Neither Moon Nor Beauty Poem by MBJ Pancras

O What maketh thee sad, man of dreams,
Lonely and sadly lingering?
Blossoms beside the stream are withered,
And no birds sing.

O What maketh thee sad, man of dreams,
So pale and so miserable?
The fields are all full,
And full is the labourer's table.

I see rose on thy face
With anguish dew and colourless look;
And on thy cheeks a withering lily
Silently doth feel sick.

I met a girl in the pastures,
Greatly beautiful - the Moon's child;
Her hair was like waves, her steps rhythmic,
And her eyes were gold.

I made a wreath on her hear,
And a garland for her with fragrant blossoms;
She looked at me as the Moon did,
And whispered love-psalms.

I took her on my magical couch,
And everything looked beautiful,
For the moments we were together were golden
With songs delightful.

She fed me fruits delicious taste
And honey from heaven above;
And in sweetest tongue she uttered,
'With thee great is love.'

She carried me unto a fairy cave,
And there she shed tears in gloom,
And the heart I had decked her
With thoughts lay in bosom.

And there she sang lullaby for me,
And there I dreamed - Alas! woe struck!
The dream I had with a hope
Was in delight but turned illuck.

I saw paleness on the sky all the way,
Neither Moon nor Beauty was there;
A cry from an unheard land said:
'Neither Moon nor Beauty would be thy dear.'

I perceived my cold heart at dusk
With a garland of sorrows around,
And I awoke, and found me here,
And nothing beside me I found.

And so am I sojourning here
Lonely and sadly lingering,
And blossoms beside the stream are withered,
And no birds sing.