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In
Divers Tones
by
Charles G.D. Roberts
Edited
by Tracy Ware
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IN
NOTRE DAME
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When
first did I perceive you, when take heed
Of what is now so deep in heart
and brain
That tears shall not efface it, nor the greed
Of time or fate destroy, nor scorn,
nor pain?
Long summers back I trembled to the vision
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Of
your keen beauty,—a delirious sense
That he you loved might hold in like derision
Or Hell or Heaven, or sin or innocence.
This in my heart of hearts, while outwardly
Nor speech nor guarded glance
my dream betrayed;
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Till
one day, so past thought you maddened me,
My dream escaped my lips, glad
and afraid.
Afraid, where no fear was. For lo, the gift
(Worlds could not purchase it)
was mine, was mine!
And oh, my Sweet, how swift we went adrift
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| On
wild sweet waters, warmer-hued than wine!
My very eyes are dizzy with delight
At your recalled caresses. Peace,
my heart!
She whom you beat so wild for lies to-night
From you too many bitter leagues
apart.
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Be calm, and I will talk to you of her;
And you shall listen, passionately
still;
And as the pauses in my verse recur,
Think, heart, all this does fealty
to your will!
All this,—a lithe and perfect-moulded form,
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Instinct
with subtle gesture, soft, intense.
Head small and queenlike, dainty feet that warm
Even the dull world’s ways
into rapturous sense.
Clear, broad, white forehead, crowned low down
with hair
Darker than night, more soft
than sleep or tears.
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Nose
neither small nor great, but straight, and fair.
Like naught but smooth sea-shells
her delicate ears.
But how to tell about her mouth and eyes!
Her strange, sweet, maddening
eyes, her subtle mouth!
Mouth in whose closure all love’s sweetness
lives,—
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| Eyes
with the warm gleam of the lustrous south!
Fathomless dusk by night, the day lets in
Glimmer of emerald,—thus
those eyes of hers!
Above the firm sweep of the moulded chin
The lips, than whose least kiss
Heaven’s gifts were worse.
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Her bosom,—ah that now my head were laid
Warm in that resting-place! But,
heart, be still!
I will refrain, and break my dreams, afraid
To stir the yearning I can not
fulfill.
Love, in the northern night of Brittany
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Hear
you no voice divide the night like flame?
In these gray walls the inmost soul of me
Is swooning with the music of
your name.
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