Alas for Love! alas for lovely Love! In dreams I heard the beating of his wing; His soft voice, beautiful as sea in spring, Mourned through the empty songs the seraphs sing; Life seemed in sleep more dear than everything.
Take me back, Love; take me back, lovely Love. Dark winds may drive me o'er thy tyrannous seas-- Life is a world that breaks the thing it frees. I would be bound in all thy masteries-- Yet, ah, the apples of Hesperides!
Spirit of evil, heavily flying, turning, Dropping to earth, Caught to the light, with brown wings torn and burning, Whence was your birth?
Was there a cause that, ceaselessly turning, flying, Drew you from night? All that we know is this--the aimless dying, Killed by the light.
Evil the star that led you, spirit of evil, Out of your dark, Breeding desire that conquers us, man and devil-- Passion's red spark.
Oh, it's winter, winter, when you're here, And summer when you're gone. What need of birds when hearts sing clear, From dusk of day to dawn?
The noble wind, the silver snow, High stars, and, best of all, The red-rose hearth--a golden glow When twilight curtains fall.
Who'd cry the heat of summer skies, The bare, despairing sun, The languid flowers, with closing eyes, The earth's fair wooing done?
The possibilities of spring, The reticence of bliss, Love with the winter's argent wing, We'll scorn the sun for this.
Youth and its pensive agonies! How soon The restless heart forgets to crave the moon! Age is too weary for the butterflies-- Spring's rainbow radiance fluttering through sweet skies, Hope merrily deferred. We see the morn, We who are old, in shattered fragments. Scorn For laughter and for singing clouds our breast. Youth, take your fill of pleasure, for the rest Of Age is endless. Sing, nor grudge the song-- Youth is so short, and Age, quiet Age, so long!
Persephone, Persephone--her sweet face wanders up to me, Through this bewildering maze of spring. At length she daunts the tyrannous year, Her little laugh usurps the tear, Her little song she dares to fling Against the black stars, merrily.
Persephone, Persephone--her hands lean through the spring to me. Sweet, could I show you in what wise Your song has blossomed--how the air Is mad with gold because your hair, Tossed golden 'neath your sea-blue eyes, And earth goes laughing with your glee?