And joy and sorrow intermixed
Run tingling through our veins—
These bring more peace and comfort still
Than newer, subtler strains.
Oh, quarrion for missel-thrush
And rosewood bloom for may!
The things the nameless singer saw
Are what we see to-day.
The grass is just as green to-day,
The distant hill as blue,
The birds are just as glad as then,
The lovers just as true;
And Alisoun is dead long syne
With him that called her fair,
But love is just as sweet and fresh
When spring is in the air;
And though I must perforce be dumb
Who have no skill to sing,
I am as deep in love, in love,
As is the year in spring!
NIGHT ON THE PLAINS
Out on the plain-land at night
There is no sound, not a sigh,
And nothing is moving now
But scornful stars in the sky:
The night is too great for my heart,
It flutters and halts and trips;
The terrible mirth of the stars
Has slain my song on my lips.