Classic Poem

I

In the dewy morn
I wove the red sash for my lover's sword,
In the sound of the silver bugles
Blowing merrily over the violet vales.
My red lips leaned to the steel,
And kissed it for a holy cause.
And then — the lips of my lover —
And over the orchards
The music of a farewell song.

II

In the mist-wreathed twilight
I wove the white shroud for my lover's sword,
In the sound of the muffled drums
Moaning over the darkened vales.
My white lips leaned to the steel,
And kissed it, and were crimsoned.
And then — the cold lips of my lover,
And over the orchards
The long, desolate Night!