 | On Viol and Flute |  |
85
REVOLT.
When Gabriel, with his viol at his knee,Is marshalling the singing saints in choir,
Whose robes are samite though their wings are fire,
And all their faces calm as calm can be,
There you may see, while heaven adoring sings,
One beautiful, hungry face that longs for love,
With whom on earth desire and sorrow strove,
Whose soul yet hankers after earthly things;
So I, who walk between the gilded shrines
Of virtue, singing loudly like the rest,
Remember, somewhere in my inmost breast,
How sweet it is at night, when no moon shines,
Outside, among the cloves and columbines,
To feel one's hands and lips caressed and pressed.
| On Viol and Flute | |