Mariana in the South

Behind the barren hill upsprung

            With pointed rocks against the light,

The crag sharpshadowed overhung

            Each glaring creek and inlet bright.

Far, far, one lightblue ridge was seen,

            Looming like baseless fairyland;

            Eastward a slip of burning sand,

Dark-rimmed with sea, and bare of green.

Down in the dry salt-marshes stood

            That house darklatticed. Not a breath

            Swayed the sick vineyard underneath,

Or moved the dusty southernwood.

"Madonna," with melodious moan

                                          Sang Mariana, night and morn,

                                          "Madonna! lo! I am all alone,

                                          Love-forgotten and love-forlorn."

She, as her carol sadder grew,

            From her warm brow and bosom down

Through rosy taper fingers drew

            Her streaming curls of deepest brown

On either side, and made appear,

            Still-lighted in a secret shrine,

            Her melancholy eyes divine,

The home of woe without a tear.

                                          "Madonna," with melodious moan

                                          Sang Mariana, night and morn,

                                          "Madonna! lo! I am all alone,

                                          Love-forgotten and love-forlorn."

When the dawncrimson changed, and past

            Into deep orange o'er the sea,

Low on her knees herself she cast,

            Unto our lady prayèd she.

She moved her lips, she prayed alone,

            She praying disarrayed and warm

            From slumber, deep her wavy form

In the darklustrous mirror shone.

                                    "Madonna," in a low clear tone

                                    Said Mariana, night and morn,

                                    Low she mourned, "I am all alone,

                                    Love-forgotten, and love-forlorn."

At noon she slumbered. All along

            The silvery field, the large leaves talked

With one another, as among

            The spikèd maize in dreams she walked.

The lizard leapt: the sunlight played:

            She heard the callow nestling lisp,

            And brimful meadow-runnels crisp,

In the full-leavèd platan-shade.

                                    In sleep she breathed in a lower tone,

                                    Murmuring as at night and morn,

                                    "Madonna! lo! I am all alone,

                                    Love-forgotten and love-forlorn,"

Dreaming, she knew it was a dream

            Most false: he was and was not there.

She woke: the babble of the stream

            Fell, and without the steady glare

Shrank the sick olive sere and small.

            The riverbed was dusty-white;

            From the bald rock the blinding light

Beat ever on the sunwhite wall.

                                          She whispered, with a stifled moan

                                          More inward than at night or morn,

                                          "Madonna, leave me not all alone,

                                          To die forgotten and live forlorn."

One dry cicala's summer song

            At night filled all the gallery,

Backward the latticeblind she flung,

            And leaned upon the balcony.

Ever the low wave seemed to roll

            Up to the coast; far on, alone

            In the East, lange Hesper overshone

The mourning gulf, and on her soul

Poured divine solace, or the rise

            Of moonlight from the margin gleamed,

            Volcano-like, afar, and streamed

On her white arm, and heavenward eyes.

                                    Not all alone she made her moan,

                                    Yet ever sang she, night and morn,

                                    "Madonna, lo! I am all alone,

                                    Love-forgotten and love-forlorn.”

↑ See Poems, chiefly Lyrical.