How long I have wished for something I know well,
But what that something is I cannot tell.
So often at sunrise in sad tears I
Shivering with longing for its sake;
So often at noontide when the house is
It sickens me with its unbidden ill;
So often at twilight it does not seem far,
Not further than the first and far-off star;
All, all my life is built towards its
Yet by its near far-offness I am broken.
For I am ever under something's spell,
But what that something is I cannot tell.
IA
NG
The hopeless rain, a sigh, a
Falters and drifts again, again over the meadow,
It wanders lost, drifts hither . . . thither,
It blows, it goes, it knows not whither.
A profound grief, an unknown
Wanders always my strange life thoro',
I know not ever what brings it hither,
Nor whence it comes . . . nor goes it whither.
RN
VE
Now that the evenfall is come,
And the sun fills the flaring
And everything is mad, lit, dumb,
And in the pauses of the breezeA far voice seems to call me
To haven beyond woods and leas.
I feel again how sharply
The spell which binds our troubled
With hint of divine frustrated things,—The Soul's deep doubt and desperate
That She at sunset shall find
To bear her beyond
OW and
ST.
So place your head against my head,
And set your lips upon my
That so I may be comforted,—For Ah ! the world so from me slips,
To the World-Sunset I am
Where Soul and Silence come to
And Love stands sore-astonished.
