With its sound mingled the quiver of the light
through the leaves, the scent of the grass in the rainy night, and the sad
silence of the last hour of many an idle day.
Not the work of God alone was he who answered to that name; she created him
again for herself during those seventeen swift years.
Other years were to follow, but their vagrant days, no longer gathered
within the fold of that name uttered in her voice, stray and are scattered.
They ask me, "Who should fold us?"
I find no answer and sit silent, and they cry to me while dispersing, "We
seek a shepherdess!"
Whom should they seek?
That they do not know. And like derelict evening clouds they drift in the
trackless dark, and are lost and forgotten.
25
I feel that your brief days of love have not been left behind in those
scanty years of your life.
I seek to know in what place, away from the slow-thieving dust, you keep
them now. I find in my solitude some song of your evening that died, yet
left a deathless echo; and the sighs of your unsatisfied hours I find
nestled in the warm quiet of the autumn noon.
Pages:
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50