A white sky full of scudding blue,
A white wind that runneth as a child
Touching most delicately the new
Sweet buds, and having touched and smiled,
Goes to seek out some pale anemone,
And wreathe with maiden flowers her fragile brow.
A YOUNG MAN’S LOVE
If I were your sister I’d lie with you the night-long
To feel your bosom’s beating;
If I were your brother I’d wake you with a day-song