Part 2

And yet the first lush rain of Spring Must speak to you; must dance and sing Across your heart, though it be still. The scent of hyacinth must fill The very earth, the birth of grass Be like the feet of fauns who pass In mocking masque among the trees.

Though you should walk elysian fields I somehow know, that even there You still must smell the apple trees ... Who found the spring so brief and fair!

Dilemma

You know, If you were only a book I'd know what to do about you! I'd read you ... and remember you ... And tuck you away on my book-shelves.

But since you are a bitter sort of magic That twists me like a silly skein To fit your latest picture of me What am I to do about you?

Ah... And even if you were a book I should love you very dearly, And carry you about with me In my coat pocket, Always!

Night Garden

Here is a silver star Caught in the meshes of the moon. It matters not. Soon ... soon ... across the greeny darkness of the garden, Still and sweet, I shall hear in the mist of the evening Your feet You are coming to me! The garden is drowned in a dream. Only my heart is awake. Hurry ... hurry, beloved ... Lest it quiver, and break!

Some Quiet Day ... Perhaps

Some quiet day, perhaps, when I am dead, And this loud world is but a whispered echo Through the dark, cool earth that spreads above my head, I shall forget that I have ever known you. Your kisses shall become inconsequent As flowers and grass that grow above my grave, Our moments shared shall crumble down to dust, The ring upon my finger turn to rust. There shall be nothing to remind me, then, I shall know peace, unstirred by pain or song, Turning my face to sleep, as children do, Never to start awake and cry your name, Seeking your arms to shelter me from fear As I do now ... this night ... my very Dear!

Cloister

The young priest Stood holding a small book in his hands, Under a tree Newly-stripped of its leafage. He stood very still ... Remote, The wind whipping his long robes Into swirling darkness. There behind cloistered walls The war was unreal, A distant dragon Whose fiery breath Was legend. Just for a minute The world stood still Imprisoned in the pages Of a small book. There was healing in the sight, The young priest Reading words set down many centuries ago. Oh soon, soon, let there be peace Over the whole world And the young men Coming back to their books!