Where I have been, and on these eyes estranged
Earth’s vernal sweetness falls so mystical
Its beauty turns a thing of bitter tears;
And even in my gladness I must grieve
For this dark change, where Death has died to me,—
For my lost Gloom, where life was life to me!
Long years from now shall ages yet unborn
Watch the returning Spring and strangely yearn;
Others shall thrill with joy like unto mine;
Vague things shall move them and strange voices steal
Through sad, bud-scented April eves to them.
Round them shall fall a glory not of earth,
As now o’er these Sicilian meadows fall
Dim memories that come I know not whence.
In lands I know not of some sorrowing girl
Shall faintly breathe: “I am Persephone
On such a day!” and through the world shall run
The immemorial rapture and the pangs,
And pale-eyed ghosts shall creep out to the light
And drink the sun, like wine, and live once more.
The dower of my delight shall make them glad;
The tears of my regret shall weigh them down,
And men with wondering eyes shall watch the Spring
Return, and weep, indeed, these selfsame tears,
And laugh with my good laughter, knowing not
Whence came their passing bliss so torn with pain.
For good is Enna, and the wide, glad Earth,
13
