THE END OF A MONTH. BY ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE. HE night last night was strange and shaken ; For the old love's love-sake dead and buried, Hardly we saw the high moon hanging, With chafe and change of surges chiming, Faint lights fell this way, that way floated, Shores and faint cliffs and bays and skies. The ghost of sea that shrank up sighing The rustling sand and shingle shaken With light sweet touches and small sound Under gray skies by waters white. Full of cold clouds and moonbeams drifted By doubts and dreams and foiled desires. Across, aslant, a scudding sea-mew Swam, dipped and dropped, and grazed the sea; And one with me I could not dream you: And one with you I could not be. As the white wing the white wave's fringes From the moon's lowest light and last As a star feels the sun and falters, So once with fiery breath and flying Your winged heart touched mine and went, And the swift spirits kissed, and sighing, Sundered and smiled and were content. That only touch, that feeling only, Enough we found, we found too much; Slight as the sea's sight of the sea-mew, Who snares and tames with fear and danger Only to mar, only to change her Sleek supple soul and splendid skin? Easy with blows to mar and maim her, The limbs to mar, the soul to lose? Best leave or take the perfect creature, Change feet for wings or wings for feet. Strange eyes, new limbs, can no man give her; No soul she hath, we see, to outlive her; So may one read his weird, and reason, For each man in his loving season Fools and is fooled of these in vain. Charms that allay not any longing, Ah, too soon shot, the fool's bolt misses! Night after night of running kisses, Chirp after chirp of changing doves Should Love disown or disesteem you You could not tame your light white sea-mew, |