Afterward Celia said: “That voice we heard
Singing among the oak-leaves, and then still,
We cannot answer how it sings or how it comes and goes....
But only that its beauty ever grows
Within us both, in ways no voice has told.
.... So let me be to you. When night has drawn its fold
Of darkness and no word
May reach your heart from mine,
Take then my love, my beauty! Hear me still
When you are old