Two Women

Two faint shadows of women were ascending

The pathway of a desolate hill,

Pale as moth-wings beneath the low-bending

Sycamore branches, in the moonlight paler still.

"This one is dead," said the moon; "her face is ashen,

She is dry as a withered leaf-

What has she known of beauty or of passion

To come by moonlight to the mountain of grief?"

"The other too is dead," said the earth, "yet her feet are

burning-

I feel them hot and restless as blown fıre.

She has known many paths, why is she turning

Here, from the secret valley of desire?"

They passed, the moon paled, and from leafy places

Morning crept forth. At last they came

From the mountain of grief-women with tear-wet faces

Who had been withered'leaf and shadow of flame.