Page:Preludes, Meynell, 1875.djvu/18

2 I know the secrets of the seeds of flowers

Hidden, and warm with showers,

And how, in kindling Spring, the cuckoo shall

Alter his interval.

But not a flower or song I ponder is

My own, but memory's.

I shall be silent in those days desired

Before a world inspired.

O dear brown birds, compose your old song-phrases,

Earth, thy familiar daisies.

The poet mused upon the dusky height,

Between the stars towards night,

His purpose in his heart. I watched, a space,

The meaning of his face;

There was the secret, fled from earth and skies,

Hid in his grey young eyes.

My heart and all the Summer wait his choice,

And wonder for his voice.

Who shall foretell his songs, and who aspire

But to divine his lyre?

Sweet earth, we know thy dimmest mysteries,

But he is lord of his.