英语小说网

  Have you found me, at last, O my Dream?
       Seven aeons ago
  You died and I buried you deep under forests
       of snow.
  Why have you come hither? Who bade you
       awake from your sleep
  And track me beyond the cerulean foam of the
       deep?

  Would you tear from my lintels these sacred
       green garlands of leaves?
  Would you scare the white, nested, wild
       pigeons of joy from my eaves?
  Would you touch and defile with dead fingers
       the robes of my priest?
  Would you weave your dim moan with the
       chantings of love at my feast?

  Go back to your grave, O my Dream, under
       forests of snow,
  Where a heart-riven child hid you once, seven
       aeons ago.
  Who bade you arise from your darkness? I
       bid you depart!
  Profane not the shrines I have raised in the
       clefts of my heart.