Death met a maiden on the brae,
Her eyes held dreams life would betray,
And gallant Death was greatly taken—
“Leave,” whispered he,
“Your dream with me
And I will see you never waken.”
Death met an old man in a lane;
So gnarled was he and full of pain
That kindly Death was struck with pity—
“Come you with me,
Old man,” said he,
“I’ll set you down in a fair city.”
So, kingly Death along the way
Scatters rare gifts and asks no pay—
Yet who to Death will write a sonnet?
If any dare,
Let him take care
No foolish tear be spilled upon it!
Out of Babylon
THEIR looks for me are bitter,
And bitter is their word—
I may not glance behind unseen,
I may not sigh unheard.
So fare we forth from Babylon,
Along the road of stone;
And no one looks to Babylon
Save I—save I alone!
My mother’s eyes are glory-filled
(Save when they fall on me)
The shining of my father’s face
I tremble when I see,
For they were slaves in Babylon,
And now they’re walking free—
They leave their chains in Babylon,
I bear my chains with me!
At night a sound of singing
The vast encampment fills;
“Jerusalem! Jerusalem!”
It sweeps the nearing hills—
But no one sings of Babylon
(Their home of yesterday)
And no one prays for Babylon,
And I—I dare not pray!