 | Poems and Dramas by "Fiona MacLeod" (William Sharp) |  |
213
THE VALLEY OF PALE BLUE FLOWERS
In a hidden valley a pale blue flower grows.
It is so pale that in the moonshine it is dimmer than dim gold,
And in the starshine paler than the palest rose.
It is so pale that in the moonshine it is dimmer than dim gold,
And in the starshine paler than the palest rose.
It is the flower of dream. Who holds it is never old.
It is the flower of forgetfulness: and oblivion is youth:
Breathing it, flame is not empty air, dust is not cold.
It is the flower of forgetfulness: and oblivion is youth:
Breathing it, flame is not empty air, dust is not cold.
Lift it, and there is no memory of sorrow or any ruth;
The grey monotone of the low sky is filled with light;
The dim, terrible, inpalpable lie wears the raiment of truth.
The grey monotone of the low sky is filled with light;
The dim, terrible, inpalpable lie wears the raiment of truth.
214
I lift it, now, for somewhat in the heart of the night
Fills me with dread. It may be that, as a tiger in his lair,
Memory, crouching, waits to spring into the light.
Fills me with dread. It may be that, as a tiger in his lair,
Memory, crouching, waits to spring into the light.
No, I will clasp it close to my heart, overdroop with my hair:
I will breathe thy frail faint breath, O pale blue flower,
And then...and then...nothing shall take me unaware!
I will breathe thy frail faint breath, O pale blue flower,
And then...and then...nothing shall take me unaware!
Nothing: no thought: no fear: only the invisible power
Of the vast deeps of night, wherein down a shadowy stair
My soul slowly, slowly, slowly, will sink to its ultimate hour.
Of the vast deeps of night, wherein down a shadowy stair
My soul slowly, slowly, slowly, will sink to its ultimate hour.
| Poems and Dramas by "Fiona MacLeod" (William Sharp) | |