The Last Words of Tolstoi

Awhile I felt the imperial sky

Clothe a sole figure, which was I;

Then, lonely for democracy,

I hailed the purple robe of air

Kinship for all mankind to share;

But now at last, with ashen hair,

I learn it is not they nor I

Who own the mantle of the sky,—

Silence alone wears majesty.

Here shall come forth a flower

and near him ever grow.

But his ear heeds me not,

and my hot tears mean nothing

to him who was dearer to me

than Daphne, he whose clear eye,

that dazed the sun, now droops near earth....

O hyacinthine flower, grow here!

Sweet were his lips as a flower touching

the feet of a bee in Spring, his lips

would repeat the word, “Love, love,”

all that was sweet in the world was reborn.

Death could not defeat him,

for his young lips, completing love, were eager.

His youth shall ever be fleet, evading death....

O hyacinthine flower, be sweet!