Page:A Wine of Wizardry and Other Poems (1909).djvu/36

 And she and I alone there Now I'll dream That some great rose has died, and that its soul Goes by me on the night—goes by to God, Who has all beauty in His gift, and gave More to my Sweet than to the flowers she loves! 'T is true she thinks me mad, nor yet believes What chains mine eyes have fashioned for my heart, Deeming that it should fathom first her own And find what's there: I scorn so cautious love! Better delusion than a heart that plots, And chaffers first with Love to find the cost: I'll fence with Death, but Love shall have me blind. Yet 't is as well that woman's breast should house The inherited Misgiving. Still for her Love is too oft a sexton at the last Thank God there is no moon to make me ghosts Among the blossoms of the orchard-trees! For I've my dead—few, but a sleepless lot. 'T is only woman living makes one wait And question all one's stars. Ye trees, there's that