Thy laws?—My will can fashion them for me.—
Thy joy?—To watch creations billows rise,
And take its visions for my spirit's own.
"New Sonnets of a Recluse" (1891).
6. MOURNFUL STANZAS.
Let on my brow thy hand so gently fall
That I be not aware how late it grows:
Moss decks the boulder, bloom-clad is the wall,
Through withered grave-yard wreaths a murmur goes,
When the November evening earthwards flows.
Let on my brow thy hand so gently fall
That I be not aware how late it grows.
Long have we gone together.—Go we still;
Not roses, but bare ivy give I thee;
I ging not nightingales' but wood-birds' trill,
The child's lament that strays upon the lea;
Thou knowest joy, I know but misery.
Long have we gone together.—Go we still,
Not roses, but bare ivy give I thee.
When roses fade, the ivy still is whole
And around graves it twines in faithful wise:
Till death uncages, as a bird, the soul,
Long do I crave to kiss thy faithful eyes.
When roses fade, the ivy still is whole,
And around graves it twines in faithful wise.
