It was your voice I heard, You waked and loved me so -- I send you back this word, I know, I know! Moods I am the still rain falling, Too tired for singing mirth -- Oh, be the green fields calling, Oh, be for me the earth! I am the brown bird pining To leave the nest and fly -- Oh, be the fresh cloud shining, Oh, be for me the sky! Night Song at Amalfi I asked the heaven of stars What I should give my love -- It answered me with silence, Silence above. I asked the darkened sea Down where the fishers go -- It answered me with silence, Silence below. Oh, I could give him weeping, Or I could give him song -- But how can I give silence My whole life long? Song Let it be forgotten as a flower is forgotten, Forgotten as a fire that once was singing gold, Let it be forgotten forever and ever, Time is a kind friend, he will make us old. If any one asks, say it was forgotten Long and long ago, As a flower, as a fire, as a hushed footfall In a long forgotten snow. Love is a Terrible Thing. [Grace Fallow Norton] I went out to the farthest meadow, I lay down in the deepest shadow; And I said unto the earth, "Hold me," And unto the night, "O enfold me," And unto the wind petulantly I cried, "You know not for you are free!" And I begged the little leaves to lean Low and together for a safe screen; Then to the stars I told my tale: "That is my home-light, there in the vale, "And O, I know that I shall return, But let me lie first mid the unfeeling fern. "For there is a flame that has blown too near, And there is a name that has grown too dear, And there is a fear . . ." And to the still hills and cool earth and far sky I made moan, "The heart in my bosom is not my own! "O would I were free as the wind on wing; Love is a terrible thing!" Valley Song. [Carl Sandburg] Your eyes and the valley are memories. Your eyes fire and the valley a bowl. It was here a moonrise crept over the timberline. It was here we turned the coffee cups upside down. And your eyes and the moon swept the valley. I will see you again to-morrow. I will see you again in a million years. I will never know your dark eyes again. These are three ghosts I keep. These are three sumach-red dogs I run with. All of it wraps and knots to a riddle: I have the moon, the timberline, and you. All three are gone -- and I keep all three. Spring in Carmel. [George Sterling] O'er Carmel fields in the springtime the sea-gulls follow the plow. White, white wings on the blue above! White were your brow and breast, O Love! But I cannot see you now. Tireless ever the Mission swallow Dips to meadow and poppied hollow; Well for her mate that he can follow, As the buds are on the bough.