 | Areytos or songs and ballads of the South |  |
300
LOVE'S REQUIEM.—LIGHT OF HEARTS!
Light of Hearts and Love,
When mine eye first found thee,
How, in triumph, did'st thou move,
Blisses beaming round thee;
Oh! the following worship there!
Oh! the homage given;
Winter shed no snowy tear,
In thy summer heaven!
When mine eye first found thee,
How, in triumph, did'st thou move,
Blisses beaming round thee;
Oh! the following worship there!
Oh! the homage given;
Winter shed no snowy tear,
In thy summer heaven!
I did homage then,
With whole-heart devotion,
Nor from eyes of other men,
Hid each wild emotion!
Would that hour we both had died,
With no doubt to wring us,
Not a self-reproach to chide,
No remorse to sting us!
With whole-heart devotion,
Nor from eyes of other men,
Hid each wild emotion!
Would that hour we both had died,
With no doubt to wring us,
Not a self-reproach to chide,
No remorse to sting us!
We had then been blest—
Naught of anguish knowing,
Save, in that one wild unrest,
Souls with joy o'erflowing:
Lost in dreams of such delight,
That increase of measure
Were but agony and blight,
Not increase of pleasure!
Naught of anguish knowing,
Save, in that one wild unrest,
Souls with joy o'erflowing:
Lost in dreams of such delight,
That increase of measure
Were but agony and blight,
Not increase of pleasure!
So, perchance, it came
That the sweet grew sadness:
And the pulsing blood of flame
Rose at last to madness!
So it came, we fell apart;
Eyes had no more seeing,
And that lake of fire, the heart,
Swept away Love's being.
That the sweet grew sadness:
And the pulsing blood of flame
Rose at last to madness!
301
Eyes had no more seeing,
And that lake of fire, the heart,
Swept away Love's being.
Never ours the crime
Of crushing the rose in its blooming;
Never ours the guilt sublime
The rapture at richest dooming!
They tore us apart, the powers,
That had never a soul for heaven,
Smote the life of our heart's young flowers
As with bolt of the fiery levin.
Of crushing the rose in its blooming;
Never ours the guilt sublime
The rapture at richest dooming!
They tore us apart, the powers,
That had never a soul for heaven,
Smote the life of our heart's young flowers
As with bolt of the fiery levin.
See'st thou the summer-time come,
As of old, with its rosy fleetness;
And the buds—dost thou feel the bloom,
As they strive with thy lip for sweetness?
Oh! what a mock was the dream,
That told of all beautiful creatures;
Fair, floating free, with a golden gleam,
And such wooing and winning features!
As of old, with its rosy fleetness;
And the buds—dost thou feel the bloom,
As they strive with thy lip for sweetness?
Oh! what a mock was the dream,
That told of all beautiful creatures;
Fair, floating free, with a golden gleam,
And such wooing and winning features!
Yet vainer to weep those hours!
As if tears could speak for the sorrow,
That followed that joyous night of ours,
In the dawn of that terrible morrow!
Better laughter than tears—
The maniac shriek of that demon wo,
Rising from deeps of a thousand years,
As the worm, still gnawing, creeps to and fro.
As if tears could speak for the sorrow,
That followed that joyous night of ours,
In the dawn of that terrible morrow!
Better laughter than tears—
The maniac shriek of that demon wo,
Rising from deeps of a thousand years,
As the worm, still gnawing, creeps to and fro.
| Areytos or songs and ballads of the South | |