You took my empty dreams And filled them every one With tenderness and nobleness, April and the sun. The old empty dreams

The winds have grown articulate in… And voiced again the wail of ancie… That smote upon the winds of long… The cries of Trojan women as they… The quivering moan of pale Androm…

As kings, seeing their lives about… Take off the heavy ermine and the… So had the trees that autumn-time… Their golden garments on the dying… When I, who watched the seasons i…

I am a cloud in the heaven’s heigh… The stars are lit for my delight, Tireless and changeful, swift and… I cast my shadow on hill and sea— But why do the pines on the mounta…

A FOG drifts in, the heavy laden Cold white ghost of the sea’€” One by one the hills go out, The road and the pepper-tree. I watch the fog float in at the wi…

In my heart the old love Struggled with the new; It was ghostly waking All night thru. Dear things, kind things,

I saw the sunset-colored sands, The Nile, like flowing fire betwe… Where Ramses stares forth serene And ammon’s heavy temple stands. I saw the rocks where long ago,

If I should see your eyes again, I know how far their look would go… Back to a morning in the park With sapphire shadows on the snow. Or back to oak trees in the spring

Willow in your April gown Delicate and gleaming, Do you mind in years gone by All my dreaming? Spring was like a call to me

My heart is but a little house With room for only three or four, And it was filled before you knock… Upon the door. I longed to bid you come within,

Oh Litis, little slave, why will… These long Egyptian noons bend do… Bowed like the yarrow with a yello… There, lift your eyes no man has e… Dark eyes that wait like faggots f…

What do I care, in the dreams and… That my songs do not show me at al… For they are a fragrance, and I a… I am an answer, they are only a ca… But what do I care, for love will…

Oh day of fire and sun, Pure as a naked flame, Blue sea, blue sky and dun Sands where he spoke my name; Laughter and hearts so high

My heart is heavy with many a song Like ripe fruit bearing down the t… But I can never give you one— My songs do not belong to me. Yet in the evening, in the dusk