I

One time I felt the sun in all my veins, And bloomed on crystal mornings, flower-wise, And mourned as roses sadden in long rains. What pain is this the summer noon denies?

One time the hands of wind upon my hair Could heal me like a mother’s touch and kiss. When I could give my airy griefs to air I never knew so sharp a thorn as this.

The joy of flower and wind and sighing bough-- It comes not back again for tears and rue. A year agone I had not sought as now, And found the sky a vault of empty blue.