 | Song in September |  |
162
SPION KOP
Five minutes more, O Honey of my heart,
Although it be the cradle-hour,
And sleep be growing like a flower
From out the nursery floor!
Five minutes more,
To feel the agony of tenderness
Shake all the spires and belfries of my soul!
The very ropes are singing; the very stones are ringing
As I tremble at thy brightness, as I flutter at thy mouth,
And ache with fearful happiness, Star of my bosom's south!
Although it be the cradle-hour,
And sleep be growing like a flower
From out the nursery floor!
Five minutes more,
To feel the agony of tenderness
Shake all the spires and belfries of my soul!
The very ropes are singing; the very stones are ringing
As I tremble at thy brightness, as I flutter at thy mouth,
And ache with fearful happiness, Star of my bosom's south!
Five minutes more, O Honey of my heart,
Although it be the cradle-hour,
And petals from the sleeping-flower
Begin to strew the floor!
Five minutes more,
To clasp a kingdom in thy slenderness,
Warming by thee thy father in his grave.
Not wholly have they slain him; thy borrowings contain him,
For I stroke him on thy forehead, from thy lips his lips come forth,
Thou wound and cure together! Thou rainbow of my north!
Although it be the cradle-hour,
And petals from the sleeping-flower
Begin to strew the floor!
Five minutes more,
163
Warming by thee thy father in his grave.
Not wholly have they slain him; thy borrowings contain him,
For I stroke him on thy forehead, from thy lips his lips come forth,
Thou wound and cure together! Thou rainbow of my north!
| Song in September | |