All through the deep blue night The fountain sang alone; It sang to the drowsy heart of the satyr carved in stone. The fountain sang and sang But the satyr never stirred- Only the great white moon In the empty heaven heard.

The ache of empty arms was an old tale to you.

The grass is waking in the ground, / Soon it will rise and blow in waves - / How can it have the heart to sway / Over the graves, / New graves?

My heart is a garden tired with autumn.

For I shall learn from flower and leaf, That color every drop they hold, To change the lifeless wine of grief To living gold.

Oh who can tell the range of joy or set the bounds of beauty?

Call him wise whose actions, words, and steps are all a clear because to a clear why.