Part 7

Love in Autumn

I sought among the drifting leaves, The golden leaves that once were green, To see if Love were hiding there And peeping out between.

For thro' the silver showers of May And thro' the summer's heavy heat, In vain I sought his golden head And light, fast-flying feet.

Perhaps when all the world is bare And cruel winter holds the land, The Love that finds no place to hide Will run and catch my hand.

I shall not care to have him then, I shall be bitter and a-cold-- It grows too late for frolicking When all the world is old.

Then little hiding Love, come forth, Come forth before the autumn goes, And let us seek thro' ruined paths The garden's last red rose.

The Kiss

I hoped that he would love me, And he has kissed my mouth, But I am like a stricken bird That cannot reach the south.

For tho' I know he loves me, To-night my heart is sad; His kiss was not so wonderful As all the dreams I had.

November

The world is tired, the year is old, The little leaves are glad to die, The wind goes shivering with cold Among the rushes dry.

Our love is dying like the grass, And we who kissed grow coldly kind, Half glad to see our poor love pass Like leaves along the wind.

A Song of the Princess

The princess has her lovers, A score of knights has she, And each can sing a madrigal, And praise her gracefully.

But Love that is so bitter Hath put within her heart A longing for the scornful knight Who silent stands apart.

And tho' the others praise and plead, She maketh no reply, Yet for a single word from him, I ween that she would die.

The Wind

A wind is blowing over my soul, I hear it cry the whole night thro'-- Is there no peace for me on earth Except with you?

Alas, the wind has made me wise, Over my naked soul it blew,-- There is no peace for me on earth Even with you.

A Winter Night

My window-pane is starred with frost, The world is bitter cold to-night, The moon is cruel and the wind Is like a two-edged sword to smite.

God pity all the homeless ones, The beggars pacing to and fro. God pity all the poor to-night Who walk the lamp-lit streets of snow.

My room is like a bit of June, Warm and close-curtained fold on fold, But somewhere, like a homeless child, My heart is crying in the cold.

The Metropolitan Tower

We walked together in the dusk To watch the tower grow dimly white, And saw it lift against the sky Its flower of amber light.

You talked of half a hundred things, I kept each little word you said; And when at last the hour was full, I saw the light turn red.

You did not know the time had come, You did not see the sudden flower, Nor know that in my heart Love's birth Was reckoned from that hour.

Gramercy Park