Through all the wind-blown aisles of May,
Faint bells of perfume swing and fall.
Within this apple-petalled wall
WITHDRAW thee, soul, from strife.
Enter thine unseen bark,
And sail across the dark,
The silent sea of life.
O LIVING image of eternal youth!
Wrought with such large simplicity of truth
That, now the pattern’s made and on the shelf,
O swift forerunners, rosy with the race!
Spirits of dawn, divinely manifest
Behind your blushing banners in the sky,
Then, lady, at last thou art sick of my sighing.
So long as I sue, thou wilt still be denying?
O hearken, all ye little weeds
That lie beneath the snow,
(So low, dear hearts, in poverty so low!)
The sun hath risen for royal deeds,
Sweet is the time for joyous folk
Of gifts and minstrelsy;
Yet I, O lowly-hearted One,
Crave but Thy company.
Thou wilt not look on me?
Ah, well! the world is wide;
The rivers still are rolling free,
Song and the sword abide;
Seal thou the window! Yea, shut out the light
And bar my door to all the airs of spring.
Yet in my cell, concealed from curious sight,
WHAT, comrade of a night,
No sooner meet than fight?
Before the word, the blow?
Well, be it so.