 | Dirge for Aoine and other poems |  |
xii
THE DECADENT
Dulness, less comely than grief, has gone over my soul.
Sullen and sluggish its waters of bitterness roll;
It is naught to me now
How the wind-stricken woods to the lash of the nor'-wester bow,
How the bubbles are bright on the vanishing track of the vole,
How beauty is writ on the world, as a legend is writ on a scroll.
Sullen and sluggish its waters of bitterness roll;
It is naught to me now
How the wind-stricken woods to the lash of the nor'-wester bow,
How the bubbles are bright on the vanishing track of the vole,
How beauty is writ on the world, as a legend is writ on a scroll.
It is naught to me, drunken of dulness, an alien here,
How the peoples are trodden of anger and sorrow and fear;
How lust on the shoulder of love has laid tremulous hand.
I am dull, I am slack;
And doubt goes before me, and following fast on my track,
A ghost I can hear stepping soft o'er the leaf-sodden land.
How the peoples are trodden of anger and sorrow and fear;
How lust on the shoulder of love has laid tremulous hand.
I am dull, I am slack;
And doubt goes before me, and following fast on my track,
A ghost I can hear stepping soft o'er the leaf-sodden land.
I am old, I am cold.
I have trafficked for dreams in the markets where visions are sold!
I have bought me a dream, and the dream of my spirit takes toll,
And of dreams I am sick.
In the place of dead dreams, dead desires, I alone stand up quick—
Dulness, less comely than grief, has encompassed my soul.
I have trafficked for dreams in the markets where visions are sold!
I have bought me a dream, and the dream of my spirit takes toll,
xiii
In the place of dead dreams, dead desires, I alone stand up quick—
Dulness, less comely than grief, has encompassed my soul.
| Dirge for Aoine and other poems | |