O Earth that walls these prison bars—O Stones

Which shut my body in—could I be free

If these fell and the grated door which groans

For every back scourged hither oped for me?

Freedom were what to travel you, O Earth,

When my heart makes its daily agony?

And longing such as mine cannot ungirth

Its bands and its mortality o'erleap.

Our life is love unsatisfied from birth,

Our life is longing waking or asleep,

And mine has been a vigil of quick pain.

O Leonora, thus it is I keep

Grief in my heart and weariness of brain.

How did I know these chains and bars are wrought

Of frailer stuff than space, that I could gain

In earth no respite, but a vision brought

The truth, O Leonora? It was this:

I dreamed this hopeless love, so long distraught

Was never caged, but from the first was bliss,

And moved like music from the meeting hour

To the rapt moment of the earliest kiss

Bestowed upon your hands, to gathering flower

Of lips so purely yielded, the embrace

Tender as dawn in April when a shower

Now I was with you, and by your commands.

Your love was mine at last completely won,

And waited but the blossom. How you sang,

Laughed, ran about your palace rooms and none

Closed doors against me, desks and closets sprang

To my touch open, all your secrets lay

Revealed to me in gladness—and this pang

Which I had borne in bitterness day by day

Was gone, nor could I bring it back, or think

How it had been, or why—this heart so gay

In sudden sunshine could no longer link

Itself with what it was.

Had blooms your hands had gathered white and pink,

And drained from precious vases their perfume.

And fruits were heaped for me in golden bowls,

And tapestries from many an Asian loom

Were hung for me, and our united souls

Shone over treasure books—how glad you were

To listen to my epic, from the scrolls

Of Jerusalem, the holy sepulcher.

Still as a shaft of light you sat and heard

With veilÈd eyes which tears could scarcely blur,

This week with you—you served me ancient wine.

We sat across a table where you cast

A cloth of chikku, or we went to dine

There in the stately room of heavy plate.

Or tiring of the rooms, the day's decline

Beheld us by the river to await

The evening planet, where in elfin mood

You whistled like the robin to its mate,

And won its answering call. Then through the wood

We wandered back in silence hand in hand,

And reached the sacred portal with our blood

Running so swift no ripples stirred the sand

To figures of reflection.

Within your room of books, upon the stand

The reading lights are brought to us, and then

You read to me from Plato, and my heart

Breathes like a bird at rest; the world of men,

Strife, hate, are all forgotten in this art

Of life made perfect. Or when weariness

Passes too quickly—our poor souls possess

Beauty and love a moment—and our rhyme

Which captures it, creates the illusion love

Has permanence, when even at its prime

Decay has taken it from the light above,

Or darkness underneath.

To our first sleep and all the bliss thereof.

How did you first come to me, how confer

On me your beauty? That first night it was

The blue light back of Dante, but a blur

Of golden light our spirits, when you pass

Your hand across my brow, our souls go out

To meet each other, leave as wilted grass

Our emptied bodies. Then we grow devout,

And kneel and pray together for the gift

Of love from heaven, and to banish doubt

Of change or faithlessness. Then with a swift

Arising from the prayer you disappear.

I sleep meanwhile, you come again and lift

My head against your bosom, bringing near

A purple robe for me, and say, "Wear this,

And to your chamber go." And thus I hear,

And leave you; on my couch, where calm for bliss