Thy laws?—My will can fashion them for me.—
Thy joy?—To watch creations billows rise,
And take its visions for my spirit's own.
6. MOURNFUL STANZAS.
Let on my brow thy hand so gently fall
That I be not aware how late it grows:
Moss decks the boulder, bloom-clad is the wall,
Through withered grave-yard wreaths a murmur goes,
When the November evening earthwards flows.
Let on my brow thy hand so gently fall
That I be not aware how late it grows.
Long have we gone together.—Go we still;
Not roses, but bare ivy give I thee;
I ging not nightingales' but wood-birds' trill,
The child's lament that strays upon the lea;
Thou knowest joy, I know but misery.
Long have we gone together.—Go we still,
Not roses, but bare ivy give I thee.
When roses fade, the ivy still is whole
And around graves it twines in faithful wise:
Till death uncages, as a bird, the soul,
Long do I crave to kiss thy faithful eyes.
When roses fade, the ivy still is whole,
And around graves it twines in faithful wise.
