The fevered youth of summer days
Has passed away in tears.
The aged winter totters down
The pathway of the years.
Yet, nodding, luring, laughing o’er
The tired world’s pain and scars,
Joyous I find between my hands
Your face—in aster stars.
XV
Heart and Hand
Singing, he smote his heart—
The woman smiled,
And Love leaped, flaming,
Into being—wild.
Singing, he smote his hands—
The woman sighed,
And Love grew weary,
Turned his face, and died.