The Blue Bird (Custance)/In the South
For other versions of this work, see In the South (Custance).
IN THE SOUTH
I was pale and sad in the South like the olive-trees
That droop their silver heads by the dusty roads,
And are grave and cold and grey in spite of the sun . . .
In the veils of rose and blue that the bright dawn spun
Day wrapped me round in vain!
I longed for the lovers and friends I had left behind,
I longed for the North again.
That droop their silver heads by the dusty roads,
And are grave and cold and grey in spite of the sun . . .
In the veils of rose and blue that the bright dawn spun
Day wrapped me round in vain!
I longed for the lovers and friends I had left behind,
I longed for the North again.
I was deaf to song, and even to beauty blind,
Blind to the magic woof that summer weaves,
While roses beat their pearl and ruby leaves
Against my window pane . . .
And orange flowers so passionately white,
So richly perfumed, pined for my delight:
Only my faint heart sighed,
In pity when the glory waned and died,
For all that lovely life unsatisfied!
Blind to the magic woof that summer weaves,
While roses beat their pearl and ruby leaves
Against my window pane . . .
And orange flowers so passionately white,
So richly perfumed, pined for my delight:
Only my faint heart sighed,
In pity when the glory waned and died,
For all that lovely life unsatisfied!
I was pale and sad in the South like the olive-trees
That droop their silver heads by the dusty roads . . .
That droop their silver heads by the dusty roads . . .