VII
Ye little birds upon the tree
Whose very dreams are song,
Which of you thinks of me, your friend,
Who dies of cruel wrong?
Ye little birds upon the tree
Whose very dreams are song,
Which of you thinks of me, your friend,
Who dies of cruel wrong?
Thou little moon ride high in heaven,
I hail thee for my brother,
My passion’s beam is chill as thine,
We suit with one another.
I hail thee for my brother,
My passion’s beam is chill as thine,
We suit with one another.
The last faint flickering warmth is quenched,
And only words remain,
Yet, could I fan them into life,
I’d live my griefs again.
And only words remain,
Yet, could I fan them into life,
I’d live my griefs again.
VIII
Ah! marvel not if thou shouldst hear,
The birds sing songs of thee, love,
Since once they came at eventide,
To hear and look on me, love.
Ah! marvel not if thou shouldst hear,
The birds sing songs of thee, love,
Since once they came at eventide,
To hear and look on me, love.
And once they came and yet again,
As to an elder brother,
For I am free as they, and we
Are kin to one another.
As to an elder brother,
For I am free as they, and we
Are kin to one another.
And many a song I sang of thee,
Songs full of love and passion,
To which those small birds tuned their throat,
And sang them in their fashion.
Songs full of love and passion,
To which those small birds tuned their throat,
And sang them in their fashion.
So when I visited the copse,
Where those sweet birds were singing,
I marvelled much to hear the grove,
With my own love-notes ringing.
Where those sweet birds were singing,
I marvelled much to hear the grove,
With my own love-notes ringing.
IX
Your arm about some supple waist,
To thread the waltz—what joyous pleasure!
Come, pale-face, join the dance with us,
I’ll bid them play a measure.
Your arm about some supple waist,
To thread the waltz—what joyous pleasure!
Come, pale-face, join the dance with us,
I’ll bid them play a measure.
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