How shall we build it curiously well,
Our house to live and love in?—Shall it be
Only significant to you and me,
Or shall it be a palace where may dwell
Those whom our spirits notice? May we tell
An architect to loose his fancy free
To toss up towers in soaring ecstasy
With Doric dignity or temple bell?
Or shall we build it with our hands, alone,
Working together over wood and stone
To learn an art we never knew, and strive,
Patient, to raise with faith and trust and love,
Fashioned so cunningly it must survive,
A secret cottage in a silent grove?
[AMBUSH]
Crafty Chieftain, where you lie
You can see the clouds drift by,
Waiting in the dusky fern
For your enemy's return.
Does the beauty of that place
Never tell you of my face,
I, you left, to plot and plan
For the ending of a man?—
You had better sought my aid,
I have met him unafraid,
We have wandered all alone
Underneath a yellow moon.
We have found the end of strife
Is the waking up to life—
Therefore you, who forced my vow,
Take my all of wisdom now.
Love has taught me but one truth—
Love is merry, love is youth,
We be children, he and I.
Where is your sagacity?