 | Along the trail |  |
APPARITION
(From the French of Mallarmé)
The moon grew sad in heaven. In tears the seraphim,A-dream with bow in fingers, in the calm of dim
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The glide of white sobs over the corollas blue
—It was the day thy first kiss hallowed and made dumb.
My musing that delights to bring me martyrdom,
Grew wisely drunken with that sad scent of things reft
That, though without regret or aftertaste, is left,
Culling a dream, in him whose heart has culled the dream.
So strayed I on, with eyes on the worn walk a-gleam,
Where in the street and in the evening, out o' the air
Thou cam'st to me, all laughters, sunlight in thy hair.
And I believed I saw the fay with hat of gold
Who o'er spoiled childhood's slumber beautiful, of old
Passed, letting ever from her loosely closing hands
White clusters snow of stars, with odors of far lands.
1895
| Along the trail | |