The Blue Bird (Custance)/Grief

by Olive Custance

For other versions of this work, see Grief (Custance).

GRIEF

I, that was once so eager for the light,The vehement pomp and passion of the day,Am weary grown, and glad to steal awayAcross the dusky borders of the night.The purple darkness now is my delight,And with great stars my lonely sorrows play,As still, some proud and tragic princess mayWith diamonds make her desolation bright.

Night has become a temple for my tears . . .The moon a silver shroud for my despair,And all the golden forests of the spheresHave showered their splendours on me leaf by leafTill men that meet me in the sunlight, stareTo see the shining garment of my grief!