A Mood
Of tower and spire!
Sunlight and firelight, but the world feels cold—
The wet trees toss their weight of tumbled green;
And shreds of torn cloud banners manifold
Drift up the dome of heaven, while slips the light
Pearl hued, between . . .
. . . I wonder shall I meet you in the night,
In that dear house of Dreams, Sleep's dwelling-place?
O Prince! O Lord of life! O heart's delight!
O Lover! never this side of the stars
Seen face to face! . . .
In vain my winged songs beat against the bars
Of bitter life, then falling mute and tired,
Like leaves that the sharp hoar frost sheds and scars,
Lie dead beneath the heaven they desired.
Sunlight and firelight, but the world feels cold—
The wet trees toss their weight of tumbled green;
And shreds of torn cloud banners manifold
Drift up the dome of heaven, while slips the light
Pearl hued, between . . .
. . . I wonder shall I meet you in the night,
In that dear house of Dreams, Sleep's dwelling-place?
O Prince! O Lord of life! O heart's delight!
O Lover! never this side of the stars
Seen face to face! . . .
In vain my winged songs beat against the bars
Of bitter life, then falling mute and tired,
Like leaves that the sharp hoar frost sheds and scars,
Lie dead beneath the heaven they desired.
57
