And many whisper things I dare not tell.
SONG OF THE SEEDLING
TO ARTHUR SEWELL BUTT
Tell, little seedling, murmuring germ,
Why are you joyful? What do you sing?
Have you no fear of that crawling thing,
Him that has so many legs? and the worm?
Rain drops patter above my head—
Drip, drip, drip.
To moisten the mould where my roots are fed—
Sip, sip, sip.
No thought have I of the legged thing.
Of the worm no fear,
When the goal is so near;
Every moment my life has run,
The livelong day I've not ceased to sing:
I must reach the sun, the sun.
LADY EVELYN
I know no Name too sweet to tell of her,
For Love's sweet Sake and Domination.
She hath me all; her Spell hath Power to stir
My Heart to every Lust, and spur me on.
Love saith: 'tis even thus; her Will no Thrall,
But Touchstone of thy Worth in Love's Armure;
They only conquer in Love's Lists that fall,
And Wounds renewed for Wounds are captain Cure.
He doubly is inslaved that gilts his Chain,
Saith Reason, chaffering for his Empire gone,
Bestir, and root the Canker that hath ta'en
Thy Breast for Bed, and feeds thy Heart upon.
I this: Sweet Love, an sweet an sour thou be,
I know no Name too sweet to tell of thee.
COMPLAINT
TO FELIX FÉNÉON