Yes! I will give you the gold veils of light,
And the dark spangled curtains of the night . . .
And I will give you as a flower unfurled,
The proud and marvellous beauty of the world,
And all the wild, white horses of the sea.
What will you give to me? . . .
Primrose Hill
Wild heart in me that frets and grieves,
Imprisoned here against your will . . .
Sad heart that dreams of rainbow wings
See! I have found some golden things!
The poplar trees on Primrose Hill
With all their shining play of leaves . . .
And London like a silver bride,
That will not put her veil aside!
Proud London like a painted Queen,
Whose crown is heavy on her head . . .
City of sorrow and desire,
Under a sky of opal fire,
Amber and amethyst and red . . .
And how divine the day has been!
For every dawn God builds again
This world of beauty and of pain . . .
Wild heart that hungers for delight,
Imprisoned here against your will;
Sad heart, so eager to be gay!
Loving earth's lovely things . . . the play
Of wind and leaves on Primrose Hill . . .
Or London dreaming of the night . . .
Adventurous heart, on beauty bent,
That only Heaven could quite content!
A Morning Song
You saw my window open wide,
And woke me early, sister day!
You came in all your lovely pride,
With laughing looks that I adore,
With wings of blue and grey . . .
With sunshine skirts that swept the floor,
With songs to drive night's dreams away,
You called me out to play.
And so I took you by the hand,
And found the way to fairyland . . .
With such impatient feet I climb
The ladders of delight!
For well I know that ruthless time
Turns morning moods to tears and night.