John Shaw Neilson

Song Be Delicate

Let your song be delicate.
 The skies declare
No war—the eyes of lovers
 Wake everywhere.
 
Let your voice be delicate.
 How faint a thing
Is Love, little Love crying
 Under the Spring.
 
Let your song be delicate.
 The flowers can hear:
Too well they know the tremble,
 Of the hollow year.
 
Let your voice be delicate.
 The bees are home:
All their day’s love is sunken
 Safe in the comb.
 
Let your song be delicate.
 Sing no loud hymn:
Death is abroad . . . Oh, the black season!
 The deep—the dim!
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