THE TOMB AND THE ROSE
(After Victor Hugo.)
The Tomb said to the Rose:
O Flower of Love, where goes
Each tear which Dawn upon thy cheeks doth shed?
The Rose said to the Tomb:
What makest in thy gloom
Impenetrable of the countless dead?
Said the Rose: O Tomb, of all these tears,
In my recesses ere the sun appears,
I make a perfume which the gods will prize.
Said the Tomb: O plaintive Flower,
Of every mortal I devour
An angel do I make for Paradise.
REST
Long have I a word enshrined
And worshipped with a piety blind!
Long have I been seeking Rest
In the East and in the West!
Here and there and everywhere
Have I seen her shadow fair;
But the shadow seems to fade
Like the flowers of yonder glade.
In my lone retreat I sought
Her, but dreams against me fought.
In my nights for her I pray,
But with sleep she stays away.
Foolish is thine effort, vain—
Fruitless, hopeless is thy pain!
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