Ah! not now, when desire burns, and the wind calls, and the suns of spring Light-foot dance in the woods, whisper of life, woo me to wayfaring; Ah! not now should you come, now when the road beckons, and good friends call, Where are songs to be sung, fights to be fought, yea! and the best of all, Love, on myriad lips fairer than yours, kisses you could not give! . . . Dearest, why should I mourn, whimper, and whine, I that have yet to live? Sorrow will I forget, tears for the best, love on the lips of you, Now, when dawn in the blood wakes, and the sun laughs up the eastern blue; I'll forget and be glad! Only at length, dear, when the great day ends, When love dies with the last light, and the last song has been sung, and friends All are perished, and gloom strides on the heaven: then, as alone I lie, 'Mid Death's gathering winds, frightened and dumb, sick for the past, may I Feel you suddenly there, cool at my brow; then may I hear the peace Of your voice at the last, whispering love, calling, ere all can cease In the silence of death; then may I see dimly, and know, a space, Bending over me, last light in the dark, once, as of old, your face. Choriambics -- II Here the flame that was ash, shrine that was void, lost in the haunted wood, I have tended and loved, year upon year, I in the solitude Waiting, quiet and glad-eyed in the dark, knowing that once a gleam Glowed and went through the wood. Still I abode strong in a golden dream, Unrecaptured. For I, I that had faith, knew that a face would glance One day, white in the dim woods, and a voice call, and a radiance Fill the grove, and the fire suddenly leap . . . and, in the heart of it, End of labouring, you! Therefore I kept ready the altar, lit The flame, burning apart. Face of my dreams vainly in vision white Gleaming down to me, lo! hopeless I rise now. For about midnight Whispers grew through the wood suddenly, strange cries in the boughs above Grated, cries like a laugh. Silent and black then through the sacred grove Great birds flew, as a dream, troubling the leaves, passing at length. I knew Long expected and long loved, that afar, God of the dim wood, you Somewhere lay, as a child sleeping, a child suddenly reft from mirth, White and wonderful yet, white in your youth, stretched upon foreign earth, God, immortal and dead! Therefore I go; never to rest, or win Peace, and worship of you more, and the dumb wood and the shrine therein. Desertion