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A DRAMA OF EXILE.
Scarlet to paleness; and thine eyes drink fast Of glory from full cups; and thy moist lips Seem trembling, both of them, with earnest doubts Whether to utter words, or only smile. Eve. Shall I be mother of the coming life?Hear the steep generations, how they fall Adown the visionary stairs of Time, Like supernatural thunders—far, yet near; Sowing their fiery echoes through the hills. Am I a cloud to these—mother to these? Earth Spirits. And bringer of the curse upon all these.[Eve sinks down again. Poet voices passing. O we live, O we live— And this life that we believe, Is a noble thing and high, Which we climb up loftily, To view God without a stain: Till, recoiling where the shade is We retread our steps again, And descend the gloomy Hades, To taste man's mortal pain. Shall it be climbed in vain? Infant voices passing. Rock us softly, Lest it be all in vain. Love voices passing. O we live, O we live— And this life we would retrieve, Is a faithful thing apart, Which we love in, heart to heart, Until one heart fitteth twain. "Wilt thou be one with me?" "I will be one with thee!" "Ha, ha!—we love and live!" Alas! ye love and die! Shriek—who shall reply! For is it not loved in vain?
