“Blow, blow, thou wind,
Blow Conrad’s hat away,
Its rolling do not stay,
Till I have combed my hair,
And tied it up behind.”
Blow, blow, thou wind,
Blow Conrad’s love away,
My prince will come to-day.
Let him but find me fair,
And searching find.
The queen my mother grieves
For hopes that went astray.
Blow thou my grief away,
Among the April flags,
Among the dancing leaves.
Fill thou their golden wings,
And make the great clouds fly
Like swans across the sky,
Above the mountain crags
Where the young eaglet clings.
Blow—yet the mad wind dies
Among the flags and ferns.
And Conrad still returns,
Ere I have bound my hair,
Or dried my eyes.
Blow, blow, thou wind—
Blow Conrad’s love away.
But since it will not stay,
Blow thou afar my care
And make me kind.
As even, lad, thou art.
Blow, blow, thou wind, but since
Vainly I wait the prince
Come, Conrad, loose my hair,—
Thou loyal heart!
THE FURIES
I
But you must act. And therein lies the way
Of freedom from the Furies. You must burn
The substance of your being, if you stay
The impetus of life you will not learn
The simples of salvation. Go pluck off
A serpent from Alecto’s head and laugh
Exhilarate with its poison. If you scoff
You will perceive. You cannot love the staff
You have not scorned. You cannot weigh the act
You have not lived, the fear you did not prove.
Your soul was made to focus and extract
Through action every hatred, every love.
Pour out yourself if you would know release
From what the Furies do to spoil your peace.