And shadowy flower, and song that was not song,
And wrapt in white eternities I walked
A daughter of the gods, who knew not Death:
I was a thing of coldness and disdain,
Half-losing all that was so dear in life:
Enthroned in astral taciturnity,
I, looking tranquil-eyed on beauties old,
E’er faced some dull Forever, strange to Hope
And strange to Sorrow, strange to Tears,—Regrets;
Joy was not joy, and living was not life.
So unreluctantly the long years went,
Though I had all that we, the gods, have asked,
Drunk with life’s wine, I could not sing the grape,
And knew not once, till Hades touched my hand
And made me wise, how good the world could be.
Now, now I know the solace and the thrill
Of passing Autumns and awakening Springs;
I know and love the Darkness, many-voiced,
Since Night it was that taught me to be strong;
The meaning of all music now I know,—
The song autumnal sky and twilit seas
Would sing so well, if once they found the words,—
The sorrow of dear shores grown low and dim
To darkling eyes, that may not look again,—
The beauty of the rose made rich by death,—
The throbbing lark that hymns amid the yew,
And mortal love grown glorious by the grave.
For worlds and faces now I see beyond
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