THE RED SONG
I tear out, strand by strand,
Those chestnut tresses, hiding the depths of midnight,
That have strangled my soul so long;
I reach to the sun's great head
And plait his golden rays
For the tresses of a new beloved.
Those chestnut tresses, hiding the depths of midnight,
That have strangled my soul so long;
I reach to the sun's great head
And plait his golden rays
For the tresses of a new beloved.
I pluck out the brooding brown eyes,
Those lights that lit my darkness
And led my feet straying
Into endless dismal swamps of despair;
I mold the sky's live blue
Into all-seeing eyes of a new beloved.
Those lights that lit my darkness
And led my feet straying
Into endless dismal swamps of despair;
I mold the sky's live blue
Into all-seeing eyes of a new beloved.
I take the willowy grace of the waves,
The sinuous flow of the wind,
The sky-flung curve of the mountains,
The delicate unrest of the Springy leaves,
And out of these I fashion a body
For my new beloved.
The sinuous flow of the wind,
The sky-flung curve of the mountains,
The delicate unrest of the Springy leaves,
And out of these I fashion a body
For my new beloved.
And last, I pluck out the sweet soul
That so long held my flood of love,
And place it back with its first lover;
That so long held my flood of love,
And place it back with its first lover;
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