The Poetical Works of John Payne :: :: University of Virginia Library

A WIND came over the Western water,
(Oh sweet is the rose in the fresh Spring-time!)
‘Weary of life,’ it said, ‘poor lover?
Sick for a love that is dead and gone?
(Winds blow over her, earth's above her.)
Sick for a day that was faded at dawn?
The cure is the kiss of the marsh-king's daughter.’

Weary of life, I answered and said,
‘O wind of the Western water!’
Sick for a day and a love that are dead,
‘Why should I seek,’ I answered and said,
‘The kiss of the marsh-king's daughter?’

II.

The wind came over the Western water:
(The death-flower blows in the Summer's prime!)
‘If one be weary and sick of living,
Sick for the sake of a vanished love,
Sick of the glow and blossom of Spring,
Sick of the Summer's glitter and ring;
If colour lack in the Autumn's weaving
And the Winter hold not sorrow enough,
The cure is the kiss of the marsh-king's daughter.’

Weary of life, I answered and said,
‘O wind of the Western water!’
Bitter with tears that I could not shed,
‘Tell me, West-wind,’ I answered and said,
‘The home of the marsh-king's daughter.’

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III.

‘It lies far over the Western water.
(Oh sweet is the rose in the fresh Spring-time!)
Under the arch of the sun at setting,
‘Twixt gold of sunset and dusk of night,
Under the sound of the sea-winds' fretting;
In the purple heart of the marish mist,
That the shafts of the dying day have kiss'd,
Under the ceiling where stars are bright,
There is the home of the marsh-king's daughter.’

Weary of life, I answered and said,
‘O wind of the Western water!
My hopes lie close in the house of the dead;
But I will go,’ I answered and said,
‘To seek for the marsh-king's daughter.’

IV.

I wandered over the Western water,
(Oh sweet is the rose in the fresh Spring-time!)
And I came in the evening, when light was dying,
To a land where the hum of the world was still,
Where the voice of the evening wind was sighing
And the spells of sleep were over the air;
And I saw in the setting the golden hair
Of the sunset broider the mists, until
They grew to the robe of the marsh-king's daughter.

Golden starlets were over her head,
(A crown for the marsh-king's daughter.)
‘Come to my arms,’ I answered and said;
And she came, with the West-wind's murmurous tread,
To me that so long had sought her.

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V.

A voice came over the Western water:
(The deathflower blows in the Summer's prime!)
‘Dearly,’ it said, ‘hast thou won and bought her.
Her kisses are cold as are the dead
And the gold of her hair o'er thee is shed,
As wings of the birds that fly to the slaughter!
The lips thou shouldst kiss are living and red,
Thine eyes should feast on the joys of earth,
Thy hands pluck flowers in the golden prime.
Youth was not made for sorrow and dearth:
Get thee back, whilst there yet is time;
For Death is the name of the marsh-king's daughter!’

Weary of life, I answered and said,
‘O wind of the Western water!
My lips shall kiss but the lips of the dead.’
Sick of the day, I answered and said,
‘Kiss me, O marsh-king's daughter!’