REX DOLORIS

* Signed with the sign of His Cross and salted with His salt. S. AUGUSTINE.

"WHEREFORE wilt thou linger, Lady Persephone?
The sheaves are gathered, the vintage is done,
Bacchus through the ivy leaves laughing with his satyrs
Calls us to the feasting, and the ripe, red sun
Drops like an apple, tumbling to the westward,
The shout of the Maenads is merry on the hill,
Why do the wheat-ears fall from thy fingers?
Whom does thou look for, lingering still?

"Whom dost thou look for? Here is one to woo thee,
Brown-cheeked, beautiful, lissom as the larch,
Lightsome, slender, blossomy with kisses,
Merrier-footed than the winds in March;
Loose thy hair to dream along his shoulder,
Drowse in thy whiteness warm upon his breast,
He shall feed thee with wheaten cakes and honey
And all fair fruits that are rich and daintiest."

"I weary of the feast, I weary of the harvesting,
I weary of your music, children of the earth--
Your feet dance over the roofs of my palaces,
The halls of Hades ring hollow to your mirth;
The great King of Grief hath reft me, ravished me,
Broken me with kisses, conquered me with pain,
I have drunk his bitter wine, I have eaten of His pomegranates,
Can find no savour in the honeycomb again."

"Wherefore wilt thou linger, Lady Persephone?
When sheaves are gathered and the vintage is done,
And Bacchus through the ivy leaves laughing with his satyrs
Calls us to the feasting, and the ripe, red sun
Drops like an apple, tumbling to the westward,
While the shout of the Maenads echoes from the hill?"
"Ere the round moon rise ruddy on the corn-shocks
The Lord of Hades shall have me at His will."