'ry in her eyes.<br>In the white kisses of the tips<br>Of her long fingers lies a rose,<br>Snow-pale beside her curving lips,<br>Red by her snowy breast it glows.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Noon of my soul,' he says, 'behold!<br>The day is ripe, the rose full blown,<br>Love stands in panoply of gold,<br>To Jovian height and strength now grown,<br>No infant he, a king he stands,<br>And pleads with thee for love again.'<br>'Ah, yes!' she says, 'in known lands,<br>He kings it--lord of subtlest pain;<br>The moon is full, the rose is fair--<br>Too fair! 'tis neither white nor red:<br>'I know the rose that love should wear,<br>Must redden as the heart had bled!<br>The moon is mellow bright, and I<br>Am happy in its perfect glow.<br>The slanting sun the rose may dye--<br>But for the sweet noon--let me go.'<br>She parted--shimm'ring thro' the shade,<br>Bent the fair splendour of her head:<br>'Would the rich noon were past,' he said,<br>Would the pale rose were flush'd to red!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Again. The noon is past and night<br>Binds on his brow the blood red Mars--<br>Down dusky vineyards dies the fight,<br>And blazing hamlets slay the stars.<br>Shriek the shrill shells: the heated throats<br>Of thunderous cannon burst--and high<br>Scales the fierce joy of bugle notes:<br>The flame-dimm'd splendours of the sky.<br>He, dying, lies beside his blade:<br>Clear smiling as a warrior blest<br>With victory smiles, thro' sinister shade<br>Gleams the White Cross upon her breast.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Soul of my soul, or is it night<br>Or is it dawn or is it day?<br>I see no more nor dark nor light,<br>I hear no more the distant fray.'<br>''Tis Dawn,' she whispers: 'Dawn at last!<br>Bright flush'd with love's immortal glow<br>For me as thee, all earth is past!<br>Late loved--well loved, now let us go!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Isabella+Valancy+Crawford">Isabella Valancy Crawford</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=413300" data-title="Late Loved--Well Loved de Isabella Valancy Crawford" data-description="He stood beside her in the dawn
(And she his Dawn and she his Spring),
From her bright palm she fed her fawn,
Her swift eyes chased the swallow's wing:
Her restless lips, smile-haunted, cast
Shrill silver calls to hound and dove:
Her young locks w..."></div>
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