A Song

My heart has flown on wings to you, away In the lonely places where your footsteps lie Full up of stars when the short showers of day Have passed like ancient sorrows. I would fly To your green solitude of woods to hear You singing in the sounds of leaves and birds; But I am sad below the depth of words That nevermore we two shall draw anear.

Had I but wealth of land and bleating flocks And barnfuls of the yellow harvest yield, And a large house with climbing hollyhocks And servant maidens singing in the field, You'd love me; but I own no roaming herds, My only wealth is songs of love for you, And now that you are lost I may pursue A sad life deep below the depth of words.