Who entering the defeated walls at last Finds emptiness, and hears an escaping blast, Triumphant from the shining east hills cast,
And knows defeat in victory.... O that rare Music is ours, is ours--prelusive air Caught from the Judgment music high and severe.
Will it indeed be thus? Yes, thus! The body burns, Not with desire, and into pale smoke turns, And there is only flame towards flame that yearns.
While that ill lecherous Time among the stones Sits musing and rocking his old brittle bones, Irked by long shadows, mocked by those bright far tones.
You were a gipsy as you bent Your dark hair over the black grate. Hardly the west light above the hill Showed your shadow, crooked and still. The bellows hissed, and one bright spark Deepened the hasty dark.
The bellows hissed, and the old smell Crept on the air of smoking peat, And round the spark a bubbling flame Grew bright and loud. Sweeping the gloom Lunatic shadows fled and came Whirling about the room.
Then as you raised your head I saw In the clear light of the bubbling fire Your dark hair all lined with the gray Sprinkled by years and sorrow and pain ... Till as the bellows idle lay Shadow swept back again.
Where are you going with eyes so dull, You whose eyes were beautiful, You whose hair with the light was gay, And now is thin and harsh and gray? Is it age alone or age and tears That has slowly rubbed your beauty away?
Where were you going when your swift eyes Were like merry birds under May skies?-- In your cheeks the colours fluttering brave As you danced with the wind and ran with the wave. From what bright star was your brightness caught? What to your music the music gave?
Now is your beauty a thing of old, The fire is sunken, the ashes cold. But if sweet singing on your ear stray, Or the praise is uttered of yesterday, Or of courage and nobleness one word said-- Like a cloud Time's ravage is brushed away.
A winter sky of pale blue and pale gold, Bare trees, a wind that made the wood-path cold, And one slow-moving figure, gray and old.
We met where the soft path falls from the wood Down to the village. As I came near she stood And answered when I spoke, drawing the hood
Back from her face. I saw only her eyes, Large and sad. I could not bear those eyes. They were like new graves. I could not bear her eyes.