The Mood Of Man

Through the silence come to mock me
Ancient questions and replies;
A remembered glory blinds me,
From the shining of her eyes.

Though this Southern sun is glowing,
And this alien sky is fair,
Still between me and the sunshine
Waves the pale gold of her hair.

In these unfamiliar places
Her familiar face I see, —
Scornful in its mocking beauty,
Always pitiless for me.

But her scorn no longer moves me —
Reft of hope is free from fear —
So her very coldness warms me,
Her remoteness brings me near.
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