Chapter I: Front Matter

THE GARDEN OF DESIRE
LOVE SONNETS TO A SPANISH MONK

BY
EDNA WORTHLEY UNDERWOOD

]

NEW YORK & LONDON
MITCHELL KENNERLEY
1913

_Copyright, 1913, by
Mitchell Kennerley_

_Printed in America_

I
_THE GARDEN OF DESIRE_

“O, holy God of Love, thou guidest there the heart where hindrances are.”

Kalidasa. (_Malavika and Agnimitra_)

I

I hastened homeward through the twilight lone
While on my lips your kisses stung like flame,
Burning to purest white the rose of shame
That leaped between us, scarlet lipped, full blown;
Within my ears your Spanish speech made moan;
I saw nor mud, mist, gray, wet streets; there came
As in a vision, Spain of splendid name.
Your castle in Love’s Land—there, we, alone!

Gone! Gone! Here by the window now I wait
For him to whom I owe yet give not love;
Watching the bird-winged night drop from above,
Grouped church spires, like frail hands up-flung to Fate,
On windows through which answering night lights chime,
I hear the passionless, cold rain of Winter time!

II

How well, how well you woo me with soft speech,
Fire swift my blood with wreathèd word divine!
“If power to choose Love’s own pure tongue were mine,”
You said, “I’d choose Italia’s to teach
You how I love; but If I must beseech
As penitent, mercy, pardon divine—
(As now in love’s proud passion I seek thine)—
O! let us, Sweet, speak Spanish, each to each!”

“But if in haughtiness I would command,
See armies, nations, bow beneath my word,
Then let the bitter English tongue be heard!”
“Love! Love!” I cried, “stretch out your sceptred hand,
Put from you the soft vowels that sing of Spain—
Look! Look! I kneel before you in love’s pain!”

III

No! No! I told you once, twice, thrice,—this wise,
And firmly I said it despite the hand
That clung about my breasts, the vice-like band
That passion set on me; despite your eyes
That eagerly sought mine, their wild surprise
That trembling with desire I could withstand
The majesty of Love’s greatest command
Laid on us with the weight of destinies.

I left, aye!—left you there and went my way.
Outside I met a woman bent and old,
A toothless, wrinkled hag, shrunk with Life’s cold.
That sight makes good all sin, I cried, Bright Day!
If age were not and death—O! then—Here! Here!
Outside your door keep me not waiting, Dear!

IV

Upon our first great love-night, Heart of Mine,
You whispered in that golden speech of Spain,
“My home was Malaga beside the Main.”
’Twas there, I asked, where black the bunched grapes shine?
O sweet, sweet South, I cried, sweet South of thine!
A silence fell. We spoke no more again.
Within your eyes I saw an olden pain;
O sad, sad South, I thought, sad South of thine!

Upon my breast bunched black your bright curls lay—
Bacchante then and Pan were we that night;
Grape-God, I call you witness to the sight;
That night, Grape-God, beneath your mighty sway
Lay not upon my breast in love’s sweet pain
Black grapes from Malaga beside the Main?

V

You said: “To make more sweet that which will be,
Let’s play a part together, you and I.
See!—I’m a monk, who, in his garden high,
Doth fast and pray to banish things worldly.
Down there you come, sad faced, dreaming of me.
I feel that you ’twixt flowering trees draw nigh;
I look not lest your lips let love flame high,
But, rising,—_thus_—I bless you prayerfully.”

Señor!—that tone!—Those gestures strange yet stern!
Tell me, where did you learn them? Tell me true!
Great God, Señor, an unfrocked priest are you!
No, no! No, no!—Enough, your kisses burn—
To-night—I swear it!—you shall be denied,
Grief-stricken glooms o’er us—_The Crucified_.

VI

Upon my eyes like rain your kisses fall,
Soft rain that maketh to be sweet the Spring,
The time of fairest love’s first flowering,
When mating birds so softly call and call.
Like rain upon my eyes your kisses fall,
Bright rain the royal Summer’s crown to bring,
Soft rain upon shy trees that croon and swing,
Sweet bridal veil of mist that hideth all.

Kiss me not thus! No, no, not thus kiss me.
The storm’s kiss first!—when black the day suns grow
And winds nor height, depth, hell nor heaven know—
Yes, yes, the storm’s kiss first! Thus—_thus_—kiss me!
Unchain the whirlwinds of your wild desire
And blind me, blind me, with the lightning’s fire!

VII

But when I’m worn and weary and would rest,
And in my ears the storm sounds vaguely far,
The lightnings fireless as that far night star,
Then fold me in your arms, upon your breast.
O! fold me in your arms! There let me rest,
To watch, idly, the fleeing Storm-God’s car,
Rain-mist so soft it may not mark nor mar
The lily’s leaf—when sleep and dreams are best.

Then on my eyes like rain let kisses fall,
Soft rain that maketh to be sweet the Spring,
And Winter fields like pink pearls shimmering.
The bridal veil of mist fall over all!
From under, as shy crocuses do peep,
New love shall bud and blossom while I sleep.

VIII

Within a gloomy land our love did grow,
Within a city gray with mist and smoke
Whose roofs lone prairie levels roughly choke,
Where no bright, seaward slipping rivers flow,
Around us rose the din of toil and woe—
Straight church towers whence stern warring bell tones broke
With words of warning when their iron tongues spoke,—
Such was the city that our love did know!

Think you we saw it? No, no! This saw we—
A waving field where flame-like flowers bloom,
(That fateful flower of old Sicilian doom—
Great Demeter, we thought not then of thee!)
We plucked. We ate. The fruit was strangely sweet,
And hell and heaven opened at our feet.