Then I, your scorn, shall still be man and chief;
Turning to free your hands so carelessly, carelessly,
You will be dead to love past all belief.
Still round the slender columns of the palm
The moon shall lie in shivering, silver pools,
Still shall the trades lash through the summer calm
While twilight with her smile the island cools
And Time forgets your presence, carelessly, carelessly.
XXVII
In May
Blithe Nature leaned to kiss her favorite child,
Her sunshine hair about her bosom swirled;
Gay Baby Spring held out his hands, he smiled,
And Apple-Blossoms dimpled on the world.