Poems (Taylor)/Monody
MONODY
I.
Art thou so sad, sweet Soul,—
Sad with the sadness of narcissus pale,
Whose delicate odours lingeringly exhale
By rare brown pools the green-blue birches veil,
Sad with the sadness, Love, of souls too pure
Their own consuming beauty to endure,—
Art thou so sad, sweet Soul?
Sad with the sadness of narcissus pale,
Whose delicate odours lingeringly exhale
By rare brown pools the green-blue birches veil,
Sad with the sadness, Love, of souls too pure
Their own consuming beauty to endure,—
Art thou so sad, sweet Soul?
II.
Love me, too-perfect Soul!
For such as thou, stooping to love of me
Surely a fault, a recklessness will be
To check thy fatal flame of purity,—
And yet a fault the gods may well forgive.
For this,—for any reason,—let me live,—
O love me, perfect Soul!
For such as thou, stooping to love of me
Surely a fault, a recklessness will be
To check thy fatal flame of purity,—
And yet a fault the gods may well forgive.
For this,—for any reason,—let me live,—
O love me, perfect Soul!