 | The poems of Trumbull Stickney |  |
265
[XV
Now the lovely moon is wilted]
Now the lovely moon is wilted,
Lost her petals down the sky.
Sorrily the wind goes by;
Rosebuds where the branches tilted
Yield their flowers with a sigh.
Lost her petals down the sky.
Sorrily the wind goes by;
Rosebuds where the branches tilted
Yield their flowers with a sigh.
June, the wonderment of blossom,
With her necklace' thirsty pearls,
With her tearful eyes and girl's
Changing, ever changing bosom,
With the hot sun in her curls—
With her necklace' thirsty pearls,
With her tearful eyes and girl's
Changing, ever changing bosom,
With the hot sun in her curls—
This is last of all the June-nights.—
Let us softly speak of living,
Thou whose life was but forgiving
I that in the passèd moonlight's
Shadow, moved thee with my grieving.
Let us softly speak of living,
Thou whose life was but forgiving
I that in the passèd moonlight's
Shadow, moved thee with my grieving.
Memory saddens our caresses.
Feel, thy tired heart is cold,
All the rich and devious gold
Warm with shadow-waves, thy tresses,
Surfeits with my kisses old.
Feel, thy tired heart is cold,
All the rich and devious gold
Warm with shadow-waves, thy tresses,
Surfeits with my kisses old.
Long ago our love was broken.
Habit poisons the embrace.—
Yet, O changeless in thy grace,
Speak the word thou oft hast spoken
And the moon was on thy face.
Habit poisons the embrace.—
Yet, O changeless in thy grace,
266
And the moon was on thy face.
Kisses, loved one! All is ashen
Thro' the life that lies before;
Drink my glowing wine that o'er
Hearts grown cold with vanished passion
Kindles what was wild of yore.
Thro' the life that lies before;
Drink my glowing wine that o'er
Hearts grown cold with vanished passion
Kindles what was wild of yore.
[1895–96]
| The poems of Trumbull Stickney | |