The Dirge
Old winter was goneIn his weakness back to the mountains hoar,And the spring came downFrom the planet that hovers upon the shore
Where the sea of sunlight encroachesOn the limits of wintry night;--If the land, and the air, and the sea,Rejoice not when spring approaches,We did not rejoice in thee,Ginevra!
She is still, she is coldOn the bridal couch,One step to the white deathbed,And one to the bier,And one to the charnel--and one, oh where?The dark arrow fledIn the noon.
Ere the sun through heaven once more has rolled,The rats in her heartWill have made their nest,And the worms be alive in her golden hair,While the Spirit that guides the sun,Sits throned in his flaming chair,She shall sleep.
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