VI
Maura lies dead at last,
The body she gave to child and lover
Now feeds flower and tree.
Earth's arms are wide to her. What breast
Offers such gentle sleeping?
Her limbs lie peacefully.
From the dark West
There comes a note like the echoing cry
Of one who rides through the dusk alone
After the hunt sweeps by.
It fades—the night wind is forlorn—
Music is still,
But Maura has followed the silver horn
Over the distant hill,
Over the hill where all winds die.
November Dusk
Where like ghosts of verdant days
Whispering down,
Leaves in the November dusk
Drift and drown,
Stand two lovers, motionless
And apart
In their sturdy nakedness
Of the heart,
Two dark figures, side by side
Through the mist
Standing as though time had died
Since they kissed,
Whose deep roots, alive and sound
Blindly reach
Mingling in the fertile ground
Each with each—