Iv

O sleepless heart and sombre soul unsleeping, That were athirst for sleep and no more life And no more love, for peace and no more strife! Now the dim gods of death have in their keeping Spirit and body and all the springs of song, Is it well now where love can do not wrong, Where stingless pleasure has no foam or fang Behind the unopening closure of her lips? It is not well where soul from body slips And flesh from bone divides without a pang As dew from flower-bell drips.