Orpheus

WINTER Know ye my children? From the old strong breast Not weary yet of life’s grey change, not drawn Into the utter peace of death, the rest Of the dim hour that lingers ere the dawn, Spring these that laugh upon thee. In the snow See forests bare and gaunt, Where wingéd whispers haunt, Lighting the dull sky with a slumberous glow; Hear the strange sounds of winter chaunt; Feel the keen wisdom of the winter thrill Young hearts with passionate foretaste Of death in some wild waste Of deserts darkening at some wild god’s will, Of frozen steppes awaiting the repose That only death discovers, never sleep. My misery is this That I must wake to childhood gold and rose, And maidenhood, and wifehood, and still keep Bound on Life’s fatal wheel—revolving bliss. O that worn wisdom and the age of sorrow Could learn its bitter lesson, and depart — Into some nightfall guiltless of a morrow, Into some cave’s unprofitable heart Beyond this curse of birth! O that dread night Could come and cover all, Even itself to fall To some abyss past resurrection’s might! For the old whispers of my old life call 82 :