“I’m sorry now you never saw the flocks, Jane Wayland;
But you’re the one to make of them as many as you need.
And then about the vanishing: it’s I who mean to vanish;
And when I’m here no longer you’ll be done with me indeed.”
“That’s a way to tell me what I am, John Gorham!
How am I to know myself until I make you smile?
Try to look as if the moon were making faces at you,
And a little more as if you meant to stay a little while.”
“You are what it is that over rose-blown gardens
Makes a pretty flutter for a season in the sun.