Then wearily and indolently glanced Where the thorns fluttered with their flags, and, lo, Fragments of cloth of silver gleamed and danced In the late sun, and linen white as snow Among the beggar thoughts, with lowered eyes, Princes and kings had wandered in disguise.
There's a white, white road lies under the swinging moon, Stretched from the black of the deep to the black of the deep, And midway the graveyard lies, with its leaves a-croon, The only sound of the world, like a dream in sleep.
There's a white, white grave lies under the graveyard trees, Hung on the road as a single pearl on a thread, And silence waits, beast crouched, on the rim of the breeze, That moans where the only man in the world lies dead.
Have I finished my life, am I done? Is my heart-blood thin and cold, That I gnaw the bones of the town? Am I empty and old?
My flags are the chimneys' grime, Tossed on a languid breeze. Have I dreamed of the roaring rhyme, A storm through the trees?
The snow in the streets is black, Profaned with the city's sin; I know of a star-lit track Where God's hand has been.
Have I finished with snow and sun, With the wind on the open plain, That I starve in the barren town-- Is my life in vain?
The black sky stretches to the pallid sea, As a false love and a dismantled heart. Empty of faith and eager to depart. He takes her yet once more, submissively, Against his lips, then, laughing, drifts away Swiftly within the dawning of the day.
Blindly she tosses up her foam-white hands, Crying for mercy, and the wind--her hair-- Lashes the wide-sailed ships and leaves them bare. Blindly she hurls her rage against the sands. There, in the cold sky where her love had lain Scornful, aloof, the sun reviews her pain.
How long the trail! How far the goal! Last year the moons might come and go Like dancing shadows on the snow. My heart was light, my heart was strong; I cared not though the way be long; But now--the end is you--my soul!--
I fear the dark, I fear the dread White frost that hovers round my heart, The cold, high sun, and, wide apart, The frozen, pitiless stars above. So far, so far from my true love, And, oh! I fear, I fear the dead!
I fear their fingers, grasping and pale. I did not fear the dead last year-- But now, the kisses of my dear! The breast of her, so kind and warm, Ah, heart! I must not come to harm-- How far the goal! How long the trail!