Puslapio vaizdai
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"The sunshine falls on one brown head.
You, too, O cold of clay,
Eater of stones, may haply hear
The trumpets of that day

"When God to all His paladins
By His own splendour swore
To make a fairer face than heaven,
Of dust and nothing more."

Had Sappho Lived.

NAY, take the gold I offer, I am old

And blind, but I have looked upon Love's face
And trod the secret ways you wander in.
You think because my fires are dead and cold
That I have never known the altar-place,
Or seen the hidden sanctuary within.

Yet once I ran as happy maidens run,

And climbed the windy hill, and searched the lea For garlands, till Love burned away my heart. And then I sang no more, nor sought the sun, Nor listened to the ever-singing sea,

But sat by grey-leaved willows all apart.

Till through the willows whispering in rain

There came a voice that cried: "Is all Life told

And counted naught because Love shuts one
door?"

Then reached I for my harp and sang again,
And gathered all my sorrow into gold,

And of my grief made gladness for the poor.

The watching shepherds sing my words at night;
Rich merchants send me many and great gifts

To make them songs. Now am I old and blind,
Yet still my spirit strains towards the light,
Like to a new-fledged lark that soars and lifts,

But knows not what's to seek or what's to find.

So take my gift, and round your slender throat
Set jewelled chains, and call your lover near.

His eyes shall find your fairness grown more
fair;

His hands shall find the jewels that denote

Your beauty's worth; his heart shall find both dear,

Love

Nor ever know which holds him closer there.

goes about the earth in many a guise: Ask not too closely of the name he bears

When he shall pause beside your open gate. Stretch forth your hands and question not his eyes. The way is long for whoso lonely fares,

And bare the singly woven web of Fate.

The poor refuse not bread, the thirsty wine;
What hunger and what thirst like that of Love?
I that had nothing am now rich for you.
Buy with my gold the thing you count divine:
Earth often gives what is refused above,

And mortals pay the debt from heaven due.

The Song in the Valley.

How softly comes the night. The thousand fires
The new-waked stars have lit beyond the sky
Shine dim and distant as war-beacons show
To one too old to hear the rallying-cry.
A slow contentment in the valley broods,
Far from the swift unrest of higher airs.
Does Fate grow kinder at the journey's end,
Or is it we grow wiser in our prayers?

Yet sometimes, through the sleepy valley's peace,
I hear, from deep within my heart, the song
We heard when, morning-young upon the hill,
We yearned towards the battle, being strong.
We thought together we should hold the stars;
We took the sun in heaven for a sign
We should together win the earth, and sit

In Honour's hall and drink the heroes' wine.

And now the journey ends, and we have won

No kingdom; yet not quite uncrowned we go: For love was ours and all the songs Love sings, The dreams that those who love not cannot know.

Since everything must pass and we must passWe have seen the world and played it in our parts

Give me your hand and draw me through the porch Of sleep, the sanctuary of pilgrim hearts.

Old-Fashioned Love.

LOVE is a baron with counties seven,
And his suzerain is the Lord of Heaven :
(Tira-la-la through the budding corn!)
Love is my lord, and his liege am I,
Owing him faith and fealty.

(And I ride abroad in the rosy morn,
Through wet green grass of the meadows.)

I knelt at his throne; I swore to his oath ; And my ears ring yet with the plighted troth. (Tira-la-la through the bladed corn!)

I folded my hands between his hands,
That burnt to my heart like fiery brands.
(And I ride along in the golden morn,
In the poplar's purple shadows.)

I kissed his food, and he kissed my brow,
And I feel the print of his kisses now.
(Tira-la-la through the waving corn!)
Now am I his faithful errant-knight,
Bound on his quest at noon or night.
(Riding away in the dewy morn,
Through rainbow-glitter of meadows.)

My lord hath a maid with sunlit hair, And eyes like a grove when the sun shines there. (Tira-la-la through lilies and corn!)

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