Lies with the conquered. You will say: "Here sleep the brave, the grave, the gay, The wise, the blind, who lost the way." But for us English, for us French, Americans who held the trench, You will not grieve, though the rains drench The hills and valleys, being these. Who pities stocks, or pities trees? Or stones, or meadows, rivers, seas? We are with nature, we have grown At one with water, earth, and stone-- Man only is separate and alone, Earth sundered, left to dream and feel Illusion still in pain made real, The hope a mist, but fire the wheel. But what was love, and what was lust, Memory, passion, pain or trust, Returned to clay and blown in dust, Is nature without memory-- Yet as you are, so once were we, As we are now, you soon shall be, Blind fellows of the indifferent stars Healed of your bruises, of your scars In love and living, in the wars. Come to us where the secret lies Under the riddle of the skies, Surrender fingers, speech, and eyes. Sink into nature and become The mystery that strikes you dumb, Be clay and end your martyrdom. Rise up as thought, the secret know. As passionless as stars bestow Your glances on the world below, As a man looks at hand or knee. What is the turf of you, what the tree? Earth is a phantom--let it be. BOTTICELLI TO SIMONETTA I would give you all my heart, and I have given All my heart to you to have and keep With your heart, where my heart has found its heaven In a light immortal, and a peace like sleep. Here is my heart, for you to have and treasure, Your woman's heart will treasure it, For a love that only love may find a measure, And only love like yours can measure it. In absence and in separation praying Before your love, my heart receive, My heart which kneels to you, so gently laying Hands of deep prayer, too reverent to grieve For lives divided, yet compassionate, As my poor heart is pitiful for yours. These hearts of ours, that know so deep a fate, Even as a heart that silently endures, Lie on an altar of consuming fire, Our hearts together, taking life thereof. Ashes must come of two hearts which aspire To God, who has given love. FLOWER IN THE GARDEN Flower in the garden, Wholly itself and free, Yearning and joyous, Breathing its charm To the passer-by On the sighing air-- Beloved flower! Flower desired for something beyond Itself as a flower; Giving the promise of ecstasy Beyond its own being, Its place in the garden-- A shadowed flame Of an absolute!