 | The Golden Treasury |  |
58
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[I thought once how Theocritus had sung]
I thought once how Theocritus had sungOf the sweet years, the dear and wish'd-for years,
Who each one in a gracious hand appears
To bear a gift for mortals, old or young:
And, as I mused it in his antique tongue,
I saw, in gradual vision through my tears,
The sweet, sad years, the melancholy years, . .
Those of my own life, who by turns had flung
A shadow across me. Straightway I was 'ware,
So weeping, how a mystic Shape did move
Behind me, and drew me backward by the hair;
And a voice said in mastery while I strove, . .
‘Guess now who holds thee?’ ‘Death!’ I said. But, there,
The silver answer rang—‘Not Death, but Love.’
E. B. Browning
| The Golden Treasury | |