Dreams
The Voice
You made a little temple in your soul—
I never filled it. You with glowing hands
Promised me wreaths and garlands of fair flowers.
They blossomed not. You called me love—I died—
You scarcely wept, and now I come again
To claim the human life you promised me.
I never filled it. You with glowing hands
Promised me wreaths and garlands of fair flowers.
They blossomed not. You called me love—I died—
You scarcely wept, and now I come again
To claim the human life you promised me.
The Man
The various actors in the perpetual show,
The ceaseless pageantry of mutable things,
Dazzled my eyes—I could not look on you.
Yet take your share of life from out my soul.
(Another shadow approaches and bends down to the Man's lips. As it rises it takes a definite form. Another voice is heard.)
The ceaseless pageantry of mutable things,
Dazzled my eyes—I could not look on you.
Yet take your share of life from out my soul.
(Another shadow approaches and bends down to the Man's lips. As it rises it takes a definite form. Another voice is heard.)
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