But Not to Me

The April night is still and sweet
With flowers on every tree;
Peace comes to them on quiet feet, But not to me.

My peace is hidden in his breast Where I shall never be;
Love comes to-night to all the rest, But not to me.

Child, Child

Child, child, love while you can
The voice and the eyes and the soul of a man; Never fear though it break your heart—
Out of the wound new joy will start;
Only love proudly and gladly and well,
Though love be heaven or love be hell.

Child, child, love while you may,
For life is short as a happy day;
Never fear the thing you feel—
Only by love is life made real;
Love, for the deadly sins are seven,
Only through love will you enter heaven.

 

 

Joy

I am wild, I will sing to the trees, I will sing to the stars in the sky, I love, I am loved, he is mine, Now at last I can die!

I am sandaled with wind and with flame, I have heart-fire and singing to give,
I can tread on the grass or the stars, Now at last I can live!

 

 

After Love

There is no magic any more, We meet as other people do, You work no miracle for me Nor I for you.

You were the wind and I the sea— There is no splendor any more,
I have grown listless as the pool Beside the shore.

But though the pool is safe from storm And from the tide has found surcease, It grows more bitter than the sea,
For all its peace.

Ebb Tide

When the long day goes by And I do not see your face, The old wild, restless sorrow Steals from its hiding place.

My day is barren and broken, Bereft of light and song,
A sea beach bleak and windy That moans the whole day long.

To the empty beach at ebb tide, Bare with its rocks and scars,
Come back like the sea with singing, And light of a million stars