IX
Pervigilium
Reign, thou marble Venus, reign!
We are tired of painted Marys.
Thou shalt stir thyself again,
And be queen of our vagaries.
Men no more shall worship pain
When they taste how brave the air is,
When they herald thee with laughter, and with roses entertain.
When thy lilies bloom once more,
When thy bosomed rosebuds waken,
Love shall be our only lore,
Cares and creeds be all forsaken;
And we'll wander by the shore,
Up among the forest bracken,
Decked with leaf and crowned with branches,—children as we were before.
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