A broken rainbow on the skies of May, Touching the dripping roses and low clouds, And in wet clouds its scattered glories lost:— So in the sorrow of her soul the ghost
Of one great love, of iridescent ray, Spanning the roses dim of memory, Against the tumult of life's rushing crowds — A broken rainbow on the skies of May.
A flashing humming-bird among the flowers, Deep-coloured blooms; its slender tongue and bill Sucking the syrups and the calyxed myrrhs, Till, being full of sweets, away it whirrs:—
Such was his love that won her heart's rich bowers To give to him their all, their honied showers, The bloom from which he drank his body's fill — A flashing humming-bird among the flowers.
A moon, moth-white, that through long mists of fleece Moves amber-girt into a bulk of black, And, lost to vision, rims the black with froth:— A love that swept its moon, like some great moth,
Across the heaven of her soul's young peace; And, smoothly passing, in the clouds did cease Of time, through which its burning light comes back — A moon, moth-white, that moves through mists of fleece.
A bolt of living thunder downward hurled, Momental blazing from the piled-up storm, That instants out the mountains and the ocean, The towering crag, then blots the sight's commotion:—
Love, love that swiftly coming bared the world, The deeps of life,‘ round which fate's clouds are curled, And, ceasing, left all night and black alarm — A bolt of living thunder downward hurled.
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