Lament

Is silence sweet that you should rest so long In hateful slumber, far from dance and song? Does early love that found the rosy day Once slow in coming, seek no more the grey Cool shadows pendant o’er the summer moon, (That perfect moment that is fled too soon) Tinging thine image with mysterious grace That centers soul and body in the face As in an emerald pool? It is not thus that I would have you live A miser, when such treasure you might give My heart in words. Your parent thoughts would tell Of love and laughter that have cast the spell I would not break for all the organ peals Of grey cathedrals, nor to lose the seals That bind the mystery of Circe’s lips, Whispering toll of countless foundered ships Whose pilots played the fool.