ROSA IGNOTA
Oh, shall they be renewed, those sacred hours?
Or shall the jealous gods our love destroy,
Being jealous that with only mortal powers
We have dared to steal their own immortal joy?
Yet, for each hour that we have stolen, give
An zon of the life the high gods live!
XXII
IN THE END
From bud to bud the butterfly of thought
Hovers; around the red Rose of the Will
He lingers, seeking for the honey wrought
In its golden heart; the long hours linger still
In silent sweetness, and from flower to flower
He brings desire of love from hour to hour.
The song is sung; the way is sharply set
Under dim willowy woods; the thing is done:
For me no more to linger or regret;
Fulfilment comes, in sight of day and sun.
From night's dense darkness let the spark be struck,
With life for candle, and with love for luck.
Green Night, the virgin mother of my song,
Green Youth, the sire of all my songs; let be :
It may befall I shall not linger long
Under the daylight’s golden empery;
In light and dark still shall the silent river
Bear on my soul, my soul shall bear for ever.