The Equinox (Volume I, Number IX)

THE EQUINOX O thou whose scent enchanted my vain youth From the more bitter truth Of easy things, How hast thou led me on To the mire? Thou madest thyself wings Of false and fecund fire; Thou bad’st me don An alien robe of shame. Ah! Sweetheart, thee I blame, And may not blame, For the sweet, eternal shame That seared my soul, And left my spirit free, Free |! to weep before thee, And thou hast slain me; Thou hast slain me whole, I am all dead to thee, My Rose, my Rose, my Rose, And the things I have said to thee Are but the foolish echoes the wind blows Into mine ears from the most secret world Wherein thy faded petals dropped, And stopped Decaying, for eternally are curled Tightly new petals. So this my song shall be The last I shall sing to thee, To thee. Oh, the wind blows Thy secret to me, Rose | 138