To Juliet Pollock

To the Moon¹

1863, Feb. 14th.

Say does the crimson of the drooping rose

When soft it falls upon delighted eyes

Close up those eyes against the glorious sun

Which gave all flowers their odours and their bloom?

Or does the song of lark and nightingale

Mingling at dawn along the Devon shore

Make the full heart less fitted to enjoy

The grander music of the gleaming sea?

Is it not rather so, that where a love

So large as that which fills my soul for thee

Unlocks the doors, the smaller loves of earth

Troop in without disturbance to the great?

Dismiss thy fear; retract thy strong reproach

And bend thy beauty o’er me as of yore.

Nor Bromine richly brown, nor Chlorine green—

Nor Aqueous Vapour which the praying earth

Swings from her censers underneath thy beams,

Has ever caused my love to swerve from thee.

These are but melodies of minor note

Which mingle with that grander holier strain

My soul for ever sendeth to that heaven

Where thou dost reign, the Queen of all the stars.

Dissolve those clouds, unpucker that fair brow,

Nor let thy lover for a moment deem

The shock of worlds could move thy steadfastness

Thou’rt bright once more—come nearer then my love,—

Still nearer—stoop—a little lower—there!

I kiss thy silver cheek, Goodnight! Goodnight!

_______

Thus nobly mated we shall love through time—

Our time—and send the memory of our love

To other times; a torch to kindle trust

To burn up doubt, and give the sinking hearts

Of men reliance on the force of love.

I knew thee by thy eyes (J’s)

Hamlet.²

_______

The queenly Moon commands the plastic Sea

Which rolls around the world its silvered brine

And thus on Sunday evening drawn by thee

I’ll roll from woodless ‘woods’³ to 59.⁴

J. T. | March 28.

RI MS JT/1/TYP/6/2002–3

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