BY THE WATERS OF DIS
I brought you a bouquet plucked from a meadow, The ravished meadow of the world's dying heart. By the river Dis I, a pale wanderer, Remembering the streams of an earthly Spring, Gathered of ghostly thoughts this offering: My fellow-ghosts smiled as they watched me ponder.
They had like memories in frail crowds assembled, Smelling the fragrance of the flowers I gathered, Dream-flowers, recollections in the realm of Hades, Shades of the shadows of a stronger Sun: They sat down beside me the work being done, Below us in its darkness the river trembled.
From it there arose the singing of lovers, Each was a true, individual song, But they blended in an even profounder measure, And I heard your's among them and knew that its truth Was the truth of the world its joy and its ruth, And this armful of songs its indestructible treasure.
W. J. TURNER.
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