The Outlaw
Worn we lie on the shimmering sand,
Well quit of the world and free.
The scent of the flowers that bloom inland
Is wafted over the sea.
I lean on your shoulder, round and bare,
As soft as a ripened peach,
And watch the weed, like a woman's hair,
Drift up on the curving beach.
Twilight falls on the violet hills,—
On silver surf at their feet,—
From groves of Orange a wild bird trills
Songs that are cruelly sweet,—
Lilac and lemon and rose and grey
Lie soft on the dimpled waves,—
The golden tribute of parting day
Is laid on the Moorish graves.
The lonely dead, who are dispossessed:
A Minaret marks their Creed,
Grim cactus hedges enshrine their rest,
What need, my brothers, what need?
They faced the curses and cares of Life,
And how should they fear in Death
The howls of the hoarse hyenas' strife,
Their carrion tainted breath?
Nay, Well-beloved, why shudder and thrill,
When that graveyard meets your view?
Gardens or Rest, or Death if you will,
Are closed for awhile to you.
Safe in your youth, which is my reproach;
I take it to stifle pain,
As men repel the waves that encroach
From stress of the outer Main.
Building a dyke, or a strong sea-wall,
But if this they fail to do,
Collecting wreckage, things slight and small,
For these have their value too.
As massed together in heaps they lie
Resisting the rising tide
And slowly, surely, the waves defy,—
The builders are satisfied.
Thus have I taken your sixteen years
To ward my sorrow away,
And your young eyes that have known no tears
Look gaily over the bay
Towards the country of sober skies,
The land of the sullen sea,
Where dwell the azure, disdainful eyes
That never had light for me.
Many the rules in the stressful North!
And wearier most than wise;
But though I wandered away, came forth
From under those clouded skies.
Two laws are fixed, as the stars above,
For every race and clime;
One is the cruel Sweetness of Love
And one the Shortness of Time!
Ah, Well-beloved, though I may not spend
The best of my soul on you,
Ask of me as you would of a friend,
All that I can I will do.
For now that none have the right to say
"This thing is not meet for thee,"
I take what happiness drifts my way
Well quit of the world and free.