CRIOSDA.
Hart! Ham! Har!
[Maurya, startled, looks up and half rises.
Then sits again, with a strange sweet smile
of innocence and tenderness.]|
Criospa [ Lower.]
The world is borne upon thy breast
Even as the rose.
Wilt thou not lull it into rest,
Some strong repose
More satisfying than pale sleep ;
Than death more long, more deep?
Hail! at the twilight as at dawn !
The sunset close
Even on the lake as on the lawn !
The red ray glows
Across the woven stardrift’s ways
In mystery of Maurya’s praise.
Hear me, thy priest, at eventide !
These subtler throes
Than love’s or life’s, invade, divide
The world of woes.
Thy smile, thy murmur of delight, be enough
To fill the world with life and love !
[He bends over into deep reverence, yet with the
air of one expecting a grace.|