Made wise by sun and showers,
Like pollen blown about the earth,
Conceiving royal flowers.
Like little, eager children
The tiptoe tulips stand,
Row upon row of dancing heads
In joyous saraband.
With lithe, long emerald petticoats,
And happy hands tossed up,
The sunshine is the laughter
That brims their golden cup.
Heart, here are roses burning with the South—
(“Fairer was her false mouth”)—
Close your tired eyes, the twilight gives you rest—
(“Cool was her snowy breast”).
Take of the sunshine, nor remember rain—
(“Love is a cruel pain”)—
Hush! you shall sleep forgetting love’s alarms—
(“Sleep died in her false arms”).
Do you respect the heavy-lidded flowers
That nod so drowsily upon their bed?
Can you endure the slow-stepped, dreamy hours
That fall, indifferent, to gold and red?
Have you the key that opens to green arches
Where trees repeat their prayers in monotone?
Then take my hand down life’s mysterious marches,
And let us walk in silence and alone.