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XII
THE SOUL PROTESTS
Yet mourn the grieving voices through the halls
And on the sunny air a shadow falls:
But sunsets fade, but April perishes.
The rose-leaf babe, the hawthorne flower,
The warm brown tresses of the maid,
Nest in the heart for one sweet hour,
Then leave bereft the soul that cherishes.
So vanished Kubla's dream in Xanadu,
So by the western ocean fades our dream.
Charm me a charm to hold it fast!
Forge me a sword its death to slay!
Dream me a dream to live and last!
Catch me the wind ere it flies away!
