VII

If I must live without you, I must learn To love the earth and all that grows once more, With the old good love that satisfied before I saw you smile. Now, let me turn and turn, Your memory covers earth and sky; I yearn For you, and not for Spring; my heart is sore With absence, not with Winter's length. Of yore, When climbing noons began to softly burn, There seemed a tender joy in every bud That swelled and burst, in every little spear That broke the clods; and Spring sang in my blood As in the sap; and all that lived was dear. These treasures now are veiled and strange and far, Whilst I go wandering where your footprints are.