NOT THAT WAY
NO, no. Guard thee. Get thee gone.Not that way.See; the louring clouds glide on,Skirting West to South; and see,The green light under that sycamore tree—Not that way.There the leaden trumpets blow,Solemn and slow.There the everlasting wallsFrown above the waterfallsSilver and cold;Timelessly old:Not that way.Not toward Death, who, stranger, fairer,Than any siren turns his head—Than sea-couched siren, arched with rainbows,Where knell the waves of her ocean bed.Alas, that beauty hangs her flowersFor lure of his demoniac powers:Alas, that from these eyes should dartSuch piercing summons to thy heart;That mine in frenzy of longing beats,Still lusting for these gross deceits.Not that way!
NO, no. Guard thee. Get thee gone.Not that way.See; the louring clouds glide on,Skirting West to South; and see,The green light under that sycamore tree—Not that way.There the leaden trumpets blow,Solemn and slow.There the everlasting wallsFrown above the waterfallsSilver and cold;Timelessly old:Not that way.Not toward Death, who, stranger, fairer,Than any siren turns his head—Than sea-couched siren, arched with rainbows,Where knell the waves of her ocean bed.Alas, that beauty hangs her flowersFor lure of his demoniac powers:Alas, that from these eyes should dartSuch piercing summons to thy heart;That mine in frenzy of longing beats,Still lusting for these gross deceits.Not that way!
NO, no. Guard thee. Get thee gone.Not that way.See; the louring clouds glide on,Skirting West to South; and see,The green light under that sycamore tree—Not that way.
NO, no. Guard thee. Get thee gone.
Not that way.
See; the louring clouds glide on,
Skirting West to South; and see,
The green light under that sycamore tree—
Not that way.
There the leaden trumpets blow,Solemn and slow.There the everlasting wallsFrown above the waterfallsSilver and cold;Timelessly old:Not that way.
There the leaden trumpets blow,
Solemn and slow.
There the everlasting walls
Frown above the waterfalls
Silver and cold;
Timelessly old:
Not that way.
Not toward Death, who, stranger, fairer,Than any siren turns his head—Than sea-couched siren, arched with rainbows,Where knell the waves of her ocean bed.
Not toward Death, who, stranger, fairer,
Than any siren turns his head—
Than sea-couched siren, arched with rainbows,
Where knell the waves of her ocean bed.
Alas, that beauty hangs her flowersFor lure of his demoniac powers:Alas, that from these eyes should dartSuch piercing summons to thy heart;That mine in frenzy of longing beats,Still lusting for these gross deceits.Not that way!
Alas, that beauty hangs her flowers
For lure of his demoniac powers:
Alas, that from these eyes should dart
Such piercing summons to thy heart;
That mine in frenzy of longing beats,
Still lusting for these gross deceits.
Not that way!