  Come girl, and embrace,
And ask no more I wed thee; Know then you are sweet of face, Soft-limbed and fashioned lovingly;— Must you go marketing your charms In cunning woman-like, And filled with old wives’ tales’ alarms? I tell you, girl, come embrace; What reck we of churchling and priest With hands on paunch and chubby face; Behold, we are life’s pitiful least, And we perish at the first smell Of death, whither heaves earth To spurn us cringing into hell. Come girl, and embrace; Nay, cry not, poor wretch, nor plead, But haste, for life strikes a swift pace And I burn with envious greed: Know you not, fool, we are the mock, Of gods, time, clothes, and priests? But come, there is no time for talk. I went out into the fields In my anguish of mind, And sought comfort of the trees For they looked to be kind. ‘Alas!’ cried they, ‘who have peace?— We are prey that is caught, The sun warms us, the blast chills, And we understand not.’ On rolled the world with fools’ noise, But I strode in tears’ wrack; Would God, fools, I too were fool, Or had light that I lack. I held the fields all day, I, a madman, too; My spirit called aloud To sift the false from true. The troubled sun turned black, Earth heaved to and fro, Whene’er I spurned the flowers Lifting heads to grow. Trees reached their hands to stay, Whistled birds to me, ‘Spurn one, thou spurnest all, Brother, let things be. For not their heads alone Bleed, but the stars fade And all things grieve, for we One fabric are made.’ The heavens and earth do meet And all things are true, So trample ye no flowers Lest skies lose their blue. Comrade, why do you weep? Is it sorrow for a friend Who fell, rifle in hand, His proud stand at an end? The harsh thunder-lipped guns Roll his dirge deep and slow, Where he makes his dreamless bed, Head to head with a foe. The sweet lark beats on high, For the joy of those who sleep In quiet embrace of earth. Comrade, why do you weep? The winds caress the trees, Woman to man is led, And I too have my love, Though she comes not to bed. Beyond the heat of flesh, Which has its place and day, We hold our keen delights In spirit, earth away. Mount me on high, O soul, Expand me my desires, So shall I clasp in love Even the heavenly fires! |
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