Birds sing to the blossoms, Blind, dreaming your pink; These blush to the songsters, Your music they think: So well had you taught them To look and to sing, Your bloom and your music, The ways of the Spring. SONG A silver rose to show Is your sweet face; And like the heavens’ white brow, Sometime God’s battle-place, Your blood is quiet now. Your body is a star Unto my thought; But stars are not too far, And can be caught— Small pools their prisons are. HEART’S FIRST WORD. I. To sweeten a swift minute so With such rare fragrance of sweet speech, And make the after hours go In a blank yearning each on each; To drain the springs till they be dry, And then in anguish thirst for drink; So but to glimpse her robe thirst I, And my soul hungers and I sink. There is no word that we have said Whereby the lips and heart are fire; No look the linked glances read That held the springs of deep desire. And yet the sounds her glad lips gave Are on my soul vibrating still; Her eyes that swept me as a wave Shine my soul’s worship to fulfil. Her hair, her eyes, her throat and chin— Sweet hair, sweet eyes, sweet throat, so sweet, So fair because the ways of sin Have never known her perfect feet— By what far ways and marvellous May I such lovely heaven reach? What dread, dark seas and perilous Lie ’twixt love’s silence and love’s speech? HEARTS FIRST WORD. II. And all her soft dark hair Breathed for him like a prayer, And her white lost face Was prisoned to some far place. Love was not denied— Love’s ends would hide, And flower and fruit and tree Were under its sea. Yea, its abundance knelt Where the nerves felt The springs of feeling flow And made pain grow! There seemed no root or sky, But a pent infinity Where apparitions dim Sculptured each whim In flame and wandering mist Of kisses to be kist. LADY, YOU ARE MY GOD