He only saw her bosom sweet, Her golden fleece of hair, And he fell down before her feet Because she was so fair.
She stooped and raised him from the floor And held him in her arms; She said: "He would have waked no more For any of my charms.
"You only could pronounce the spell Would set his spirit free; And you have sold your soul to hell And wakened him--for me!
"I hold him now by my blue eyes And by my yellow hair, He never will miss Paradise, Because I am so fair."
The wife looked back, looked back to see The golden-curtained place, Her lord's head on the witch's knee, Her gold hair on his face.
"I would my soul once more were mine, Then God my prayer would hear And slay my soul in place of thine Because thou art so dear!"
When you were tired and went away, I said, amid my new heart-ache: "When I catch breath from pain some day, I will teach grief a worthier way, And make a great song for his sake!"
Yet there is silence. O my friend, You gave me love such years ago-- A child who could not comprehend Its worth, yet kept it to the end-- How can I sing when you lie low?
Not always silence. O my dear, Not when the empty heart and hand Reach out for you, who are not near. If you could see, if you could hear, I think that you would understand.
The grief that can get leave to run In channels smooth of tender song Wins solace mine has never won. I have left all my work undone, And only dragged my grief along.
Many who loved you many years (Not more than I shall always do), Will breathe their songs in your dead ears; God help them if they weep such tears As I, who have no song for you.
You would forgive me, if you knew! Silence is all I have to bring (Where tears are many, words are few); I have but tears to bring to you, For, since you died, I cannot sing!
Your dainty Muse her form arrays In soft brocades of bygone days. She walks old gardens where the dews Gem sundials and trim-cut yews And tremble on the tulip's blaze. The magic scent her charm conveys Which lives on when the rose decays. She had her portrait done by Greuze-- Your dainty Muse!
Mine's hardier--walks life's muddy ways Barefooted; preaches, sometimes prays, Is modern, is advanced, has views; Goes in for lectures, reads the news, And sends her homespun verse to praise Your dainty Muse!