A WALL BETWEEN.
99
That told me first (let bygone things go by),—
The young sad mouth, without a breath.
Yes, I believe in death.
The young sad mouth, without a breath.
Yes, I believe in death.
(A crucifix to kiss?)
Another world may light your lifted eyes,
But, by my heart that breaks, I am of this.
Are you quite sure those palms of Paradise
Do shelter for me one sweet head?
Of, are the dead—the dead?
Another world may light your lifted eyes,
But, by my heart that breaks, I am of this.
Are you quite sure those palms of Paradise
Do shelter for me one sweet head?
Of, are the dead—the dead?
It is a vain world? Oh,
It is a goodly world,—a world wherein
We hear the doves (that moan?)—the winds (that blow
The buds away?) It is a world of sin,
And therefore sorrow?—Was it, then,
Fashioned and formed of men?
It is a goodly world,—a world wherein
We hear the doves (that moan?)—the winds (that blow
The buds away?) It is a world of sin,
And therefore sorrow?—Was it, then,
Fashioned and formed of men?
Pray, would you give one rood
Of your dark, certain soil, where olives grow,
For all those shining heights on heights, where brood
The wings you babble of that shame the snow?
——— Why, what new song? But I have heard
In our own trees a bird.
Of your dark, certain soil, where olives grow,
For all those shining heights on heights, where brood
The wings you babble of that shame the snow?
——— Why, what new song? But I have heard
In our own trees a bird.
