Whom no bird
Flying south
Brings one word
From his mouth?
Not the ghost
Of a word.
Riding post
Have I heard,
Since the day
When my king
Took away
With him spring,
And the cup
Of each flower
Shrivelled up
That same hour,
With no light
Left behind.
Out of sight,
Out of mind!
XIX
Because I adore you
And fall
On the knees of my spirit before you—
After all,
You need not insult,
My king,
With neglect, though your spirit exult
In the spring,
Even me, though not worth,
God knows,
One word of you sent me in mirth,
Or one rose
Out of all in your garden
That grow
Where the frost and the wind never harden
Flakes of snow,