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