Knowing that Love had put the dark to flight;
And I must sing more glad than any bird
Because the sun has filled my dream with light.
2.
Is it high noon, already, in the land?
O Love, I dreamed that morn could never pass;
That we might ever wander, hand in hand,
As children in June-meadows plucking flowers,
Through ever-waking, fresh-unfolding hours:
Yet now we sink love-wearied in the grass;