Maidens II

Maidens the poets learn from you to tell How solitary and remote you are, As night is lighted by one high bright star They draw light from the distance where you dwell. For poet you must always maiden be Even though his eyes the woman in you wake Wedding brocade your fragile wrists would break, Mysterious, elusive, from him flee. Within his garden let him wait alone Where benches stand expectant in the shade Within the chamber where the lyre was played Where he received you as the eternal One. Go! It grows dark—your voice and form no more His senses seek; he now no longer sees A white robe fluttering under dark beech trees Along the pathway where it gleamed before. He loves the long paths where no footfalls ring, And he loves much the silent chamber where Like a soft whisper through the quiet air He hears your voice, far distant, vanishing. The softly stealing echo comes again From crowds of men whom, wearily, he shuns; And many see you there—so his thought runs— And tenderest memories are pierced with pain.