HOUSEHOLD GODS

The scene is at the hearth of crassus, where is a little bronze altar dedicated to the Lares and Penates.  A pale flame rises from the burning sandal-wood, on which crassus throws benzoin and musk.  He is standing in deep dejection.

Crassus. 
Smoke without fire! 
  No thrill of tongues licks up
  The offerings in the cup. 
Dead falls desire.

Black smoke thou art,
  O altar-flame, that dost dismember,
  Devour the hearth, to leave no ember
To warm this heart.

I see her still —
  Adela dancing here
  Till dim gods did appear
To work our will.

The delicate girl! 
  Diaphanous gossamer
  Subtly revealing her
Brave breast of pearl!

Now — she’s withdrawn
  At dusk to the wild woods,
  Mystic beatitudes
That dure till dawn.

Let life exclaim
  Against these things of spirit,
  Mankind that disinherit
Of love’s pure flame!
[He bends before the altar and begins to weep.]

Ye household gods! 
  By these male tears I swear
  That ye shall grant this prayer. 
All things at odds

Shall be put straight —
  Harmonized, reconciled
  By some appointed child
Of some far Fate!
[A curtain has been drawn aside during this invocation, and
Alicia advances.  She smiles subtly upon him; and, giving a
strange gesture, makes one or two noiseless steps of dancing.]

Alicia. 
Master still sad?

Crassus. 
These faint and fearful shores
  Of time are beaten by the surge of sense,
  Love worn away — by love? — to indifference. 
Who knows what god — or demon — she adores? 
  Or in what wood she shelters, or what grove
  Sees her profane our sacrament of love?

Alicia. 
I saw her follow
The stream in the hollow
Where never Apollo
  Abides. 
So thick are the trees
That never the breeze
Stirs them, or sees
  What satyr inhabits the glen, what nymph in the
    pools of it hides.

Lighter of foot
  Than a sylph or a fairy,
  Sinuous, wary,
  I passed from the airy
Lawns, where the flute
  Of the winds made tremulous music for man.

I followed the ripple
  Of the stream; I crept
  Where the waters wept —
    The floss in the foss
    Gurgling across
    The bosses of moss,
Like a dryad’s nipple
  In the mouth of Pan!

Crassus. 
O pearl of the house! you came to the end?

Alicia. 
The dusk of the slave, the dawn of a friend?

Crassus. 
Freedom is thine for the skill and the will.

Alicia. 
The skill is mine — but the will lies still,
Still as the earth that dare not stir
Till the kiss of the sun awaken her!