In solitudes havoc-ridden, on paths where the demons tread,
Our yearnings' delicate garden blooms e'en as a lily-bed;
And they whose ardour was greatest, the most well-liking and sweet
Of women, in gleaming array, we as spotless sisters did greet.
WOMEN
What sings evening o'er the kingdoms, over towns and seed-strewn ground,
O'er the paths in mystery shrouded, o'er the dusk when dews abound?
Whose the hands in Western gardens, when 'neath heaven their glow they pour,
Pluck you roses as in welcome when a thousand years are o'er.
When ye come, from toiling weary, when love's day has reached its end,
Black earth's breath, like the foreboding of the future doth ascend,
And the mighty towns of brothers on the golden sky-line tower,
A dream of metals, gleaming gardens, living rhythms, marble power.
