| more than dreams, |
| More than the froth, the feather, the dust-whirl, |
| The crazy nothing that I think it is, |
| It
shall be in the country of the dead, |
| If there be such a country. |
|
|
|
|
| Dectora. No, not there, |
| But in some
island where the life of the world |
| Leaps upward, as if all the streams o the world |
| Had run into one fountain. |
|
|
|
|
| Aibric. Speak to him. |
| He knows that he is taking you to death; |
| Speakhe will not deny it. |
|
|
|
|
| Dectora.
Is that true? |
|
|
|
|
| Forgael. I do not know for certain, but I know |
| That I have the best of pilots. |
|
|
|
|
| Aibric. Shadows,
illusions, |
| That the Shape-changers, the Ever-laughing Ones, |
| The Immortal Mockers have cast into his
mind, |
| Or called before his eyes. |
|
|
|
|
| Dectora. O carry me |
| To some sure country, some familiar place. |
| Have
we not everything that life can give |
| In having one another? |
|
|
|
|
| Forgael. How could I rest |
| If I refused the
messengers and pilots |
| With all those sights and all that crying out? |
|
|
|
|
| Dectora. But I will cover up your
eyes and ears, |
| That you may never hear the cry of the birds, |
| Or look upon them. |
|
|
|
|
| Forgael. Were they
but lowlier |
| Id do your will, but they are too hightoo high. |
|
|
|
|
| Dectora. Being too high, their heady prophecies |
| But
harry us with hopes that come to nothing, |
| Because we are not proud, imperishable, |
| Alone and winged. |
|
|
|
|
| Forgael. Our love shall be like theirs |
| When we have put their changeless image on. |
|
|
|
|
| Dectora. I am a
woman, I die at every breath. |
|
|
|
|
| Aibric. Let the birds scatter, for the tree is broken, |
| And theres no help
in words. |
| [To the Sailors.] |
| To the other ship, |
| And I will follow you and cut the rope |
| When I have said
farewell to this man here, |
| For neither I nor any living man |
| Will look upon his face again. |
| [The Sailors
go out.] |
|
|
|
|
| Forgael [to Dectora]. Go with him, |
| For he will shelter you and bring you home. |
|
|
|
|
| Aibric [taking
Forgaels band]. Ill do it for his sake. |
|
|
|
|
| Dectora. No. Take this sword |
| And cut the rope, for I go on with
Forgael. |
|
|
|
|
| Aibric [half falling into the keen]. The yew-bough has been broken into two, |
| And all the birds
are scatteredO! O! O! |
| Farewell! Farewell! |
| [He goes out.] |
|
|
|
|
| Dectora. The sword is in the rope |
| The
ropes in twoit falls into the sea, |
| It whirls into the foam. O ancient worm, |
| Dragon that loved the world
and held us to it, |
| You are broken, you are broken. The world drifts away, |
| And I am left alone with my
beloved, |
| Who cannot put me from his sight for ever. |
| We are alone for ever, and I laugh, |
| Forgael, because
you cannot put me from you. |
| The mist has covered the heavens, and you and I |
| Shall be alone for ever.
We twothis crown |
| I half remember. It has been in my dreams. |
| Bend lower, O king, that I may crown
you with it. |
| O flower of the branch, O bird among the leaves, |
| O silver fish that my two hands have taken |
| Out
of the running stream, O morning star, |
| Trembling in the blue heavens like a white fawn |
| Upon the
misty border of the wood, |
| Bend lower, that I may cover you with my hair, |
| For we will gaze upon this
world no longer. |
|
|
|
|
| Forgael [gathering Dectoras hair about him]. Beloved, having dragged the net about
us, |
| And knitted mesh to mesh, we grow immortal; |
| And that old harp awakens of itself |
| To cry aloud to
the grey birds, and dreams, |
| That have had dreams for father, live in us. |
in their immortal fashion;