I laughed, I swaggered on the cold, hard ground Through the grey air trembled a falling wave-- "Thou'rt pale, O Death!" I cried, Mocking him in my pride; And passing I dreamed not of that lonely grave, But of leaf-maidens whose pale, moon-like hands Above the tree-foam waved in the icy air, Sweeping with shining hair Through the green-tinted sky, one moment fled Out of immortal lands.
One windless Autumn night the Moon came out In a white sea of cloud, a field of snow; In darkness shaped of trees, I sank upon my knees And watched her shining, from the small wood below-- Faintly Death flickered in an owl's far cry-- We floated soundless in the great gulf of space, Her light upon my face--Immortal, shining in that dark wood I knelt And knew I could not die.
And knew I could not die--O Death did'st thou Heed my vain glory, standing pale by thy dead? There is a spirit who grieves Amid earth's dying leaves; Was't thou that wept beside my brother's bed? For I did never mourn nor heed at all Him passing on his temporal elm-wood bier; I never shed a tear. The drooping sky spread grey-winged through my soul, While stones and earth did fall.
That sound rings down the years--I hear it yet-- All earthly life's a winding funeral-- And though I never wept, But into the dark coach stept, Dreaming by night to answer the blood's sweet call, She who stood there, high breasted, with small wise lips, And gave me wine to drink and bread to eat, Has not more steadfast feet, But fades from my arms as fade from mariners' eyes The sea's most beauteous ships.
The trees and hills of earth were once as close As my own brother, they are becoming dreams And shadows in my eyes; More dimly lies Guaya deep in my soul, the coastline gleams Faintly along the darkening crystalline seas. Glimmering and lovely still, 'twill one day go; The surging dark will flow Over my hopes and joys, and blot out all Earth's hills and skies and trees.
I shall look up one night and see the Moon For the last time shining above the hills, And thou, silent, wilt ride Over the dark hillside. 'Twill be, perchance, the time of daffodils-- _"How come those bright immortals in the woods?_ _Their joy being young, did'st thou not drag them all_ _Into dark graves ere Fall?"_ Shall life thus haunt me, wondering, as I go To thy deep solitudes?