(The meaning—those black bride's-eye: above,
Not the painter's lip should tell!)
'And here,' said he, 'Jules probably will ask,
"You have black eyes, love,—you are, sure enough,
My peerless bride,—so, do you tell, indeed,
What needs some explanation—what means this?"
—And I am to go on, without a word—
So, I grew wiser in Love and Hate,
From simple, that I was of late.
For once, when I loved, I would enlace
Breast, eyelids, hands, feet, form and face
Of her I loved, in one embrace—
As if by mere love I could love immensely!
And when I hated, I would plunge
My sword, and wipe with the first lunge
My foe's whole life out, like a spunge—
As if by mere hate I could hate intensely!
But now I am wiser, know better the fashion
How passion seeks aid from its opposite passion,
And if I see cause to love more, or hate more
Than ever man loved, ever hated, before—
And seek in the Valley of Love,
The spot, or the spot in Hate's Grove,
Where my soul may the sureliest reach
The essence, nought less, of each,
The Hate of all Hates, or the Love
Of all Loves, in its Valley or Grove,—
I find them the very warders
Each of the other's borders.
I love most, when Love is disguised
In Hate; and when Hate is surprised