Oh! speak to me, my love, I crave a rose.
Sing me a song, for I would pearls were mine.
RAIN-SONGS
The rain streams down like harp-strings from the sky;
The wind, that world-old harpist sitteth by;
And ever as he sings his low refrain,
He plays upon the harp-strings of the rain.
A LOST DREAM
Ah, I have changed, I do not know
Why lonely hours affect me so.