I did not pluck at all, And I am sorry now: The garden is not barred But the boughs are heavy with snow, The flake-blossoms thickly fall And the hid roots sigh, “How long will our flowers be marred?” Strange as a bird were dumb, Strange as a hueless leaf. As one deaf hungers to hear, Or gazes without belief, The fruit yearned “Fingers, come!” O, shut hands, be empty another year. A CARELESS HEART A little breath can make a prayer, A little wind can take it And turn it back again to air: Then say, why should you make it? An ardent thought can make a word, A little ear can hear it, A careless heart forget it heard: Then why keep ever near it? DAWN O tender first cold flush of rose, O budded dawn, wake dreamily; Your dim lips as your lids unclose Murmur your own sad threnody. O as the soft and frail lights break Upon your eyelids, and your eyes Wider and wider grow and wake, The old pale glory dies. And then, as sleep lies down to sleep And all her dreams lie somewhere dead, The iron shepherd leads his sheep To pastures parched whose green is shed. Still, O frail dawn, still in your hair And your cold eyes and sad sweet lips, The ghosts of all the dreams are there, To fade like passing ships. AT NIGHT Crazed shadows, from no golden body That I can see, embrace me warm; All is purple and closed Round by night’s arm. A brilliance wings from dark-lit voices, Wild lost voices of shadows white: See the long houses lean To the weird flight. Star-amorous things that wake at sleep-time (Because the sun spreads wide like a tree With no good fruit for them) Thrill secrecy. Pale horses ride before the morning, The secret roots of the sun to tread, With hoofs shod with venom And ageless dread; To breathe on burning emerald grasses And opalescent dews of the day, And poison at the core What smiles may stray. CREATION As the pregnant womb of night Thrills with imprisoned light, Misty, nebulous-born, Growing deeper into her morn, So man, with no sudden stride, Bloomed into pride.