 | The Poems of A. C. Benson |  |
294
IN THAT DAY
Absalom, Absalom!
Put back thy fragrant hair!
Loud is the city's hum;
Why dost thou linger there.
To set soft hearts on fire?
That thou may'st reign, and be
What vainly men desire,
What best it liketh thee?
Hark to the city's hum,
Absalom, Absalom!
Put back thy fragrant hair!
Loud is the city's hum;
Why dost thou linger there.
To set soft hearts on fire?
That thou may'st reign, and be
What vainly men desire,
What best it liketh thee?
Hark to the city's hum,
Absalom, Absalom!
Absalom, Absalom!
Canst thou not clearer see
The thronging forms that come
Beneath the branching tree?
The green ways of the wood,
And dripping from the dart
The small dull pool of blood
That drains the traitorous heart.
See the dim forms that come,
Absalom, Absalom!
Canst thou not clearer see
The thronging forms that come
Beneath the branching tree?
The green ways of the wood,
And dripping from the dart
The small dull pool of blood
That drains the traitorous heart.
See the dim forms that come,
Absalom, Absalom!
| The Poems of A. C. Benson | |