 | Lays of France |  |
But Sarrazine, of whom I sing,
Had shut her soul up from each thing
That once with all her soul she knew
Sweet in the earth, bright in the blue;
And, joyless, in the midst between
Fair blue of heaven and green earth's green,
Lived now this lovely Sarrazine
With passionate thinking and unknown
Most secret flowering of her lone
And infinite beauty. All amazed
She was, and fearfully she gazed
Into each dismal future year,
The while it ceased not that a tear,
Born of her thought right wearily,
Found its way backward to the drear
Dead ashes of some memory
In a sweet fatal reckless past
Love had made recklessly and cast
Against her soul.
Had shut her soul up from each thing
That once with all her soul she knew
Sweet in the earth, bright in the blue;
And, joyless, in the midst between
Fair blue of heaven and green earth's green,
Lived now this lovely Sarrazine
With passionate thinking and unknown
Most secret flowering of her lone
And infinite beauty. All amazed
She was, and fearfully she gazed
Into each dismal future year,
The while it ceased not that a tear,
Born of her thought right wearily,
95
Dead ashes of some memory
In a sweet fatal reckless past
Love had made recklessly and cast
Against her soul.
| Lays of France | |