But his wings will not rest and his feet will not stay for us: Morning is here in the joy of its might; With his breath has he sweetened a night and a day for us; Now let him pass, and the myrtles make way for us; Love can but last in us here at his height For a day and a night. A SONG IN SEASON I Thou whose beauty Knows no duty Due to love that moves thee never; Thou whose mercies Are men's curses, And thy smile a scourge for ever; II Thou that givest Death and livest On the death of thy sweet giving; Thou that sparest Not nor carest Though thy scorn leave no love living; III Thou whose rootless Flower is fruitless As the pride its heart encloses, But thine eyes are As May skies are, And thy words like spoken roses; IV Thou whose grace is In men's faces Fierce and wayward as thy will is; Thou whose peerless Eyes are tearless, And thy thoughts as cold sweet lilies; V Thou that takest Hearts and makest Wrecks of loves to strew behind thee, Whom the swallow Sure should follow, Finding summer where we find thee; VI Thou that wakest Hearts and breakest, And thy broken hearts forgive thee, That wilt make no Pause and take no Gift that love for love might give thee; VII Thou that bindest Eyes and blindest, Serving worst who served thee longest; Thou that speakest, And the weakest Heart is his that was the strongest; VIII Take in season Thought with reason; Think what gifts are ours for giving; Hear what beauty Owes of duty To the love that keeps it living. IX Dust that covers Long dead lovers Song blows off with breath that brightens; At its flashes Their white ashes Burst in bloom that lives and lightens. X Had they bent not Head or lent not Ear to love and amorous duties, Song had never Saved for ever, Love, the least of all their beauties. XI All the golden Names of olden Women yet by men's love cherished, All our dearest Thoughts hold nearest, Had they loved not, all had perished. XII If no fruit is Of thy beauties, Tell me yet, since none may win them, What and wherefore Love should care for Of all good things hidden in them? XIII Pain for profit Comes but of it, If the lips that lure their lover's Hold no treasure Past the measure Of the lightest hour that hovers. XIV If they give not Or forgive not Gifts or thefts for grace or guerdon, Love that misses Fruit of kisses Long will bear no thankless burden. XV