| Behold the flashing waters
|
| A cloven dancing jet,
|
| That from the milk-white marble
|
| For ever foam and fret;
|
| Far off in drowsy valleys
|
| Where the meadow saffrons blow,
|
| The feet of summer dabble
|
| In their coiling calm and slow.
|
| The banks are worn forever
|
| By a people sadly gay:
|
| A Titan with loud laughter,
|
| Made them of fire clay.
|
| Go ask the springing flowers,
|
| And the flowing air above,
|
| What are the twin-born waters,
|
| And they’ll answer Death and Love.
|
| With wreaths of withered flowers
|
| Two lonely spirits wait
|
| With wreaths of withered flowers
|
| 'Fore paradise’s gate.
|
| They may not pass the portal
|
| Poor earth-enkindled pair,
|
| Though sad is many a spirit
|
| To pass and leave them there
|
| Still staring at their flowers,
|
| That dull and faded are.
|
| If one should rise beside thee,
|
| The other is not far.
|
| Go ask the youngest angel,
|
| She will say with bated breath,
|
| By the door of Mary’s garden
|
| Are the spirits Love and Death. |