42
MODERN BOHEMIAN POETRY
Their light is dying only at the advent of a light still greater,
Of a light still greater, greater.
"The Winds from the Poles"
(1897).
THE BODY
Tell unto me, O my soul (from afar thou art come again),
What hast thou met and beheld and lost upon earth’s domain?
From the depths the music resounded, the snowing of icy stars,
Ethereal lips in quivering play:
Mornings and noon-tides and flowers in array.
My mornings have strayed in a mystic field,
Upon paths where the early daisies grew.
In the grass the moments like dew their sparkle revealed,
Each stem was aquiver as tho' mysterious birds from it flew:
And as if in the sun the most precious incense were being burned,
An azure mist o'er the rest of the worlds and fragrance o'er us it did strew.
