Clear in the morning I can see them sometimes: Men, gods and ghosts, slim girls and graces— Then the light grows, noon burns, and soon there come times When I see but the pale and ravaged places Their glory long ago adorned.—And seeing My whole soul falters as an invalid Too often cheered. Did something in their being Of worth go from them when my ideal did?
Men, gods and ghosts, cast down by that young damning, You have no answer; I but heard you say, “Why, we are weak. We failed a bit in shamming.”
—So I am free! Will freedom always weigh So much around my heart? For your defection, Break! You who had me in your keeping, break! Fall From that great height to this great imperfection!
Yet I must weep.—Yet can I hate you all?
All my ways she wove of light, Wove them all alive,
Made them warm and beauty bright…
So the trembling ambient air Clothes the golden waters where The pearl fishers dive.
When she wept and begged a kiss Very close I’d hold her,
And I know so well in this
Fine fierce joy of memory
She was very young like me
Though half an aeon older.
Once she kissed me very long, Tiptoed out the door,
Left me, took her light along, Faded as a music fades…
Then I saw the changing shades, Color-blind no more.