And upon my Eagles there came dismay:
To the sun is a distant flight,
And farther at autumn-tide is the way,
Treacherous is the height.
In the depths of the waters the Eagles wept,
With their dreaming all fordone:
"We to the highest summit have swept,
Why might we not reach the sun?"
THE SPRINGS OF HOPE
To the springs in the groves of Hope, to drink I went,
The gleam of the waning stars in the mom was spent;
On the spare trees and on the boughs it trailed,
The doves at the echo of my footsteps wailed.
On crooked pathways that unending lay,
I met a thousand beings on my way;
From the groves of Hope already they were faring,
Within their palms the drops, they sought for, bearing.
And kings and beggars, throngs of women pour.
And little maidens whom princesses bore;
With a new magic all their eyes shone brightly,
And all their lips 'neath kisses quivered lightly.
