I leave your garden to the happier comers
For whom its silent sweets are anodyne.
Shall I return? Who knows, in other summers
The peace my spirit longs for may be mine?
Ah Love! could you and I with Him conspire
To grasp this sorry Scheme of Things entire,
Would not we shatter it to bits—and then
Re-mould it nearer to the Heart’s Desire!
Omar Khayyám.
Love, Dreams, & Death.
New Love, New Life.
I.
SHE, who so long has lain
Stone-stiff with folded wings,
Within my heart again
The brown bird wakes and sings.