Wise maids know how soon grows sere
The greenest leaf of Spring.
But no man knoweth
Whither it goeth
When the wind bloweth
So frail a thing.
Love love, my dear, to-day
If the ship’s in the bay
If the bird has come your way
That sings on summer trees.
When his song faileth
And the ship saileth
No voice availeth
To call back these.
Similar Posts
Lord when I look at lovely things which pass,
Dancing to please the wind along the grass,Or the gold stillness of the August sun on the August sheaves;Can I believe there is a heavenlier world than this?And if there isWill the heart of any everlasting thingBring me these dreams that take my breath away?They come at evening with the home-flying rooks and the scentof…
Sweetheart, for such a day
Here, then, it’s all to pay,It’s Good-night at the door.Good-night and good dreams to you,—Do you remember the picture-book thievesWho left two children sleeping in a wood the long night through,And how the birds came down and covered them with leaves?So you and I should have slept,—But now,Oh, what a lonely head!With just the shadow…
Remember me and smile, as smiling too,
The dolls with which I grew too wise to play–Or over-wise–kissed, as children do,And so dismissed them; yes, even as yoyHave done with this poor piece of painted clay–Not wantonly, but wisely, shall we say?As one who, haply, tunes his heart anew.Only I wish her eyes may not be blue,The eyes of a new angel….
Seventeen years ago you said
And everybody thinks that you are dead,But I.So I, as I grow stiff and coldTo this and that say Good-bye too;And everybody sees that I am oldBut you.And one fine morning in a sunny laneSome boy and girl will meet and kiss and swearThat nobody can love their way againWhile over thereYou will have smiled,…
We passed each other, turned and stopped for half an hour, then went our way,
But no man can move mountains in a day.So this hard thing is yet to do.But first I want your life:–before I die I want to seeThe world that lies behind the strangeness of your eyes,There is nothing gay or green there for my gathering, it may be,Yet on brown fields there liesA haunting purple…
Sometimes I know the way
It is a wind from that far seaThat blows the fragrance of your hair to me.Or in this garden when the breezeTouches my treesTo stir their dreaming shadows on the grassI see you pass.In sheltered beds, the heart of every roseSerenely sleeps to-night. As shut as thoseYour garded heart; as safe as they fomr the…