Who wakes the world with witcheries of the dark Renewed in rapture in the reddening air. "Twixt earth and sky, to be a sign to men. Take me now to thy breast, Earth, sweet mother of men. Hide me and let me sleep; So close and so dark and so deep There let me lie forgot When the dead at its blast are gone; Give me to hear it not, But only to slumber on. This is the fate I crave, For I look to the end and see If there be not rest in the grave There will never be rest for me. THE AGE I A PALE and soul-sick woman with wan eyes Fixed on their own reflection in the glass, Uncertain lips half-oped to say "Alas, Naked I stand between two mysteries, Finding my wisdom naught who am most wise." Behind, the shapes and fiery shadows pass Of fervent life; no joy in them she has, But gazing on herself she moans and sighs. And yet of knowledge she doth hold the key, And Power and Pleasure are her handmaidens, And all past years have given of their best To make her rich and great and strong and free, Who stands in slack and listless impotence, Marvelling sadly at her own unrest. II Her children cluster round about her knees; The hoarded wealth and wisdom of the Of all past time they have inherited, increase; Yet in their eyes is mirrored her dis-peace, Her weariness within their hearts is shed; Her dreary sorrow weighs each drooping head, And each soul sickens with her fell disease. |