The Lute-Player

By George Sterling

Then said I to the unassenting day:
    "Die swiftly!" And to Sleep: "Possess thou me,
    That thy nepenthe drug me utterly!
O hide thou me from Love, whose arrows slay
The peace for which I travail. Let my way
    Along the. waters of oblivion be.
    And lead by Lethe to the ghostly sea
No star shall haunt nor moon of passion sway!"

So spake I in my sorrow. Now the night
    Lifts stars to make thy memory a pang,
The moon to hint thy mystery in light,
        And I am fain of Love and his despair.
    Return, O Day, the golden chords that rang,
        The aureate arrows and the yellow hair!


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