High on a down we found him last, Shy as a hare, he fled as fast; How could we clasp him or ever he passed? Fleet are his feet and his heart apart.
How could we cling to his limbs that shone, Ravish his cheeks' red gonfalon, Or the wild-skin cloak that he had on? Fleet are his feet and his heart apart.
For the wind of his feet still straightly shaping, He loosed at our breasts from his eyes escaping One crooked swift glance like a javelin leaping. Fleet are his feet and his heart apart.
And his feet passed over the sunset land From the place forlorn where a forlorn band Watching him flying we still did stand. Fleet are his feet and his heart apart.
Vanishing now who would not stay To the blue hills on the verge of day. O soft! soft! Music play, Fading away, (Fleet are his feet And his heart apart) Fading away.
There is a far unfading city Where bright immortal people are; Remote from hollow shame and pity, Their portals frame no guiding star But blightless pleasure's moteless rays That follow their footsteps as they dance Long lutanied measures through a maze Of flower-like song and dalliance.
There always glows the vernal sun, There happy birds for ever sing, There faint perfumed breezes run Through branches of eternal spring; There faces browned and fruit and milk And blue-winged words and rose-bloomed kisses In galleys gowned with gold and silk Shake on a lake of dainty blisses.
Coyness is not, nor bear they thought, Save of a shining gracious flow; All natural joys are temperate sought. For calm desire there they know, A fire promiscuous, languorous, kind; They scorn all fiercer lusts and quarrels, Nor blow about on anger's wind, Nor burn with love, nor rust with morals.
Folk in the far unfading city, Burning with lusts my senses are, I am torn with love and shame and pity, Be to my heart a guiding star: Wise youths and maidens in the sun, With eyes that charm and lips that sing, And gentle arms that rippling run, Shed on my heart your endless spring!
Beneath my skull-bone and my hair, Covered like a poisonous well, There is a land: if you looked there What you saw you'd quail to tell. You that sit there smiling, you Know that what I say is true.
My head is very small to touch, I feel it all from front to back, An earèd round that weighs not much, Eyes, nose-holes, and a pulpy crack: Oh, how small, how small it is! How could countries be in this?