Soldier going to the war--
Will you take my heart with you,
So that I may share a little
In the famous things you do?
In an old book I found her face
Writ by a dead man long ago-
I found, and then I lost the place;
So nothing but her face I know,
A world of books amid a world of green,
Sweet song without, sweet song again within
The sun is weary, for he ran
So far and fast to-day;
The birds are weary, for who sang
So many songs as they?
A caravan from China comes;
For miles it sweetens all the air
With fragrant silks and dreaming gums,
Attar and myrrh --
We, deeming day-light fair, and loving well
Its forms and dyes, and all the motley play
Of lives that win their colour from the day,
She's somewhere in the sunlight strong,
Her tears are in the falling rain,
She calls me in the wind's soft song,
And with the flowers she comes again.
Is it the Spring?
Or are the birds all wrong
That play on flute and viol,
A thousand strong,
AH, London! London! our delight,
Great flower that opens but at night,
Great City of the midnight sun,
Whose day begins when day is done.