Leda — Themes and Context

is torches but one week About her bed (and still o’er her young cheek Passed rosy shadows of those thoughts that sped Across her mind, still virgin, still unwed, For all her body was her own no more), When Leda with her maidens to the shore Of bright Eurotas came, to escape the heat Of summer noon in waters coolly sweet. By a brown pool which opened smooth and clear Below the wrinkled water of a weir They sat them down under an old fir-tree To rest: and to the laughing melody Of their sweet speech the river’s rippling bore A liquid burden, while the sun did pour Pure colour out of heaven upon the earth. The meadows seethed with the incessant mirth Of grasshoppers, seen only when they flew Their curves of scarlet or sudden dazzling blue. Within the fir-tree’s round of unpierced shade The maidens sat with laughter and talk, or played, Gravely intent, their game of knuckle-bones; Or tossed from hand to hand the old dry cones Littered about the tree. And one did sing A ballad of some far-off Spartan king, Who took a wife, but left her, well-away! Slain by his foes upon their wedding-day. “That was a piteous story,” Leda sighed, “To be a widow ere she was a bride.” “Better,” said one, “to live a virgin life Alone, and never know the name of wife And bear the ugly burden of a child And have great pain by it. Let me live wild, A bird untamed by man!” “Nay,” cried another, “I would be wife, if I should not be mother. Cypris I honour; let the vulgar pay Their gross vows to Lucina when they pray. Our finer spirits would be blunted quite By bestial teeming; but Love’s rare delight Wings the rapt soul towards Olympus’ height.” “Delight?” cried Leda. “Love to me has brought Nothing but pain and a world of shameful thought. When they say love is sweet, the poets lie; ’Tis but a trick to catch poor maidens by. What are their boasted pleasures? I am queen To the most royal king the world has seen; Therefore I should, if any woman might, Know at its full that exquisite delight. Yet these few days since I was made a wife Have held more bitterness than all my life, While I was yet a child.” The great bright tears Slipped through her lashes. “Oh, my childish years! Years that were all my own, too sadly few, When I was happy—and yet never knew How happy till to-day!” Her maidens came About her as she wept, whispering her name, Leda, sweet Leda, with a hundred dear Caressing words to soothe her heavy cheer. At last she started up with a fierce pride Upon her face. “I am a queen,” she cried, “But had forgotten it a while; and you, Wenches of mine, you were forgetful too. Undress me. We would bathe ourself.” So proud A queen she stood, that all her maidens bowed In trembling fear and scarcely dared approach To do her bidding. But at last the brooch Pinned at her shoulder is undone, the wide Girdle of silk beneath her breasts untied; The tunic falls about her feet, and she Steps from the crocus folds of drapery, Dazzlingly naked, into the warm sun. God-like she stood; then broke into a run, Leaping and laughing in the light, as though Life through her veins coursed with so swift a flow Of generous blood and fire that to remain Too long in statued queenliness were pain To that quick soul, avid of speed and joy. She ran, easily bounding, like a boy, Narrow of haunch and slim and firm of breast. Lovelier she seemed in motion than at rest, If that might be, when she was never less, Moving or still, than perfect loveliness. At last, with cheeks afire and heaving flank, She checked her race, and on the river’s bank Stood looking down at her own echoed shape And at the fish that, aimlessly agape, Hung midway up their heaven of flawless glass, Like angels waiting for eternity to pass. Leda drew breath and plunged; her gasping cry Splashed up; the water circled brokenly Out from that pearly shudder of dipped limbs; The glittering pool laughed up its flowery brims, And everything, save the poor fish, rejoiced: Their idiot contemplation of the Moist, The Cold, the Watery, was in a trice Ended when Leda broke their crystal paradise.