Poems (Van Vorst)/Viva! Anima Carissima

by Marie Van Vorst

SONNETS

SONNETS

VIVA! ANIMA CARISSIMA I

Hail, Dearest! could verse make you live again
I 'd rise with pallid-circled dawn to write
Until the veiled, the jealous hand of night
(Like Death that snatched you from the world of men)
Cloud up my thought and tracery of my pen.
Then would I burn the gentle candle-light
Till, fading spectre, sank each tall mast white
And cold stars lent their brilliant lanterns. . . . Then
Should slumber only hold me till a dream
Brought new enraptured rhythm—new song to give
Through vision of your soul's transcendent flame.
Youth, life, and love, should harness to the theme
Draw to Olympus—pleading Jove for Fame.
Oh Dearest, if my verse could make you live!

II

Hail, hail! . . . Where the horizon fades and glows,
Last night I seemed to see you standing, Sweet.
Light mantled you from starry head to feet;
Aureoles bound your brows, pale flame on Snows.
Beloved,—in your hand you held a Rose,
No flower immortal, red as hearts that beat
For earthly love, nor know the winding-sheet.
Who loves, who has been loved, the Symbol knows!
As you came toward me, with the Rose, royal,
Faint heart took cheer;—cheeks wan with sullen grief
Grew bright with thought of Bliss beyond the Veil.
Nirvana holds no lover's heart in thrall.
I wear the Rose, a kiss, each crimson leaf
Warm with your lips. . . . Hail my Beloved! . . . Hail!

III

If Fate had said, when first I saw thee stand
Straight, tall, and beautiful, and all my own—
"This is for you, the kingdom and the throne
"The rule and the dominion of the land;
"Eyes, lips, and benison of dearest hand,
"Caress of voice, and laugh, and lowest tone;
"Choose! Will you surfeit, then go forth alone,
"Because so favoured the more cursed and banned?"
I 'd choose to lack thee! Ignorant, and blest
Though love and thee were to have heaven possessed,
Oh who would face the desolation's sting
Or choose to live bereft, with memory?

I still may find after my Winter—Spring
If Fate would wipe the tablets clear of thee.

IV

When they together saw the Calendar
Slip by in months that wore Spring all days long,
He made his lover's verse and roundel song,
The burthen of the rhyme his love of her! . . .
What though the storm swept by with rainy stir,
And winds, like ghosts, would 'round the windows throng,
They sat heart-linked, hand-linked; and bright and strong
Riot ran through their veins like Midsummer.
For palm to palm is exquisite as May;
And lip on lip is mad July at best!
Where is the fire for this pale winter's day?
For one who sits alone at Death's behest?
Ghosts of the storm peer in with charnel mirth
At ghosts of ashes on the gusty hearth.