Opals (Custance)/Doubts

by Olive Custance

For works with similar titles, see Doubts.

Doubts

 

A Web of gold is the western sky!Golden strands of the sun's bright hairCaught in the grey clouds everywhere!Or the tangled skeins of day's broidery?

. . . And now it is that the twilight sings;Twilight . . . whose voice is full of tears,Trailing athwart our hopes and fearsThe drooping bows of her dusky wings!

In the fading light we dream of deathAnd closer cling in a long embrace.O! pure pale girl with the passionate faceLife strips us naked . . . but leaves us breath.

But when our bodies lie strange and stillThey will bury us swiftly out of sight,Shut us away from the warm sunlight . . .How dark the darkness will be and chill!

But ah! I forgot, we shall not feelFolded safe in our last deep sleepNever again to kiss and weep—While our lips' rose colour the roses steal.

Dear, never again to know regret,With its iron hand laid on the leaping heartIts fingers thrust where the wide wounds smart,The wounds of memory bleeding yet. . . .

Ah! but the kisses—the tears—the fleetDelights—slow sorrows, are life—in vain To praise white peace when the wine of pain,Fate's purple wine, is so fiery sweet!

Think you we should be glad to dieNow . . . when the stars are coming soonAnd the daylight pales, and the primrose moonIs a stemless flower in a silver sky. . . .