FALSE DAWN
(1)
MY apple trees have blossomed in a night,
And pale green moonlight bathes their rose and white
With a strange wine that makes the pulses throb.
A sleepy robin now mistakes the light,
And his soft doubting note sounds like a sob
Voicing the thought that draws my heart-strings tight.
(2)
What Life could give you is not yours to take
Nor mine to give—and yet to-night I wake
Remembering your giving. But the note
Of that moon-haunted robin must not shake
My calm belief that you—austere, remote—
Need nothing I can ever mar or make.