I desire to clutch dizzily sweet breath of spring,
I desire unto summer my branches to fling,
I desire to be fragrant, to lure, rustle, flower,
I desire a sun-gold, a star-silver dower,
Spake my will unto my heart:
It betides thee well, pampered thing that thou art!
Yearlong from bliss to bliss didst thou stray;
But for me, thou wouldst know nor sorrow, nor sway.
Are we born for struggle, or born for dream?
Are we water and vapour, or hill-top and gleam?
I am mistress, thou'rt slave, hand am I, thing art thou,
At my bidding, as taper in tempest, to bow.
“In spite of all” (1916).
3. SONG.
Sorrow, like a mighty bird
Weighs upon my heart, its lair,
And it moves not. Dead the stare
From its eye that blood has blurred.
“Bird, arise! O, leave me! Fly!
Thou art stifling me! I faint!”
But, as solace for my plaint,
Croakingly it makes reply:
“Only where the radiant springs
Quaff their azure brink, I flee.
Know that I shall stifle thee
If thou canst not get thee wings.”
“In spite of all” (1916).
