So, stricken by fate, I
Felt older at thirty than some do at eighty.
Because I believe in the beautiful story,
The poem of Greece in the days of her glory --
That the high-seated Lord of the woods and the waters
Has peopled His world with His deified daughters --
That flowerful forests and waterways streaming
Are gracious with goddesses glowing and gleaming --
I pray that thy singing divinity, fairer
Than wonderful women, may listen, Narrara!
O spirit of sea-going currents! -- thou, being
The child of immortals, all-knowing, all-seeing --
Thou hast at thy heart the dark truth that I borrow
For the song that I sing thee, no fanciful sorrow;
In the sight of thine eyes is the history written
Of Love smitten down as the strong leaf is smitten;
And before thee there goeth a phantom beseeching
For faculties forfeited -- hopes beyond reaching.
. . . . .
Thou knowest, O sister of deities blazing
With splendour ineffable, beauty amazing,
What life the gods gave me -- what largess I tasted --
The youth thrown away, and the faculties wasted.
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