Lvi

It never can be mine To sit in the door in the sun And watch the world go by, A pageant and a dream;

For I was born for love, And fashioned for desire, Beauty, passion, and joy, And sorrow and unrest;

And with all things of earth Eternally must go, Daring the perilous bourn Of joyance and of death,

A strain of song by night, A shadow on the hill, A hint of odorous grass, A murmur of the sea.