"Only a world has ended," he said to me, "and the swans are coming
back to the gods returning the gift of song."
"A whole world dead!" I said.
"Dead," said he that was humble among the gods. "The worlds are
not for ever; only song is immortal."
"Look! Look!" he said. "There will be a new one soon."
And I looked and saw the larks, going down from the gods.
SPRING IN TOWN
At a street corner sat, and played with a wind, Winter disconsolate.
Still tingled the fingers of the passers-by and still their breath was
visible, and still they huddled their chins into their coats when turning
a corner they met with a new wind, still windows lighted sent out into
the street the thought of romantic comfort by evening fires; these things
still were, yet the throne of Winter tottered, and every breeze brought
tidings of further fortresses lost on lakes or boreal hill-slopes. And not
any longer as a king did Winter appear in those streets, as when the
city was decked with gleaming white to greet him as a conqueror and
he rode in with his glittering icicles and haughty retinue of prancing
winds, but he sat there with a little wind at the corner of the street like
some old blind beggar with his hungry dog. And as to some old blind
beggar Death approaches, and the alert ears of the sightless man
prophetically hear his far-off footfall, so there came suddenly to
Winter's ears the sound, from some neighbouring garden, of Spring
approaching as she walked on daisies.
Pages:
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46