Page:Prometheus Bound, and other poems.djvu/131

Rh

Go, lady! lean to the night-guitar,

And drop a smile to the bringer;

Then smile as sweetly, when he is far,

At the voice of an in-door singer!

Bask tenderly beneath tender eyes;

Glance lightly, on their removing;

And join new vows to old perjuries—

But dare not call it loving!

Unless you can think, when the song is done,

No other is soft in the rhythm;

Unless you can feel, when left by One,

That all men beside go with him;

Unless you can know, when unpraised by his breath,

That your beauty itself wants proving;

Unless you can swear—"For life, for death!"—

Oh, fear to call it loving!

Unless you can muse in a crowd all day,

On the absent face that fixed you;

Unless you can love, as the angels may,

With the breadth of heaven betwixt you;

Unless you can dream that his faith is fast,

Through behoving and unbehoving;

Unless you can die when the dream is past—

Oh, never call it loving!