The Gift Of The Gods

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"GIVE me thy dreams," she said, and I
  With empty hands and very poor,
Watched my fair flowery visions die
  Upon the temple's marble floor.


"Give joy," she said. I let joy go;
  I saw with cold, unclouded eyes
The crimson of the sunset glow
  Across the disenchanted skies.


"Give me thy youth," she said. I gave,
  And, sudden-clouded, died the sun,
And on the green mound of a grave
  Fell the slow raindrops, one by one.


"Give love," she cried. I gave that too.
  "Give beauty." Beauty sighed and fled;
For what on earth should beauty do,
  When love, who was her life, was dead?


She took the balm of innocent tears
  To hiss upon her altar-coal;
She took the hopes of all my years,
  And, at the last, she took my soul.


With heart made empty of delight,
  And hands that held no more fair things
I questioned her--"What shall requite
  The savour of my offerings?"


"The Gods," she said, "with generous hand
  Give guerdon for thy gifts of cost--
Wisdom is thine--to understand
  The worth of all that thou hast lost!"

© Edith Nesbit