The Equinox (Volume I, Number X)

ROSA IGNOTA But last night, when betwixt thy breasts I lay, Sucking thy soul away, I dreamed of a song I would make thee, a song so fair, It should charm the wandering air, And make it stay with me for ever, A thought of thee within my mind: Dearest, I am deaf and blind, Believe me, to all but thee ; yea, too, I am dumb, Save when I sing thee, When my songs I bring thee. O passionate endeavour| O love more rare Than the fabled loves of the gods, I too succumb Unto the olden immemorial spell, And have no words to tell Of thee, and of the grace of thee, And of the face of thee, Who art mine, whom I made mine own. Rosa Ignota! Ah! the Rose is blown. XI MELANCHOLY Over all is the greenness, in the slow-falling night Over the fields with dusk and dew, with dusk and dew, there flees A dying echo, faint and dim, fleeing towards the light; Sombre streams cry mournfully in the sighing breeze With the rustling trees. 159