So he brought me marjoram smelling rare― My love he sail'd across the sea, Oh, the days I dote on yet, His mother sought for me anon; My eye to speak, 'T was thus I won my heart's own heart, and both Are happy now. A DEAD MARCH PLAY me a march, low-ton'd and slowa march for a silent tread, Fit for the wandering feet of one who dreams of the silent dead, And bid the burning blush to paint unsought Lonely, between the bones below and the My flashing cheek; souls that are overhead. Here for a while they smil'd and sang, alive in the interspace, Here with the grass beneath the foot, and the stars above the face, Now are their feet beneath the grass, and whither has flown their grace ? Who shall assure us whence they come, or tell us the way they go? Verily, life with them was joy, and, now they have left us, woe, Once they were not, and now they are not, and this is the sum we know. Then the soul of Judas Iscariot Did make a gentle moan- "I will bury deep beneath the soil, "The stones of the field are sharp as steel, "T was the soul of Judas Iscariot And as he bare it from the field As the soul of Judas Iscariot Carried its load with pain, The Eye of Heaven, like a lanthorn's eye, Open'd and shut again. Half he walk'd, and half he seem'd He did not turn, for chilly hands The first place that he came unto The next place that he came unto He drew the body on his back, A Cross upon the windy hill, And on the middle cross-bar sat A white Dove slumbering; Dim it sat in the dim light, With its head beneath its wing. And underneath the middle Cross The fourth place that he came unto He dar'd not fling the body in For fear of faces dim, And arms were wav'd in the wild water To thrust it back to him. "T was the soul of Judas Iscariot Turn'd from the Brig of Dread, And the dreadful foam of the wild water For days and nights he wander'd on |