VI.
SSWEETLY, my mother! Go not yet away—I have not told my story. Oh, not yet,With the fair past before me, can I layMy cheek upon the pillow to forget.O sweet, fair past, my twenty years of youthThus thrown away, not fashioning a man;But fashioning a memory, forsooth!More feminine than follower of Pan.O God! let me not die for years and more!Fulfil Thyself; and I will live then surelyLonger than a mere childhood. Now heart-sore,Weary, with being weary—weary, purely.In dying, mother, I can find no pleasureExcept in being near thee without measure.
SSWEETLY, my mother! Go not yet away—I have not told my story. Oh, not yet,With the fair past before me, can I layMy cheek upon the pillow to forget.O sweet, fair past, my twenty years of youthThus thrown away, not fashioning a man;But fashioning a memory, forsooth!More feminine than follower of Pan.O God! let me not die for years and more!Fulfil Thyself; and I will live then surelyLonger than a mere childhood. Now heart-sore,Weary, with being weary—weary, purely.In dying, mother, I can find no pleasureExcept in being near thee without measure.
SSWEETLY, my mother! Go not yet away—I have not told my story. Oh, not yet,With the fair past before me, can I layMy cheek upon the pillow to forget.O sweet, fair past, my twenty years of youthThus thrown away, not fashioning a man;But fashioning a memory, forsooth!More feminine than follower of Pan.O God! let me not die for years and more!Fulfil Thyself; and I will live then surelyLonger than a mere childhood. Now heart-sore,Weary, with being weary—weary, purely.In dying, mother, I can find no pleasureExcept in being near thee without measure.
S