Puslapio vaizdai


ÆGROTUS. PRING,-art thou come, O Spring ! am too sick

for words; How hast thou heart to sing,

O Spring, with all thy birds?


I sing for joy to see again
The merry leaves along the lane,

The little bud grown ripe ;
And look, my love upon the bough!
Hark, how she calleth to me now,-

Pipe ! pipe !"

Ah! weary is the sun :

Love is an idle thing ;
But, Bird, thou restless one,

What ails thee, wandering?

By shore and sea I come and go
To seek I know not what; and lo!

On no man's eaves I sit

But voices bid me rise once more,
To fit again by sea and shore,-

Flit! Flit!

ÆGROTUS. This is Earth's bitter cup :

Only to seek, not know. But Thou, that strivest up,

Why dost thou carol so ?

ALAUDA. A secret Spirit gifteth me With song, and wing that lifteth me,

A Spirit for whose sake, Striving amain to reach the sky, Still to the old dark earth I cry,

" Wake! wake !"

ÆGROTUS. My hope hath lost its wing.

Thou, that to Night dost call, How hast thou heart to sing

Thy tears made musical ?

PHILOMELA. Alas for me! a dry desire Is all my song,

-a waste of fire That will not fade nor fail ;

To me, dim shapes of ancient crime Moan through the windy ways of time,

“ Wail ! wail !"

This is the sick man's song,—

Mournful, in sooth, and fit;
Unrest that cries “How long !"-

And the Night answers it.



OWN where the garden grows,

Gay as a banner,
Spake to her mate the Rose

After this manner :-
“ We are the first of flowers,

Plain-land or hilly,
All reds and whites are ours,

Are they not, Lily ?"

Then to the flowers I spake,

“Watch ye my Lady
Gone to the leafy brake,

Silent and shady ;
When I am near to her,

Lily, she knows;
How I am dear to her,

Look to it, Rose.”

Straightway the Blue-bell stooped,

Paler for pride,
Down where the Violet drooped,

Shy, at her side :

“Sweetheart, save me and you,

Where has the summer kist Flowers of as fair a hue,

Turkis or Amethyst ?”.

Therewith I laughed aloud,

Spake on this wise, “O little flowers so proud, Have

ye seen eyes Change through the blue in them,

Change till the mere Loving that grew in them

Turned to a tear ?

“ Flowers, ye are bright of hue,

Delicate, sweet ;
Flowers, and the sight of you

Lightens men's feet;
Yea; but her worth to me,

Flowerets, even,
Sweetening the earth to me,

Sweeteneth heaven.

“ This, then, O Flowers, I sing ;

God, when He made ye, Made yet a fairer thing

Making my Lady ;

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