"
"The burden of the world," Villon said. "Sigh, my lute, sigh."
He let his fingers ripple over the strings, waking the faint wail of
a plaintive minor. In a moment or two he began to recite, touching
every now and then a chord on his lute to emphasize the words he
spoke:
"I wonder in what Isle of Bliss
Apollo's music fills the air;
In what green valley Artemis
For young Endymion spreads the snare:
Where Venus lingers debonair:
The Wind has blown them all away--
And Pan lies piping in his lair--
Where are the Gods of Yesterday?
"Say where the great Semiramis
Sleeps in a rose-red tomb; and where
The precious dust of Caesar is,
Or Cleopatra's yellow hair:
Where Alexander Do-and-Dare;
The Wind has blown them all away--
And Redbeard of the Iron Chair;
Where are the Dreams of Yesterday?
"Where is the Queen of Herod's kiss,
And Phryne in her beauty bare;
By what strange sea does Tomyris
With Dido and Cassandra share
Divine Proserpina's despair;
The Wind has blown them all away--
For what poor ghost does Helen care?
Where are the Girls of Yesterday?
"Alas for lovers! Pair by pair
The Wind has blown them all away:
The young and yare, the fond and fair:
Where are the Snows of Yesterday?"
The little group whom he addressed lingered in a gracious silence
for a short space.
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