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I
AM sick in my heart of the burden of restless dreams,
I am tired of the vain hopes and the empty sighs.
In the voice of the outer day, in the gold of the sun,
Only are soundless songs most, and the vision dies
In the first dawning of light,
In the gleam of the Infinite One.
In the whispers my spirit has loved from the heart of
night,
In the crimson of sunset, in the gleam of snow,
In the shimmering lustre of light on the waters wide,
Or the peace of the silent woods in the afterglow,
I have sought vainly and long
For the soul of my own bride.
I have given my heart to the stillness of night-sweet
song,
With the wine of the clear stars have I drugged my soul,
If perchance its delight could be lured by the moonbeam's
spell;
But the haze of the wine fades, and from night's dark
bowl
Mournfully cometh there back
Vain desires that the night cannot quell.
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