THE EQUINOX
O thou whose scent enchanted my vain youth
From the more bitter truth
Of easy things,
How hast thou led me on
To the mire?
Thou madest thyself wings
Of false and fecund fire;
Thou bad’st me don
An alien robe of shame.
Ah! Sweetheart, thee I blame,
And may not blame,
For the sweet, eternal shame
That seared my soul,
And left my spirit free,
Free |! to weep before thee,
And thou hast slain me;
Thou hast slain me whole,
I am all dead to thee,
My Rose, my Rose, my Rose,
And the things I have said to thee
Are but the foolish echoes the wind blows
Into mine ears from the most secret world
Wherein thy faded petals dropped,
And stopped
Decaying, for eternally are curled
Tightly new petals. So this my song shall be
The last I shall sing to thee,
To thee. Oh, the wind blows
Thy secret to me, Rose |
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