SUNSET
BETWEEN the mountains and the sea,
And the river flows,
With all its prisoned water free
From the frozen snows,
Through the city's heart by night and day,
By the palaces and quiet way
That it loves and knows.
Upon its breast a crimson stain,
In the noon-day sun,
That trembles to a flower of pain,
Till the day be done,
Till its burning petals break to fire
In the passion of a great desire
That may ne'er be won.
Oh flower of joy that I have found
For my soul's relief,
Thy dews are sweet to parching ground,
Oh my flower of grief,
That I gathered with my fainting breath,
Oh my flower of life, my flower of death,
Let the hour be brief.
I give thee to the river's breast,
Where my tears are shed,
The city's heart thy place of rest,
Where my heart has bled,
And thy fire to pass me as a tide,
In a flood of crimson purple dyed,
For the joy that's dead.
Ah me, not all the city's need
May thy passion hold,
The river has no chasm freed
For thy flames of gold,
And thy fire leaps upward to the sky,
In a burning flood that will not die
Till my heart be cold.
The city and the river's brink,
Where I fear to stand,
The cup of peace my soul would drink,
To my trembling hand,
And my flower that never dies, ah me--
Between the mountains and the sea--
In the cypress land.