I would in that sweet bosom be

Vales and many a wasted sun,Oread let thy laughter run,Till the irreverent mountain airRipple all thy flying hair.Lightly, lightly — – ever so:Clouds that wrap the vales belowAt the hour of evenstarLowliest attendants are;Love and laughter song-confessedWhen the heart is heaviest.

Calling to them, a voice they know,He drives his beasts above Cabra.The voice tells them home is warm.They moo and make brute music with their hoofs.He drives them with a flowering branch before him,Smoke pluming their foreheads.Boor, bond of the herd,Tonight stretch full by the fire!I bleed by the black streamFor my torn bough!

Vast wings above the lambent waters broodOf sullen day.A waste of waters ruthlesslySways and uplifts its weedy maneWhere brooding day stares down upon the seaIn dull disdain.Uplift and sway, O golden vine,Your clustered fruits to love’s full flood,Lambent and vast and ruthless as is thineIncertitude!

Of Love in ancient plenilune,Glory and stars beneath his feet — –A sage that is but kith and kinWith the comedian Capuchin?Believe me rather that am wiseIn disregard of the divine,A glory kindles in those eyesTrembles to starlight. Mine, O Mine!No more be tears in moon or mistFor thee, sweet sentimentalist.

Of cool sweet dew and radiance mildThe moon a web of silence weavesIn the still garden where a childGathers the simple salad leaves.A moondew stars her hanging hairAnd moonlight kisses her young browAnd, gathering, she sings an air:Fair as the wave is, fair, art thou!Be mine, I pray, a waxen earTo shield me from her…

Wind of spices whose song is everEpithalamium.O, hurry over the dark landsAnd run upon the seaFor seas and lands shall not divide usMy love and me.Now, wind, of your good courtesyI pray you go,And come into her little gardenAnd sing at her window;Singing: The bridal wind is blowingFor Love is at his noon;And soon will…