MARIE QUEEN OF ROUMANIA
Thou art as the world to me,
As a holy land beyond my reach.
I perceive its beauty ; but over it lies darkness
As a mantle of night my hand alone could lift.
But chains are put upon my feet,
Which even my yearning cannot break.
And in my heart lies the fear man fears
When near to a mystery he has sometimes
Dreamed of, but has never dared to touch.
Thou art to me as a story told to my heart;
As a story which is mine, and yet not mine,
Because another has read it first,
One who is dearer to me than my own life's blood.
I stand before thee as one dazzled,
As one into whose eyes the sun shines,
So that where'er he looks naught does he see
But light and e'er again . . . light . . . light . . .
Till all colours blend into one colour
Which is light. . . .
As all melodies blend into one melody,
Many rivers running into one sea,
Thou art to me as an oasis over which sorrow lies
Like phantom wings, full of shadow,
Shutting out all joy.
My feet are on its very border,
But dare not step within its enchanted circle,
Where with thy consent, another
Has lighted a hallowed light.
I can but stand without, humbly,
As a pilgrim who, having reached sanctuary,
Is afraid of approaching its altar
For fear a too great joy
Might rend in twain his heart.
But, oh, allow my sorrow
To flow along beside thy sorrow,
Two sister rivers running towards God. . . .