My soul is a broken field, plowed by pain.
The world is tired, the year is old, The faded leaves are glad to die.
O beauty, are you not enough; why am I crying after love.
A hush is over everything, Silent as women wait for love; The world is waiting for the spring.
Into my heart's treasury I slipped a coin That Time cannot take Nor a thief purloin- O better than the minting Of a gold-crowned king Is the safe-kept memory Of a lovely thing.
For I shall learn from flower and leaf, That color every drop they hold, To change the lifeless wine of grief To living gold.