WORDS, words, Ye are like birds. Would I might fold you, In my hands hold you Till ye were warm and your feathers a-flutter; Till, in your throats, Tremulous notes Foretold the songs ye would utter. Words, words, Ye are all birds! Would ye might linger Here on my finger, Till I kissed each, and then sent you a-winging Wild, perfect flight, Through morn to night, Singing and singing and singing!
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O Far-off rose of long ago, An hour of sweet, an hour of red, To live, to breathe, and then to go Into the dark ere June was dead! Why say they: Roses shall return With every year as years go on? New springtime and strange bloom, my rose, And alien June; but thou art gone. |
I Saw not they were strange, the ways I roam, Until the music called, and called me thence, And tears stirred in my heart as tears may come To lonely children straying far from home, Who know not how they wandered so, nor whence. If I might follow far and far away Unto the country where... |
O Brother Planets, unto whom I cry, Know ye, in all the worlds, a gladder thing Than this glad life of ours, this wandering Among the eternal winds that wander by? Ever to fly, with white star-faces set Quenchless against the darkness, and the wet Pinions of all the storms,—... |
I ’ll not believe the dullard dark, Nor all the winds that weep, But I shall find the farthest dream That kisses me, asleep. |
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What bring ye me, O camels, across the southern desert, The wan and parching desert, pale beneath the dusk? Ye great slow-moving ones, faithful as care is faithful, Uncouth as dreams may be, sluggish as far-off ships,— What bring ye me, O camels? “We bring thee gold like sunshine, saving... |
