Page:Songs before sunrise (IA beforesunrisongs00swinrich).pdf/73

 "Is it time, is it time appointed, Angel of time, is it near? For the spent night aches into day When the kings shall slay not or pray, And the high-priest, accursed and anointed, Sickens to deathward with fear.

"For the bones of my slain are stirred, And the seed of my earth in her womb Moves as the heart of a bud Beating with odorous blood To the tune of the loud first bird Burns and yearns into bloom.

"I lay my hand on her bosom, My hand on the heart of my earth, And I feel as with shiver and sob The triumphant heart in her throb, The dead petals dilate into blossom, The divine blood beat into birth.

"O my earth, are the springs in thee dry? O sweet, is thy body a tomb? Nay, springs out of springs derive, And summers from summers alive, And the living from them that die; No tomb is here, but a womb.