"O memory, where is now my youth, Who used to say that life was truth?""I saw him in a crumbled cot Beneath a tottering tree;That he as phantom lingers there Is only known to me.""O Memory, where is now my joy, Who lived with me in sweet employ?""I saw him in gaunt gardens lone, Where laughter used to be;That he as phantom wanders there Is known to none but me.""O Memory, where is now my hope, Who charged with deeds my skill and scope?""I saw her in a tomb of tomes, Where dreams are wont to be;That she as spectre haunteth there Is only known to me.""O Memory, where is now my faith, One time a champion, now a wraith?""I saw her in a ravaged aisle, Bowed down on bended knee;That her poor ghost outflickers there Is known to none but me.""O Memory, where is now my love, That rayed me as a god above?""I saw him by an ageing shape Where beauty used to be;That his fond phantom lingers there Is only known to me."[GREEK TITLE]
Long have I framed weak phantasies of Thee, O Willer masked and dumb!
Who makest Life become, -
As though by labouring all-unknowingly, Like one whom reveries numb.
How much of consciousness informs Thy will Thy biddings, as if blind, Of death-inducing kind, Nought shows to us ephemeral ones who fill But moments in Thy mind.
Perhaps Thy ancient rote-restricted ways Thy ripening rule transcends;That listless effort tends To grow percipient with advance of days, And with percipience mends.
For, in unwonted purlieus, far and nigh, At whiles or short or long, May be discerned a wrong Dying as of self-slaughter; whereat IWould raise my voice in song.
