 | Fand and Other Poems |  |
Again came in the voice of Fand,
Rich with its sweet temptation,
Subtly-pleading, dangerous:—
“Return not to that pale imperfect world,
Where all things seem to be, but nothing is.
This woman, thy wife, she is a type of it.
Fair she may be, as mortal women are fair,—
Fairer than most;—look at her: then at me;
So, ev'n in all things, differ our separate worlds.”
She spoke and all my heart within me sank
And my poor cheeks grew paler,—brighter hers
Glowed in her exultation, as the rose
Of summer against the fading, pale spring flowers,
That men admire, ere richer blooms appear.
Cuhoolin wavered, and I marvelled not;
And once again the music of her voice
Was heard, and it was sweeter than the choirs
Of all the woodlands singing, for every word
Came floating in a mist of melody:
Rich with its sweet temptation,
Subtly-pleading, dangerous:—
“Return not to that pale imperfect world,
Where all things seem to be, but nothing is.
This woman, thy wife, she is a type of it.
Fair she may be, as mortal women are fair,—
Fairer than most;—look at her: then at me;
So, ev'n in all things, differ our separate worlds.”
She spoke and all my heart within me sank
And my poor cheeks grew paler,—brighter hers
Glowed in her exultation, as the rose
16
That men admire, ere richer blooms appear.
Cuhoolin wavered, and I marvelled not;
And once again the music of her voice
Was heard, and it was sweeter than the choirs
Of all the woodlands singing, for every word
Came floating in a mist of melody:
| Fand and Other Poems | |