As if one could
Loathe the world for too much sweetness!
All the air's a flame,
Wonderful—yet the same
Thou'st hated,
Being briefly sated
With sweet of sweetness.
Forgive a heart whose madness
Was not of madness born,
But of mere wild
Waste of desire....
Who does not know
One speaks so, or so,
Out of mere passion
That sees not love
From hate, nor life from death,
Nor hell from heaven?
In the East—oh, that flashed
Brightness, past
The loveliness even
Of sunset's flush!
THE HOLY MOUNTAINS
The holy mountains,
The gay streams,
Heavy shadows,
And tall, trembling trees;
The light that sleeps
Between the heavy shadows,
Wind that creeps
Faintly, from far-off seas——
The mountains' light,
Waters' noise,
Trees' shadows,
Clear, slow, calm air,
Are dreams, dreams,
And far, far-fallen echoes
Of secret worlds
And inconceivable dark seas.