Page:Anthology of Modern Slavonic Literature in Prose and Verse by Paul Selver.djvu/305

Rh

 Thy laws?—My will can fashion them for me.— Thy joy?—To watch creations billows rise, And take its visions for my spirit's own. "New Sonnets of a Recluse" (1891). 



Let on my brow thy hand so gently fall That I be not aware how late it grows: Moss decks the boulder, bloom-clad is the wall, Through withered grave-yard wreaths a murmur goes, When the November evening earthwards flows. Let on my brow thy hand so gently fall That I be not aware how late it grows.

Long have we gone together.—Go we still; Not roses, but bare ivy give I thee; I ging not nightingales' but wood-birds' trill, The child's lament that strays upon the lea; Thou knowest joy, I know but misery. Long have we gone together.—Go we still, Not roses, but bare ivy give I thee.

When roses fade, the ivy still is whole And around graves it twines in faithful wise: Till death uncages, as a bird, the soul, Long do I crave to kiss thy faithful eyes. When roses fade, the ivy still is whole, And around graves it twines in faithful wise.

