The Equinox (Volume I, Number IX)

134 THE EQUINOX Oh! Woe to me whose soul’s wings are unfurled, Within my heart’s core ever shall be curled A little tendril softly that doth cling, Softly impearled, a thing from heaven hurled ; Oh! Woe to me who have to sing this thing! A minstrel through a forest wayfaring Hath brought his love a shy and tender thing, A gentle bloom of the gods’ gardening. Oh! woe to me who have to tell this thing! The Rose doth sing : my song hath here its sting: Oh! Woe to me who have to sing this thing! O Rose Unknown! I heard the secret Call Out of the dark: there came unto mine ears A sound of laughter and a sound of tears, And then an utter silence. That was all; Until it happened one day to befall, Theve came to me the spivits of the years That I had wasted; Lose, they said, thy fears ; Thou art before Love's throne imperial! So then I bent mine eyes unto the earth, Andfell upon my knees, and cried for grace, Fearing to gaze upon the royal face. But suddenly there came the sound of mirth Mingled with tears, from that imperial throne, And then a voice: Come, Lord, unto thine own.