Than the long pageant of your shadows wan, Unless it be on moonless eves to weep On some chance bed and rock our griefs to sleep.
Fair is the sun when first he flames above, Flinging his joy down in a happy beam; And happy he who can salute with love The sunset far more glorious than a dream.
Flower, stream, and furrow!--I have seen them all In the sun's eye swoon like one trembling heart-- Though it be late let us with speed depart To catch at least one last ray ere it fall!
But I pursue the fading god in vain, For conquering Night makes firm her dark domain, Mist and gloom fall, and terrors glide between,
And graveyard odours in the shadow swim, And my faint footsteps on the marsh's rim, Bruise the cold snail and crawling toad unseen.
Remember, my Beloved, what thing we met By the roadside on that sweet summer day; There on a grassy couch with pebbles set, A loathsome body lay.
The wanton limbs stiff-stretched into the air, Steaming with exhalations vile and dank, In ruthless cynic fashion had laid bare The swollen side and flank.
On this decay the sun shone hot from heaven As though with chemic heat to broil and burn, And unto Nature all that she had given A hundredfold return.
The sky smiled down upon the horror there As on a flower that opens to the day; So awful an infection smote the air, Almost you swooned away.
The swarming flies hummed on the putrid side, Whence poured the maggots in a darkling stream, That ran along these tatters of life's pride With a liquescent gleam.
And like a wave the maggots rose and fell, The murmuring flies swirled round in busy strife: It seemed as though a vague breath came to swell And multiply with life
The hideous corpse. From all this living world A music as of wind and water ran, Or as of grain in rhythmic motion swirled By the swift winnower's fan.
And then the vague forms like a dream died out, Or like some distant scene that slowly falls Upon the artist's canvas, that with doubt He only half recalls.
A homeless dog behind the boulders lay And watched us both with angry eyes forlorn, Waiting a chance to come and take away The morsel she had torn.
And you, even you, will be like this drear thing, A vile infection man may not endure; Star that I yearn to! Sun that lights my spring! O passionate and pure!