Now, see! the time is come when solemnly and slow
The flowers on their stem like shaken censers fume;
IX
“My lips do need thy breath,
Love, that art Charity,
Why has Thou hurt me so?
Sun of autumn, thin and shy
And fruit drops off the trees,
A son was born to a poor peasant.
A foul old woman stepped inside
REEDS, snake-like, coiled in the mist
Where the low fog drives:
O YE, who rode the gales of Sicily,
Sandalled with flame,
STR. 1
I laid my laurel-leaf
COME hither, Evan Cameron!
Come, stand beside my knee:
DRINK of our Cup--of the red wine that burns in it,
All the wild shames that have crusted its mouth,
Samomorilec pred zrcalom. Splasena dusa.
The hounds of despair, the hounds of the autumnal wind,
Gnaw with their howling the black echoes of evenings.
This is the bricklayer; hear the thud
Of his heavy load dumped down on stone.
Prepare, prepare, new Guests draw near
And on the brink of Hell appear.
Expecting Him, my door was open wide:
Then I looked round
A moon, with vacant, chilling eye, stares
At the winter, enthroned vast and white upon the hard ground;
Put in the sickles and reap;
For the morning of harvest is red,
O'er the wide heath now moon-tide horrors hung,
And night's dark pencil dim'd the tints of spring;
All your sylvan prophecies
But a phantom sigh!
On couches filled with odors faint and failing,
Divans profound as tombs, we shall recline;
Methought a great wind swept across the earth,
And all the toilers perished. Then I saw
BRING out your dead before you reap
From lips beloved infection dread;
Sculptor of demons and of goddesses,
I chisel also an eidolon of love
Now as the twilight's doubtful interval
Closes with night's accomplished certainty,
A burning glass of burnished brass,
The calm sea caught the noontide rays,
Fire and wild light of hope and doubt and fear,
Wind of swift change, and clouds and hours that veer
Thou whose birth on earth
Angels sang to men,
We every Day grew dearer to each other. I was then
indeed as blind as he. I gave him every Perfection, and
So stood the Sibyl: stream'd her hoary hair
Wild as the blast, and with a comet's glare
My hair had hardly covered my forehead. I was picking flowers, paying by my door,
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