William Laird
I ate at Ostendorff’s, and saw a dameWith eager golden eyes, paired with a red,Bald, chilled, old man. Piercing the clatter cameKeenTraümerei. On the sound he bowed his head,Covered his eyes, and looked on things long sped.Her white fierce fingers strained, but could not stirHis close-locked hands, nor bring him back to her.Let him alone, bright lady; for he clipsA fairer lass than you, with all your fire:Let him alone; he touches sweeter lipsThan yours he hired, as others yet shall hire:Leave him the quickening pang of clean desire,Even though vain: nor taint those spring winds blownFrom banks of perished bloom: let him alone.Bitter-sweet melody, that call’st to trystLove from the hostile dark, would God thy breathMight break upon him now through thickening mist,The trumpet-summons of imperial Death;That now, with fire-clean lips where quiverethAtoning sorrow, he shall seek the eyesLong turned towards earth from fields of paradise.In vain: by virtue of a far-off smile,Men may be deaf a space to gross behestsOf nearer voices; for some little whileSharp pains of youth may burn in old men’s breasts.But—men must eat, though angels be their guests:The waiter brought spaghetti; he looked up,Hemmed, blinked, and fiddled with his coffee-cup.
I ate at Ostendorff’s, and saw a dameWith eager golden eyes, paired with a red,Bald, chilled, old man. Piercing the clatter cameKeenTraümerei. On the sound he bowed his head,Covered his eyes, and looked on things long sped.Her white fierce fingers strained, but could not stirHis close-locked hands, nor bring him back to her.Let him alone, bright lady; for he clipsA fairer lass than you, with all your fire:Let him alone; he touches sweeter lipsThan yours he hired, as others yet shall hire:Leave him the quickening pang of clean desire,Even though vain: nor taint those spring winds blownFrom banks of perished bloom: let him alone.Bitter-sweet melody, that call’st to trystLove from the hostile dark, would God thy breathMight break upon him now through thickening mist,The trumpet-summons of imperial Death;That now, with fire-clean lips where quiverethAtoning sorrow, he shall seek the eyesLong turned towards earth from fields of paradise.In vain: by virtue of a far-off smile,Men may be deaf a space to gross behestsOf nearer voices; for some little whileSharp pains of youth may burn in old men’s breasts.But—men must eat, though angels be their guests:The waiter brought spaghetti; he looked up,Hemmed, blinked, and fiddled with his coffee-cup.
I ate at Ostendorff’s, and saw a dameWith eager golden eyes, paired with a red,Bald, chilled, old man. Piercing the clatter cameKeenTraümerei. On the sound he bowed his head,Covered his eyes, and looked on things long sped.Her white fierce fingers strained, but could not stirHis close-locked hands, nor bring him back to her.
I ate at Ostendorff’s, and saw a dame
With eager golden eyes, paired with a red,
Bald, chilled, old man. Piercing the clatter came
KeenTraümerei. On the sound he bowed his head,
Covered his eyes, and looked on things long sped.
Her white fierce fingers strained, but could not stir
His close-locked hands, nor bring him back to her.
Let him alone, bright lady; for he clipsA fairer lass than you, with all your fire:Let him alone; he touches sweeter lipsThan yours he hired, as others yet shall hire:Leave him the quickening pang of clean desire,Even though vain: nor taint those spring winds blownFrom banks of perished bloom: let him alone.
Let him alone, bright lady; for he clips
A fairer lass than you, with all your fire:
Let him alone; he touches sweeter lips
Than yours he hired, as others yet shall hire:
Leave him the quickening pang of clean desire,
Even though vain: nor taint those spring winds blown
From banks of perished bloom: let him alone.
Bitter-sweet melody, that call’st to trystLove from the hostile dark, would God thy breathMight break upon him now through thickening mist,The trumpet-summons of imperial Death;That now, with fire-clean lips where quiverethAtoning sorrow, he shall seek the eyesLong turned towards earth from fields of paradise.
Bitter-sweet melody, that call’st to tryst
Love from the hostile dark, would God thy breath
Might break upon him now through thickening mist,
The trumpet-summons of imperial Death;
That now, with fire-clean lips where quivereth
Atoning sorrow, he shall seek the eyes
Long turned towards earth from fields of paradise.
In vain: by virtue of a far-off smile,Men may be deaf a space to gross behestsOf nearer voices; for some little whileSharp pains of youth may burn in old men’s breasts.But—men must eat, though angels be their guests:The waiter brought spaghetti; he looked up,Hemmed, blinked, and fiddled with his coffee-cup.
In vain: by virtue of a far-off smile,
Men may be deaf a space to gross behests
Of nearer voices; for some little while
Sharp pains of youth may burn in old men’s breasts.
But—men must eat, though angels be their guests:
The waiter brought spaghetti; he looked up,
Hemmed, blinked, and fiddled with his coffee-cup.
“Daughter, thou art come to die:Sound be thy sleeping, lass.”“Well: without lament or cry,Mother, let me pass.”“What things on mould were best of all?(Soft be thy sleeping, lass.)”“The apples reddening till they fallIn the sun beside the convent wall.Let me pass.”“Whom on earth hast thou loved best?(Sound be thy sleeping, lass.)”“Him that shared with me thy breast;Thee; and a knight last year our guest.He hath an heron to his crest.Let me pass.”“What leavest thou of fame or hoard?(Soft be thy sleeping, lass.)”“My far-blown shame for thy reward;To my brother, gold to get him a sword.Let me pass.”“But what wilt leave thy lover, Grim?(Sound be thy sleeping, lass.)”“The hair he kissed to strangle him.Mother, let me pass.”
“Daughter, thou art come to die:Sound be thy sleeping, lass.”“Well: without lament or cry,Mother, let me pass.”“What things on mould were best of all?(Soft be thy sleeping, lass.)”“The apples reddening till they fallIn the sun beside the convent wall.Let me pass.”“Whom on earth hast thou loved best?(Sound be thy sleeping, lass.)”“Him that shared with me thy breast;Thee; and a knight last year our guest.He hath an heron to his crest.Let me pass.”“What leavest thou of fame or hoard?(Soft be thy sleeping, lass.)”“My far-blown shame for thy reward;To my brother, gold to get him a sword.Let me pass.”“But what wilt leave thy lover, Grim?(Sound be thy sleeping, lass.)”“The hair he kissed to strangle him.Mother, let me pass.”
“Daughter, thou art come to die:Sound be thy sleeping, lass.”“Well: without lament or cry,Mother, let me pass.”
“Daughter, thou art come to die:
Sound be thy sleeping, lass.”
“Well: without lament or cry,
Mother, let me pass.”
“What things on mould were best of all?(Soft be thy sleeping, lass.)”“The apples reddening till they fallIn the sun beside the convent wall.Let me pass.”
“What things on mould were best of all?
(Soft be thy sleeping, lass.)”
“The apples reddening till they fall
In the sun beside the convent wall.
Let me pass.”
“Whom on earth hast thou loved best?(Sound be thy sleeping, lass.)”“Him that shared with me thy breast;Thee; and a knight last year our guest.He hath an heron to his crest.Let me pass.”
“Whom on earth hast thou loved best?
(Sound be thy sleeping, lass.)”
“Him that shared with me thy breast;
Thee; and a knight last year our guest.
He hath an heron to his crest.
Let me pass.”
“What leavest thou of fame or hoard?(Soft be thy sleeping, lass.)”“My far-blown shame for thy reward;To my brother, gold to get him a sword.Let me pass.”
“What leavest thou of fame or hoard?
(Soft be thy sleeping, lass.)”
“My far-blown shame for thy reward;
To my brother, gold to get him a sword.
Let me pass.”
“But what wilt leave thy lover, Grim?(Sound be thy sleeping, lass.)”“The hair he kissed to strangle him.Mother, let me pass.”
“But what wilt leave thy lover, Grim?
(Sound be thy sleeping, lass.)”
“The hair he kissed to strangle him.
Mother, let me pass.”