 | Dirge for Aoine and other poems |  |
xvi
A DEVONSHIRE SONG
Rich is the red earth country, and fair beneath the sun
Her orchards in their whiteness show when April waters run;
Fair show they in their autumn green when red their apples glow,
And yet a lovelier country is that I'm wisht to know.
Her orchards in their whiteness show when April waters run;
Fair show they in their autumn green when red their apples glow,
And yet a lovelier country is that I'm wisht to know.
The country has no borders, the country has no name;
Its people are as homeless as is a marish-flame;
But kind they are and beautiful, and in their golden eyes
Their lovers see the gleam that drew out Eve from Paradise.
Its people are as homeless as is a marish-flame;
But kind they are and beautiful, and in their golden eyes
Their lovers see the gleam that drew out Eve from Paradise.
O happy Pixy-people that dance and pass away,
That hope not for to-morrow nor grieve for yesterday,
O happy Pixy-people, would that I went with you
The way the red leaves travel when the harvest moon is new.
That hope not for to-morrow nor grieve for yesterday,
O happy Pixy-people, would that I went with you
The way the red leaves travel when the harvest moon is new.
You fear no blight in summer that kills the growing corn;
Your hearts have never sunk to see the sun rise red at morn.
The brown spate in the river, the drowned face in the Dart,
Have never dimmed a Pixy's eye or hurt a Pixy's heart.
Your hearts have never sunk to see the sun rise red at morn.
The brown spate in the river, the drowned face in the Dart,
Have never dimmed a Pixy's eye or hurt a Pixy's heart.
xvii
But I have seen the river rise and draw my lover down
And since the Dart has shrunken too low to let me drown
And be at peace beside him, why I would lose this soul
That makes the daylight dusk to me, since last Dart took her toll.
And since the Dart has shrunken too low to let me drown
And be at peace beside him, why I would lose this soul
That makes the daylight dusk to me, since last Dart took her toll.
Oh Pixies, take this heavy soul and make me light as you,
I care not though one day I pass away like drying dew—
I only care to sleep no more, to dream no more, but go
Far from the red earth country and the cruel streams I know.
I care not though one day I pass away like drying dew—
I only care to sleep no more, to dream no more, but go
Far from the red earth country and the cruel streams I know.
| Dirge for Aoine and other poems | |