 | Along the trail |  |
SONNET
(From the French of Mallarmé)
Sprung from the vase's bulge and leap
Of fragile glass, the neck in gloom
Fades out nor decks with any bloom
The bitter vigil that I keep.
Of fragile glass, the neck in gloom
Fades out nor decks with any bloom
The bitter vigil that I keep.
Oh, I am sure that no lips e'er
(Nay not her lover's nor my mother's)
Have drunk the same dream as another's,
I,—sylph of the cold ceiling there!
(Nay not her lover's nor my mother's)
Have drunk the same dream as another's,
I,—sylph of the cold ceiling there!
The virgin chalice of no wine
But an exhaustless widowhood,—
It suffers, but is not subdued
(Oh, kiss naïve and saturnine!)
To breathe forth aught that might disclose
Within the shadows any rose.
But an exhaustless widowhood,—
It suffers, but is not subdued
(Oh, kiss naïve and saturnine!)
To breathe forth aught that might disclose
Within the shadows any rose.
1895
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