III
All dark and silent now!
Master, thy few are faithful still,
And nightly hear thy brooks that warbling flow
By Siloa's hill.
AT NOON
(AFTER THE FRENCH OF VERLAINE)
The sky is blue above the roof,
So calm, so blue;
One rustling bough above the roof
Rocks, the noon through.
The bell-tower in the sky, aloof,
Tenderly rings!
A bird upon the bough, aloof,
Sorrows and sings.
My God, my God, and life is here
So simple and still!
Far off, the murmuring town I hear
At the wind's will....
What hast thou done, thou, weeping there?
O quick, the truth!
What hast thou done, thou, weeping there,
With thy lost youth?