XXXIV

You came and you went, and I swept you aside, not a traceDoes my wisdom endure of your words and your beautiful faceAnd the curls of your hair;Yet your presence, a song, murmurs ever in hopeless refrain,And I wake in the night with my empty hands yearning in vainFor the touch of your hair.You went, and I triumphed—I crushed out my heart with a kissOn the lips that are ashen, forgetting spring’s wonderful blissAnd your tremulous lips;Yet the kisses were ghostly with jasmine, dear jasmine of May—The new has the soul of the old, is aflame with the wayAnd the touch of your lips.You came and you went, and the world wearies on with its game.My heart never falters or fears at the sound of your nameOr the sight of your face;Yet the ghost of our passion stands white in the midst of my heart,With your hands and your hair, and I know it will never departPassion’s ghost with your face!

You came and you went, and I swept you aside, not a traceDoes my wisdom endure of your words and your beautiful faceAnd the curls of your hair;Yet your presence, a song, murmurs ever in hopeless refrain,And I wake in the night with my empty hands yearning in vainFor the touch of your hair.

You went, and I triumphed—I crushed out my heart with a kissOn the lips that are ashen, forgetting spring’s wonderful blissAnd your tremulous lips;Yet the kisses were ghostly with jasmine, dear jasmine of May—The new has the soul of the old, is aflame with the wayAnd the touch of your lips.

You came and you went, and the world wearies on with its game.My heart never falters or fears at the sound of your nameOr the sight of your face;Yet the ghost of our passion stands white in the midst of my heart,With your hands and your hair, and I know it will never departPassion’s ghost with your face!

Fight, though the bulwarks of your faith may fall,Life become gray and full of weariness,Love prove a lie and wisdom bitterness—Fight, for the strife alone avails for all.Fight and fight on, exulting in the light,Standing alert and upright gleefully,Seizing life’s joys and woes courageously,Man to the end, and master—laugh and fight.

Fight, though the bulwarks of your faith may fall,Life become gray and full of weariness,Love prove a lie and wisdom bitterness—Fight, for the strife alone avails for all.

Fight and fight on, exulting in the light,Standing alert and upright gleefully,Seizing life’s joys and woes courageously,Man to the end, and master—laugh and fight.

The windy rain beats, beats about my door—Alas for love when love goes wandering!The dawn mist rises on the forest floor—Alas for life when love goes wandering!With wet, green leaves the palm-trees lash the night,The pitiless trades drive wild gods in their flight.And, ah, my lover! Moons have come and gone,The fighting ended, still he lingers on.Sleepless I hear the demon wind above—Alas for love when love goes wandering!And I must wed with one I do not love—Alas for life when love goes wandering!

The windy rain beats, beats about my door—Alas for love when love goes wandering!The dawn mist rises on the forest floor—Alas for life when love goes wandering!With wet, green leaves the palm-trees lash the night,The pitiless trades drive wild gods in their flight.And, ah, my lover! Moons have come and gone,The fighting ended, still he lingers on.Sleepless I hear the demon wind above—Alas for love when love goes wandering!And I must wed with one I do not love—Alas for life when love goes wandering!

We have forgotten. This the rowers knew,Straining within the galleys’ reeling night.Life bent to breaking, while their great souls grewStrong in the ancient purposes of Time.This was the song whereby they made their fight,Laughed as they swung. Gods! how the cord bit through!This was the song the pagan lovers heard,Wakened by flowers in a rose-red dawn.Through the bright dew they fled, like ocean stirredWith morning. Bare and beautiful they ran,Holding each other’s hand. Through leaves they’re gone,Cleaving the silver pool with flash of bird.Carven in stone, Abydos holds it fast—The little Eastern dancer with her lute,Wild Erin’s faeries crying for the past.They keep the deathless secret of the wordHid behind Nature’s lips, who, grave, remote,Guard this from profanation till the last.Not unto us who bide the ebb and flow,The senseless order of the tide of law.We have forgotten to be free; we knowOnly the iteration of the day.The priceless moon, white pearl without a flaw,Drowns in the muddy stream of worldly woe.We take the petty part and leave the whole.Lost to our ken the song of Nature’s youth—The great barbaric winds that sweep the soulAnd leave it emptied of all else but truth.

We have forgotten. This the rowers knew,Straining within the galleys’ reeling night.Life bent to breaking, while their great souls grewStrong in the ancient purposes of Time.This was the song whereby they made their fight,Laughed as they swung. Gods! how the cord bit through!

This was the song the pagan lovers heard,Wakened by flowers in a rose-red dawn.Through the bright dew they fled, like ocean stirredWith morning. Bare and beautiful they ran,Holding each other’s hand. Through leaves they’re gone,Cleaving the silver pool with flash of bird.

Carven in stone, Abydos holds it fast—The little Eastern dancer with her lute,Wild Erin’s faeries crying for the past.They keep the deathless secret of the wordHid behind Nature’s lips, who, grave, remote,Guard this from profanation till the last.

Not unto us who bide the ebb and flow,The senseless order of the tide of law.We have forgotten to be free; we knowOnly the iteration of the day.The priceless moon, white pearl without a flaw,Drowns in the muddy stream of worldly woe.

We take the petty part and leave the whole.Lost to our ken the song of Nature’s youth—The great barbaric winds that sweep the soulAnd leave it emptied of all else but truth.

She wrought her songs in secret ways,Yet cared not where they fell;Her soul distilled itself like dewsIn rue and asphodel.They fell in countless happy hearts,Made wise by sun and showers,Like pollen blown about the earth,Conceiving royal flowers.

She wrought her songs in secret ways,Yet cared not where they fell;Her soul distilled itself like dewsIn rue and asphodel.

They fell in countless happy hearts,Made wise by sun and showers,Like pollen blown about the earth,Conceiving royal flowers.

Like little, eager childrenThe tiptoe tulips stand,Row upon row of dancing headsIn joyous saraband.With lithe, long emerald petticoats,And happy hands tossed up,The sunshine is the laughterThat brims their golden cup.

Like little, eager childrenThe tiptoe tulips stand,Row upon row of dancing headsIn joyous saraband.

With lithe, long emerald petticoats,And happy hands tossed up,The sunshine is the laughterThat brims their golden cup.

Heart, here are roses burning with the South—(“Fairer was her false mouth”)—Close your tired eyes, the twilight gives you rest—(“Cool was her snowy breast”).Take of the sunshine, nor remember rain—(“Love is a cruel pain”)—Hush! you shall sleep forgetting love’s alarms—(“Sleep died in her false arms”).

Heart, here are roses burning with the South—(“Fairer was her false mouth”)—Close your tired eyes, the twilight gives you rest—(“Cool was her snowy breast”).

Take of the sunshine, nor remember rain—(“Love is a cruel pain”)—Hush! you shall sleep forgetting love’s alarms—(“Sleep died in her false arms”).

Do you respect the heavy-lidded flowersThat nod so drowsily upon their bed?Can you endure the slow-stepped, dreamy hoursThat fall, indifferent, to gold and red?Have you the key that opens to green archesWhere trees repeat their prayers in monotone?Then take my hand down life’s mysterious marches,And let us walk in silence and alone.

Do you respect the heavy-lidded flowersThat nod so drowsily upon their bed?Can you endure the slow-stepped, dreamy hoursThat fall, indifferent, to gold and red?

Have you the key that opens to green archesWhere trees repeat their prayers in monotone?Then take my hand down life’s mysterious marches,And let us walk in silence and alone.

No changes have been made from the original book; this e-text is a faithful transcription of the author’s words and intent.


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