What matter if tomorrow we forget—
Today the stillness of the sun-lit hills
And the low drowsy hum of summer bees!
To You, Dear Heart
To you, dear heart, whom I have never known
I sing my little songs all wonderingly
That sometime you may hear,—the sweet atone
For all the years and years of search alone—
That sometime you may hear and come to me.
So on I go a-singing down my way