  Where two roads cross by Chevely town A man is lying dead. The rumbling wains of scented hay Roll over his fair head; A stake is driven through his heart, For his own blood he shed. Among the pleasant flower-stars By God’s own garden gate, A little maid fresh come from earth One summer night did wait; Her poppy mouth dropped down with fear, With fear her eyes were great. The angels saw her sinless face, The gate was opened wide. She only shook her dawn-crowned head And would not come inside. She was alone, and so afraid— She hid her face and cried. Her tears dropped down like sun-filled rain Through stars and starless space, Until at last in Chevely town Where in a moonlit place Her lover knelt upon her grave, They fell upon his face. Said he, “My love, my only love, My Elena, my Sweet! Through what wild ways of mystery Have strayed your little feet? Alone, alone this lonely night Where only spirits meet! “It is not my bleak desert life That turns my heart to lead, Not for my empty arms I mourn, Nor for my loveless bed; But that you wander forth alone On heights I may not tread. “If I could stand beside you now Sin-burdened though I be, I’d bear you through the trackless ways From fear and danger free, Not God himself could daunt the strong Undying love of me! “Though Heaven is a pleasant place What joy for you is there? Who tread the jewelled streets alone Without my heart to share Each throb of your heart, and my arm Around you, O my Fair! “I hear your sobbing in the wind, And in the summer rain I feel your tears. My heart is pierced With your sad, lonely pain. My Love! My only Love! I come! You shall not call in vain!” Where two roads cross by Chevely town A man is lying dead. The rumbling wains of scented hay Roll over his fair head; A stake is driven through his heart, For his own blood he shed. |
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