The Writings of "Fiona Macleod" [pseud.]
Book format: An electronic version of a printed book that can be read on a computer or handheld device designed specifically for this purpose.
Publisher: Date:8/5/2009 - General Books LLC
By: William Sharp
Excerpt from book: LORD OF MY LIFE He laid his dear face next to mine, His eyes aflame burned close to mine, His heart to mine, his lips to mine, O he was mine, all mine, all mine. Drunk with old wine of love I was, Drunk as the wild bee in the grass: Yea, as the wild bee in the grass, Drunk, drunk, with wine of love I was! His lips of life to-me were fief, Beneath him I was but a leaf Blown by the wind, a shaken leaf, Yea, as the sickle reaps the sheaf, My Grief! He reaped me as a gathered sheaf! His to be gathered, his the bliss, But not a greater bliss than this! All of the empty world to miss For wild redemption of his kiss! My Grief! For hell was lost, though heaven was brief Sphered in the universe of thy kiss So cries to thee thy fallen leaf, Thy gathered sheaf, Lord of my life, my Pride, my Chief, My Grief! or The UNIVERSITY THE LONELY HUNTER Green branches, green branches, I see you beckon: I follow! Sweet is the place you guard, there in the rowan-tree hollow. There he lies in the darkness, under the frail white flowers, Heedless at last, in the silence, of these sweet midsummer hours. But sweeter, it may be, the moss whereon he is sleeping now, And sweeter the fragrant flowers that may crown his moon-white brow: And sweeter the shady place deep in an Eden hollow Wherein he dreams I am with him and, dreaming, whispers, " Follow! " Green wind from the green-gold branches, what is the song you bring? What are all songs for me, now, who no more care to sing? Deep in the heart of Summer, sweet is life to me still, But my heart is a lonely hunter that hunts on a lonely hill. Green is that hill and lonely, set far in a shadowy place: White is the hunter's quarry, a lost-loved human face: O hunting hear...