What do I care, in the dreams and the languor of spring,

Sat in the park and watched the HudsonWearing her lights like golden spanglesGlinting on black satin.The rail along the curving pathwayWas low in a happy place to let us cross,And down the hill a tree that dripped with bloomSheltered us,While your kisses and the flowers,Falling, falling,Tangled in my hair. . . .The frail white stars…

To share myself with every comerOr shape my thoughts into words with my tongue.It is one to me that they come or goIf I have myself and the drive of my will,And strength to climb on a summer nightAnd watch the stars swarm over the hill.Let them think I love them more than I do,Let…

I know the stars and the stately moonAnd the wind that runs with rippling shoon–But why does it always bring to meThe far-off, beautiful sound of the sea?The marsh-grass weaves me a wall of green,But the wind comes whispering in between,In the dead of night when the sky is deepThe wind comes waking me out…

But I am like a stricken birdThat cannot reach the south.For though I know he loves me,To-night my heart is sad;His kiss was not so wonderfulAs all the dreams I had.

I trembled, for I thought to see its dark deep fire—But only a pinch of dust blew up in my face.I almost gave my life long ago for a thingThat has gone to dust now, stinging my eyes—It is strange how often a heart must be brokenBefore the years can make it wise.Submitted by Venus

And lifts its plumes of prideIn the dark face of death;While I am curious stillOf love and fame,Keeping my heart too highFor the years to tame,How can I quarrel with fateSince I can seeI am a debtor to life,Not life to me?