Louise Imogen Guiney,
The Martyrs' Idyl, and Shorter Poems
“ O Didymus,With thy shut eyes, thy youth undedicate,Tell me the name of this new pastoral. 4 Didymus (asleep) . He said: “My yoke is sweet, My burden light.”O light, O sweet, perchance, as it was said! The Child. True heart! The hour rounds up; thy wine-press waits;And so this music fades: the silver tonesThin out, and faintly drip delight, and cease,No willing man nor bird hears how. Good-night,O soon-made-perfect! IINight. The same fields. Didymus wakes, alone.Didymus. It is black, and chill. ”
