When all the leaves of Spring turn gold
And the wind has no song,
To whom then does the changeling green
Belong?
And who on what far waveless shore
Harps as Spring wind shall harp no more
In Winter’s beat and roll?
O You, who such forgotten beauties hold,
Find some faint loveliness unseen
And save it in a soul.
TROTH
To-day an odour lay upon the air
And did not fall from any mortal flower.
Deep they won their way within the hour
Who laid that odour there.
A perfume as of all that cannot give
A perfume—ivory and ore,
Colour and cloud and pearl and marl; and store
Of the wild aroma of cave and hive.
It was an inner perfume filtering
From other level than the great Midgard;
From a far and sphery home full-friendlier starred
Where marvels lift light wing.
By fragrance, fire and music do we prove
The tender contact of a lovelier day,
And these fair guarantors gently outray
From their far home—these three and also love.
BELOVED, IT IS DAYBREAK ON THE HILLS
Beloved, it is daybreak on the hills.
Dark glimmers and goes out in cloudy light.
Faint on the marge of night the watchet dawn
Lifts like a lily from a quiet water.
And that within me which is consonant
Is at its door to meet God’s infinite.
O Love, what banner shall we lift? And what
Timbrel and incense bear? How shall we greet
God’s day, his hills, his fire, and join their beauty?
Voices reply that are no voice but breath:
“Like beauty be thou nothing save his vesture.”