That we sought you with rejoicings,
Till at evening we descry
At a pause of Siren voicings
These vexed branches and this howling sky?...
·········
Oh, your pardon! The uncouthness
Of that primal age is gone,
And the skin of dazzling smoothness
Screens not now a heart of stone.
Love has flushed those cruel faces;
And those slackened arms forego
The delight of death-embraces,
And yon whitening bone-mounds do not grow.
"Ah!" you say;" the large appearance
Of man's labor is but vain,
And we plead as stanch adherence
Due to pleasure as to pain."
Pointing to earth's careworn creatures,
"Come," you murmur with a sigh:
"Ah! we own diviner features,
Loftier bearing, and a prouder eye.
"Come," you say, "the hours were dreary;
Life without love does not fade;
Vain it wastes, and we grew weary
In the slumbrous cedarn shade.
Round our hearts with long caresses,
With low sighings, Silence stole,
And her load of steaming tresses
Weighed, like Ossa, on the aery soul.
