The Fountains of Youth

Is a golden dream-light streaming
Like eve through an opal west.

We sing to the sun-god, calling
By his name of yellow fire.

The touch of the dew-wet grasses,
The breath of the dawn-cool wind,
With the dawn of the god-light passes
And the world is left behind.

We drink of a fountain giving
The joy of the gods, and then –
The Land of the Ever-living
Has passed from us again.

Passed far beyond all saying,
For memory only weaves
On a silver dawn outraying
A cloud of daffodil leaves


By George William Russell [1867-1935]
The Irish Theosophist, September 1897.

Slán

Silverwolf
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