  Now droops the troubled year And now her tiny sunset stains the leaf. A holy fear, A rapt, elusive grief, Make imminent the swift, exalting tear. The long wind’s weary sigh— Knowest, O listener! for what it wakes? Adown the sky What star of Time forsakes Her pinnacle? What dream and dreamer die? A presence half-divine Stands at the threshold, ready to depart Without a sign. Now seems the world’s deep heart About to break. What sorrow stirs in mine? A mist of twilight rain Hides now the orange edges of the day. In vain, in vain Wi10hou stay, Beauty who wast, and shalt not be again! |
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