C.D. Warner, et al., comp.
The Library of the World’s Best Literature. An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.

Cameron Mann (1851–1932)

THE RAPID years drag by, and bring not here

The man for whom I wait;

All things pall on me: in my heart grows fear

Lest I may miss my fate.

I weary of the heavy wealth and ease

Which all my isle enfold;

The fountain’s sleepy plash, the summer breeze

That bears not heat nor cold.

With dull, unvaried mien, my maid and I

Plod through our daily tasks:

Gather strange herbs, weave purple tapestry,

Distill in magic flasks.

Most weary am I of these men who yield

So quickly to my spell,—

The beastly rout now wandering afield,

With grunt and snarl and yell.

Ah, when, in place of tigers and of swine,

Shall he confront me whom

My song cannot enslave, nor that bright wine

Where rank enchantments fume?

Then with what utter gladness will I cast

My sorceries away,

And kneel to him, my lord revealed at last,

And serve him night and day!