For other versions of this work, see Echo Consolatrix.
ECHO CONSOLATRIX
I said, "She is gone from the grieving earth—
The Maiden,—Spring; in the realms of Dis
She reigns o'er a world of tears and dearth,
With a homesick heart that yearns for this:
Frozen the meadows, the fields lie bare,
And afar, 'mid the fragrant dusk of her hair,
The violets dream of the light, in vain.
She is gone!—ah, will she return again?"
A voice breathed low, "Again."
I said, "In this joyless heart of me
Is a winter chill and comfortless:
I tire of the wail of the wind-swept sea,
My soul is afraid of its loneliness.
Is there a land, as poets tell,
Where beauty and love—as the asphodel
Unchanging—inhale an immortal air?
And my little lad?—shall I find him there?"
The voice made answer: "There!"