Beloved, all the marvel of the May,
The altared dark, the petals’ solemn white,
The moments rich with farewell from the lips
Of dying moments—what are these? We lay
Our love beside them and exceed the night.
A MEETING
I hear a sound like piping and like sails
In silken talk with wind and like the speech
Of someone quiet in the blue of dawn
Upon a quiet beach.
I see a light as when the last star
Flowers faintly in the ashen morning sky
And long wings appear and disappear,
Wheeling by.
I think of moons forgotten with their tides;
I think of all the red of east and west;
I hear the secret stir of nameless dead
Conferring in my breast.
You make me long for colour and for song
And for old words on lips I did not know.
You make me dream of all I learned to dream
How long ago.
HALF THOUGHT
O Day of Wind and laughter,
A goddess born are you
Whose eyes are in the morning
Blue—blue.
The slumberous noon your body is,
Your feet are the shadows’ flight.
But the immortal soul of you
Is night.
EPITAPH
He loved to lie where Summer lay,
His roof a cloud, a bough;
There stretched full-length to dream all day.
It is so with him now.