AVE ATQUE VALEBlack dreams; the pale and sorrowful desireWhose eyes have looked on Lethe, and have seen,Deep in the sliding ebon tide serene,Their own vain light inverted; ashen fire,With wasted lilies, late and languishing;Autumnal roses blind with rain; slow foamFrom desert-sinking seas, with honeycombOf aconite and poppy—these I bringWith this my bitter, barren love to thee;And from the grievous springs of memory,Far in the great Maremma of my heart,I proffer thee to drink; and on thy mouth,With the one kiss wherein we meet and part,Leave fire and dust from quenchless leagues of drouth.
Black dreams; the pale and sorrowful desireWhose eyes have looked on Lethe, and have seen,Deep in the sliding ebon tide serene,Their own vain light inverted; ashen fire,With wasted lilies, late and languishing;Autumnal roses blind with rain; slow foamFrom desert-sinking seas, with honeycombOf aconite and poppy—these I bringWith this my bitter, barren love to thee;And from the grievous springs of memory,Far in the great Maremma of my heart,I proffer thee to drink; and on thy mouth,With the one kiss wherein we meet and part,Leave fire and dust from quenchless leagues of drouth.
Black dreams; the pale and sorrowful desireWhose eyes have looked on Lethe, and have seen,Deep in the sliding ebon tide serene,Their own vain light inverted; ashen fire,With wasted lilies, late and languishing;Autumnal roses blind with rain; slow foamFrom desert-sinking seas, with honeycombOf aconite and poppy—these I bringWith this my bitter, barren love to thee;And from the grievous springs of memory,Far in the great Maremma of my heart,I proffer thee to drink; and on thy mouth,With the one kiss wherein we meet and part,Leave fire and dust from quenchless leagues of drouth.
Black dreams; the pale and sorrowful desireWhose eyes have looked on Lethe, and have seen,Deep in the sliding ebon tide serene,Their own vain light inverted; ashen fire,With wasted lilies, late and languishing;Autumnal roses blind with rain; slow foamFrom desert-sinking seas, with honeycombOf aconite and poppy—these I bringWith this my bitter, barren love to thee;And from the grievous springs of memory,Far in the great Maremma of my heart,I proffer thee to drink; and on thy mouth,With the one kiss wherein we meet and part,Leave fire and dust from quenchless leagues of drouth.
Black dreams; the pale and sorrowful desire
Whose eyes have looked on Lethe, and have seen,
Deep in the sliding ebon tide serene,
Their own vain light inverted; ashen fire,
With wasted lilies, late and languishing;
Autumnal roses blind with rain; slow foam
From desert-sinking seas, with honeycomb
Of aconite and poppy—these I bring
With this my bitter, barren love to thee;
And from the grievous springs of memory,
Far in the great Maremma of my heart,
I proffer thee to drink; and on thy mouth,
With the one kiss wherein we meet and part,
Leave fire and dust from quenchless leagues of drouth.