 | Song and Story |  |
169
SATIETY.
As when among dense-clustering vines we sit,
Low-hidden from breezes round us, birds above,
Even so they bowered themselves with fervid love,
And scorned life's busy murmurs infinite.
Then silently, as though by stealth should flit
The expanded wings of some departing dove,
Did gradual time to either spirit prove
That passion had eternally flown from it.
Low-hidden from breezes round us, birds above,
Even so they bowered themselves with fervid love,
And scorned life's busy murmurs infinite.
Then silently, as though by stealth should flit
The expanded wings of some departing dove,
Did gradual time to either spirit prove
That passion had eternally flown from it.
Shocked by the ruin of their radiant dream,
With shuddering hearts that vaguely can divine
To what strange bourne their fated feet are drawn,
They stare in dumb fear each at each, and seem
Like two pale revellers on whose fruits and wine
Flares the white merciless irony of dawn.
With shuddering hearts that vaguely can divine
To what strange bourne their fated feet are drawn,
They stare in dumb fear each at each, and seem
Like two pale revellers on whose fruits and wine
Flares the white merciless irony of dawn.
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