Ix

“Once in the village I had heard a song, A melody which I wrote down for you, And which you sang. But, there among your hills, The dawns and sunsets and the serious stars Made trite its thought and words, that seemed as stale As musty parlors of the commonplace. I changed its words, and here and there its thought, But, though you praised, you never sang it more, And so I knew, like some poor poet, it Had fallen on disfavor, God knows why, With its high patron. Thus its metre ran: Look, happy eyes, and let me know The timid flower her love hath cherished Fades not before the fruit shall show, Seen in the clear truth of your glow Where naught of love hath perished.

Lift, happy lips, and let me take The sacred secret of her spirit To mine in kisses, that shall make Mute marriage of our souls, and wake The heart’s sweet silence near it.