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MORTA.
151
Morta, I hear—I follow thee;
I hold thee by thy robe of snow:
Yet go where thou canst never go,
And see what thou canst never see.
I hold thee by thy robe of snow:
Yet go where thou canst never go,
And see what thou canst never see.
A fleece of shining white unrolled;
A wheel whose turning has no end;
A joinèd thread thou canst not rend,
And One the gleaming strand doth hold.
A wheel whose turning has no end;
A joinèd thread thou canst not rend,
And One the gleaming strand doth hold.
Softly the singing wheel revolves;
Softly my heart sings evermore:
While, learned in Life's seraphic lore,
Death's threefold mystery it solves.
Softly my heart sings evermore:
While, learned in Life's seraphic lore,
Death's threefold mystery it solves.
