Song for a Lyre
The landscape where I lie
Again from boughs sets free
Summer; all night must fly
In wind’s obscurity
The thick green leaves that made
Heavy the August shade.
Soon, in the pictured night,
Returns—as in a dream
Left after sleep’s delight—
The shallow autumn stream:
Softly awake, its sound
Poured on the chilly ground.
Soon fly the leaves in throngs.
O love, though once I lay
Far from its sound to weep,
When night divides my sleep,
When stars, the autumn stream,
Stillness, divide my dream,
Night to your voice belongs.
