THE SEED AND THE FLOWER
I have forgotten why it was I laughed;
But well I know
It was because, that idle day, I quaffed
Such brimming cups of merriment,
That many days an overflow
Ran in my finger-tips unspent.
And so it was I shaped aright
So gay a Scherzo as my Birch-trees in Sunlight.
But well I know
It was because, that idle day, I quaffed
Such brimming cups of merriment,
That many days an overflow
Ran in my finger-tips unspent.
And so it was I shaped aright
So gay a Scherzo as my Birch-trees in Sunlight.
I have forgotten why it was I wept;
But I remember
It was because awhile my pulses kept
The beat of sorrow, that I found
For my Sonata, the December,
Those melodies of yearning sound
That were so beautiful, you said,
I must have dreamed them in a dream where Kreisler played.
But I remember
It was because awhile my pulses kept
The beat of sorrow, that I found
For my Sonata, the December,
Those melodies of yearning sound
That were so beautiful, you said,
I must have dreamed them in a dream where Kreisler played.
And surely, when that I am dead some day,
The procreant earth,
Though all my music be forgot, will say,
"Here lies what was a tuneful heart,
And with its aid I brought to birth
This triumph of my spring-time art,
Where, to his nest that softly swings,
The orchard-oriole in the blossoming cherry sings."
The procreant earth,
Though all my music be forgot, will say,
"Here lies what was a tuneful heart,
And with its aid I brought to birth
This triumph of my spring-time art,
Where, to his nest that softly swings,
The orchard-oriole in the blossoming cherry sings."
For K.M.
1910.
1910.