Birth-Moment

Behold her,

Running through the waves

Eager to reach the land;

The water laps her,

Sun and wind are on her,

Healthy, brine-drenched and young,

Behold Desire new-born;-

Desire on first fulfillment's radiant edge,

Love at miraculous moment of emergence,

This is she,

Who running,

Hastens, hastens to the land.


Look. . Look. .

Her blown gold hair and lucent eyes of youth,

Her body rose and ivory in the sun. .

Look,

How she hastens,

Running, running to the land.


Her hands are yearning and her feet are swift

To reach and hold

She knows not what

Yet knows that it is life;

Need urges her,

Self, uncomprehended but most deep divined,

Unwilled but all-comprelling, drives her on.

Life runs to life.

She who longs,

But hath not yet accepted or bestowed,

All virginal dear and bright,

Runs, runs to reach the land.


And she who runs shall be

married to blue of summer skies at noon,

companion to green fields,

held bride to subtle fragrance and of all sweet sound,

beloved of the stars,

and wanton priestess to the veering winds.


Oh breathless space between:

Womb-time just passed,

Dark-hidden, chaotic formative, unpersonal,

And individual life of fresh-created force

Not yet begun:

One moment more

Before desire shall meet desire

And new creation start.

Oh breathless space,

While she,

Just risen from the waves,

Runs, runs to reach the land.


(Ah, keenest personal moment

When mouth unkissed turns eager-slow and tremulous

Toward lover's mouth,

That tremulous and eager-slow

Droops down to it:

But breathless space of breath or two

Lies in between

Before the mouth upturned and mouth down-drooped

Shall meet and make the kiss.)


Look. . Look. .

She runs. .

Love fresh-emerged,

Desire new-born. .

Blown on by wind,

And shone on by the sun,

She rises from the waves

And running,

Hasten, hastens to the land.


Belove'd and Belove'd and Belove'd,

Even so right

And beautiful and

Is my desire;

Even so longing-swift

I run to your receiving arms.


O Aphrodite!

O Aphrodite hear!

Hear my wrung cry flame upward poignant-glad...

This is my time for me.

I too am young;

I too am all of love!


1905