And I have set thy paths, I guide
Thy blossoms on the wild hillside.
And I, thy bygone poet, share
The flowers that throng thy feet where'er
I led thy feet before I died.
VI
THE DAY TO THE NIGHT
The Poet sings to his Poet
From dawn to dusk, and from dusk to dawn,
We two are sundered always, Sweet.
A few stars shake o'er the rocky lawn
And the cold sea-shore when we meet.
The twilight comes with thy shadowy feet.
We are not day and night, my Fair,
But one. It is an hour of hours.
And thoughts that are not otherwhere
Are thought here 'mid the blown sea-flowers,
This meeting and this dusk of ours.
Delight has taken Pain to her heart,
And there is dusk and stars for these.
O linger, linger! They would not part;
And the wild wind comes from over-seas,
With a new song to the olive trees.
And when we meet by the sounding pine
Sleep draws near to his dreamless brother.
And when thy sweet eyes answer mine,
Peace nestles close to her mournful mother,
And Hope and Weariness kiss each other.
VII
A POET OF ONE MOOD
A poet of one mood in all my lays,
Ranging all life to sing one only love,
Like a west wind across the world I move,
Sweeping my harp of floods mine own wild ways.
The countries change, but not the west-wind days
Which are my songs. My soft skies shine above,
And on all seas the colours of a dove,
And on all fields a flash of silver greys.