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When you were a child, |
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You were a tomboy |
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And your mother laughed at the serious way |
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That you looked at her |
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And from your window at night |
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There were the star's little fires |
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And the armory lights |
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You were tracing the lines |
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Of a globe with your fingers: |
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Cool rivers, white wastes |
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Desert shores, and the forest green |
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And a limitless life |
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In the breath of each tide |
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And each bright mountain, rising |
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But now the boys are away, |
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And such kicks they are having; |
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Slashing away at the forest walls, |
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With their bitter knives. |
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Sparks bloom in their eyes, |
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And they never look tired. |
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Will they never look tired? |
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On cliffs that tower from the rising seas |
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Their bonfire glow |
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Where a tiger lies |
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And, cleaning their weapons, |
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They laugh at his useless |
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Claws, and all: |
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It is a beautiful night |
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To be born to this life |
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And grind his every bone to powder! |
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Do you remember |
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Do you remember |
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She carried you down to the edge |
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Of the dark river and said: |
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Though the water is wide, |
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You will never grow tired |
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You are bound to your life |
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Like a mother and child. |
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You will cling to your life |
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Like a suckering vine |
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And like the rest of our kind |
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You will increase |
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And increase |
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Past all of our dreaming |
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Horse without rider |
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Lungs without breathing |
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Day without light |
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Song without singing |
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A song... |
