XXVI
Mazeltov
To-day is still the day that sweet word came
Yet must I watch it ebb to Time’s great sea
And there to mingle with eternity,
Lose sense and form and be no more a name.
And yet ’tis still the day. The words I frame,
While ocean-like night’s mists rise stealthily;
Beneath my window here there spreads a sea
From which twin church spires spin like fireless flame.
Behold! the west has opened. Bless you, Day!
You would be gracious to me? You would stay?
And all the sky is flecked with tumbled light,
Wave beating upon wave, outbreasting night,
Up-wrapped as in a glory I do feel
Seeing outflung the roses of Castile!