O pool in which we dallied And splashed the prostrate Noon! O Water-boy, more pallid Than any watery moon! O Lilies round him turning! O broken Lilies, strewn! O silver Lutes of Morning! O Red of the Drums of Noon! O dusky-plumaged sorrow! O ebon Swans of Care -- I sought thee on the Morrow, And never found thee there! I breathed the vapour-blended Cloud of a dim despair: White lily, is it ended? Gold lily -- oh, golden hair! The pool that was thy dwelling I hardly knew again, So black it was, and swelling With bitter wind and rain. 'Mid the bowed leaves I lingered, Lashed by the blast of Pain, Till evening, storm-rose-fingered, Beckoned to night again. There burst a flood of Quiet Over the unstelled skies; Full moon flashed out a-riot: Near her I dreamt thine eyes Afloat with night, still trembling With captured mysteries: But sulphured wracks, assembling, Redarkened the bright skies. Ah, thou at least art lying Safe at the white nymph's feet, Listless, while I, slow-dying, Twist my gaunt limbs for heat! Yet I'll to Earth, my Mother: So, boy, I'll still entreat Forgive me -- for none other Like Earth is honey-sweet! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest... |