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Poem by Arthur William Symons Stella Maris Why is it I remember yet You, of all women one has met In random wayfare, as one meets The chance romances of the streets, The Juliet of a night? I know Your heart holds many a Romeo. And I, who call to mind your face In so serene a pausing-place, Where the bright pure expanse of sea, The shadowy shore's austerity, Seems a reproach to you and me, I too have sought on many a breast The ecstasy of love's unrest, I too have had my dreams, and met (Ah me!) how many a Juliet. Why is it, then, that I recall You, neither first nor last of all? For, surely as I see tonight The glancing of the lighthouse light, Against the sky, across the bay, As turn by turn it falls my way, So surely do I see your eyes Out of the empty night arise, Child, you arise and smile to me Out of the night, out of the sea, The Nereid of a moment there, And is it seaweed in your hair? O lost and wrecked, how long ago, Out of the drownèd past, I know, You come to call me, come to claim My share of your delicious shame. Child, I remember, and can tell, One night we loved each other well; And one night's love, at least or most, Is not so small a thing to boast. You were adorable, and I Adored you to infinity, That nuptial night too briefly borne To the oblivion of morn. Oh, no oblivion! for I feel Your lips deliriously steal Along my neck and fasten there; I feel the perfume of your hair, And your soft breast that heaves and dips, Desiring my desirous lips, And that ineffable delight When souls turn bodies, and unite In the intolerable, the whole Rapture of the embodied soul. That joy was ours, we passed it by; You have forgotten me, and I Remember you thus strangely, won An instant from oblivion. And I, remembering, would declare That joy, not shame, is ours to share, Joy that we had the will and power, In spite of fate, to snatch one hour, Out of vague nights, and days at strife, So infinitely full of life. And 'tis for this I see you rise, A wraith, with starlight in your eyes, Here, where the drowsy-minded mood Is one with Nature's solitude; For this, for this, you come to me Out of the night, out of the sea. Arthur William Symons Arthur William Symons's other poems:
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