When love has changed to kindliness— Oh, love, our hungry lips, that press So tight that Time’s an old god’s dream Nodding in heaven, and whisper stuff Seven million years were not enough To think on after, make it seem Less than the breath of children playing, A blasphemy scarce worth the saying, A sorry jest, "When love has grown To kindliness—to kindliness!" ... And yet—the best that either’s known Will change, and wither, and be less, At last, than comfort, or its own Remembrance. And when some caress Tendered in habit (once a flame All heaven sang out to) wakes the shame Unworded, in the steady eyes We’ll have,—_that_ day, what shall we do? Being so noble, kill the two Who’ve reached their second-best? Being wise, Break cleanly off, and get away, Follow down other windier skies New lures, alone? Or shall we stay, Since this is all we’ve known, content In the lean twilight of such day, And not remember, not lament? That time when all is over, and Hand never flinches, brushing hand; And blood lies quiet, for all you’re near; And it’s but spoken words we hear, Where trumpets sang; when the mere skies Are stranger and nobler than your eyes; And flesh is flesh, was flame before; And infinite hungers leap no more In the chance swaying of your dress; And love has changed to kindliness. *The Voice* Safe in the magic of my woods I lay, and watched the dying light. Faint in the pale high solitudes, And washed with rain and veiled by night, Silver and blue and green were showing. And the dark woods grew darker still; And birds were hushed; and peace was growing; And quietness crept up the hill; And no wind was blowing ... And I knew That this was the hour of knowing, And the night and the woods and you Were one together, and I should find Soon in the silence the hidden key Of all that had hurt and puzzled me— Why you were you, and the night was kind, And the woods were part of the heart of me. And there I waited breathlessly, Alone; and slowly the holy three, The three that I loved, together grew One, in the hour of knowing, Night, and the woods, and you—— And suddenly There was an uproar in my woods, The noise of a fool in mock distress, Crashing and laughing and blindly going, Of ignorant feet and a swishing dress, And a Voice profaning the solitudes. The spell was broken, the key denied me. And at length your flat clear voice beside me Mouthed cheerful clear flat platitudes. You came and quacked beside me in the wood. You said, "The view from here is very good!" You said, "It’s nice to be alone a bit!" And, "How the days are drawing out!" you said. You said, "The sunset’s pretty, isn’t it?"