The book of the dead | ||
17
[V. To-day my inmost soul was stirred]
To-day my inmost soul was stirred:
I saw the crocus from the ground
Burst, like a little flame, and heard
The wandering bluebird's trumpet sound.
I saw the crocus from the ground
Burst, like a little flame, and heard
The wandering bluebird's trumpet sound.
The heat of life is in the air,
And recreated Summer swings
Her first faint odors here and there,
To lure the bee's adventurous wings.
And recreated Summer swings
Her first faint odors here and there,
To lure the bee's adventurous wings.
What if my soul should strain the chain
That binds her to this silent grave,
And long o'er hill and vale again
The pinion of her youth to wave?
That binds her to this silent grave,
And long o'er hill and vale again
The pinion of her youth to wave?
Go forth, O soul, and take thy flight!
Dash through the meadows' fiery bloom!
I know thou wilt return ere night,
And sink and settle in the tomb.
Dash through the meadows' fiery bloom!
I know thou wilt return ere night,
And sink and settle in the tomb.
The book of the dead | ||