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- A Lover's Diary, Volume 2. - 7/7 -

That wild moan of the dispossessed Lear.

O world, vex not this ghost, yea, let it pass, The Spirit of these songs. The fool hath mocked, The fool our woe upon us hath unlocked From where the soul holds to our lips the glass,

To see what breath of life. O fool, poor fool, Well, we have laughed together, you and I. O fond insulter, in the healing pool

Of your deep poignant raillery I lie. Let us be grand again, my fool. The throne Is gone; but see, the coronation stone!


Know you where I, my royal fool, was crowned? A rock within the great Egean? Where A strong flood hurrieth on Finistere? Where at the Pole our valiant men were drowned?

Where the soft creamy wash of Indian seas Spreads palmward? Where the sunset glides to dawn, No night between? Where all the tides are drawn To greet their Sun and bathe their Idol's knees?

Where was I crowned? Dear fool, upon a stone That standeth where Earth's arches make but one, Where all the banners of her soul were flown,

And trumpeted the legions of the sun. The stone is left: 'tis here against the door Of throne and kingdom. . . . Pray you, mock no more.


A time will come when we again shall rail-- Not yet, not yet. The flood comes on apace, That deep dividing river, and her face Grows dimmer as it widens--pale, so pale.

Have we not railed and laughed these many days, Mummers before the lights? Dear fool, your hand Upon your lips--Oh let us once be grand, Grand as we were when treading royal ways.

Lo, there she moves beyond the river. Gone-- Gone is the sun-lo, starlight in her eyes. See, how she standeth silent and alone--

Oh, hush! let us not vex her with our cries. Proud as of old, unto my throne I go. . . . Cordelia's gone...... Hush, draw the curtain--so.


When you and I have played the little hour, Have seen the tall subaltern Life to Death Yield up his sword; and, smiling, draw the breath, The first long breath of freedom; when the flower

Of Recompense has fluttered to our feet, As to an actor's; and the curtain down, We turn to face each other all alone-- Alone, we two, who never yet did meet,

Alone, and absolute, and free: oh, then, Oh, then, most dear, how shall be told the tale? Clasped hands, pressed lips, and so clasped hands again;

No words. But as the proud wind fills the sail, My love to yours shall reach, then one deep moan Of joy; and then our infinite Alone.


A Lover's Diary, Volume 2. - 7/7

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