Here will we launch a leaf to distant shores,
And in it shut a word for Wonderland—
The blue Unknown beyond the sycamores.
THINK NOT, O LILIAS[7]
Think not, O Lilias, that the love of this night will endure in the sun. Hast thou beheld fungi, white, evil, rosy-lined, poisonous, shrivel in the eyes of day?
In this wilderness of strange hearts it is not thine alone that concerns me. Many brave hearts of men are more to me than thine. The hearts of men breathe deeply. As for thy heart, it runs from me, it is quicksilver, it does not concern me greatly.
“TO ROSY BUDS....”
TO rosy buds in orchards of the spring,
To melting clouds in endless deeps of air,
My love shall lift a swelling throat and sing,
Akin to all things fugitive and fair.
They shut love from his heaven and he sings?
But captive eyes are pitiful to see!
Oh, flashing sun on upward-beating wings—
Oh, tumbling notes of joy—my bird is free!
Dear love, forever strange, beloved most!
Dear fleeting buds, bear not your fruit and die!
Be this a path forever found and lost,
A drift of bloom upon an April sky.