Your mind and mine are such great lovers they Have freed themselves from cautious human clay, And on wild clouds of thought, naked together They ride above us in extreme delight; We see them, we look up with a lone envy And watch them in their zone of crystal weather That changes not for winter or the night. _Words for An Old Air_ Your heart is bound tightly, let Beauty beware, It is not hers to set Free from the snare. Tell her a bleeding hand Bound it and tied it, Tell her the knot will stand Though she deride it; One who withheld so long All that you yearned to take, Has made a snare too strong For Beauty’s self to break. _Mountain Water_ You have taken a drink from a wild fountain Early in the year; There is nowhere to go from the top of a mountain But down, my dear; And the springs that flow on the floor of the valley Will never seem fresh or clear For thinking of the glitter of the mountain water In the feathery green of the year. _At Tintagil_ Iseult, Iseult, by the long waterways Watching the wintry moon, white as a flower, I have remembered how once in Tintagil You heard the tread of Time hour after hour. By casements hung with night, while all your women slept You turned toward Brittany, awake, alone, In the high chamber hushed, save where the candle dripped With the slow patient sound of blood on stone. The ache of empty arms was an old tale to you, And all the tragic tunes that love can play, Yet with no woman born would you have changed your lot, Though there were greater queens who had been gay. “_There Will Be Stars_” There will be stars over the place forever; Though the house we loved and the street we loved are lost, Every time the earth circles her orbit On the night the autumn equinox is crossed, Two stars we knew, poised on the peak of midnight Will reach their zenith; stillness will be deep; There will be stars over the place forever, There will be stars forever, while we sleep. II PICTURES OF AUTUMN _Autumn_ (Parc Monceau) I shall remember only these leaves falling Small and incessant in the still air, Yellow leaves on the dark green water resting And the marble Venus there-- Is she pointing to her breasts or trying to hide them? There is no god to care. The colonnade curves close to the leaf-strewn water And its reflection seems Lost in the mass of leaves and unavailing As a dream lost among dreams; The colonnade curves close to the leaf-strewn water A dream lost among dreams. _September Day_ (Pont de Neuilly)