Dark as a funeral pall hanging over,
Fluttering clouds in their mockery close;
Sighing within us is silenced our singing—
Love, it is time for repose.
Deceitful from heaven's fair emerald rainbow,
Soft borrowed glamour of moonbeams doth woo;
Since even you to my faith were disloyal,
Love, my false Springtime were you!
Soon will the sunbeams last radiant shining
Trackless be hurled where the Autumn wind blows,
Slumber enmeshes my soul and the darkness—
Love, it is time for repose!
FOFANOW.
THE BEGGAR
There stood a beggar asking alms
By the cathedral gate,
His face bore torture marks of life—
Pale, tired, blind—like fate.
Thin, tired, pale and blind he begged
A crust of bread alone,
And some one pausing, placed within
His outstretched hand—a stone.
And even so I asked your love,
I brought my dreams, my life—the while
Unto my passion you replied
Only with your cold smile!