When April bends above me And finds me fast asleep, Dust need not keep the secret A live heart died to keep. When April tells the thrushes, The meadow-larks will know, And pipe the three words lightly To all the winds that blow. Above his roof the swallows, In notes like far-blown rain, Will tell the little sparrow Beside his window-pane. O sparrow, little sparrow, When I am fast asleep, Then tell my love the secret That I have died to keep.
This poem is in the public domain.
What can I give you, my lord, my lover, You who have given the world to me, Showed me the light and the joy that cover The wild sweet earth and restless sea? All that I have are gifts of your giving— If I gave them again, you would find them old, And your soul would weary of always living Before the mirror my life would hold. What shall I give you, my lord, my lover? The gift that breaks the heart in me: I bid you awake at dawn and discover I have gone my way and left you free.
This poem is in the public domain.
Before you kissed me only winds of heaven Had kissed me, and the tenderness of rain— Now you have come, how can I care for kisses Like theirs again? I sought the sea, she sent her winds to meet me, They surged about me singing of the south— I turned my head away to keep still holy Your kiss upon my mouth. And swift sweet rains of shining April weather Found not my lips where living kisses are; I bowed my head lest they put out my glory As rain puts out a star. I am my love's and he is mine forever, Sealed with a seal and safe forevermore— Think you that I could let a beggar enter Where a king stood before?
This poem is in the public domain.
The door was opened and I saw you there
And for the first time heard you speak my name.
Then like the sun your sweetness overcame
My shy and shadowy mood; I was aware
That joy was hidden in your happy hair,
And that for you love held no hint of shame;
My eyes caught light from yours, within whose flame
Humor and passion have an equal share.
How many times since then have I not seen
Your great eyes widen when you talk of love,
And darken slowly with a fair desire;
How many times since then your soul has been
Clear to my gaze as curving skies above,
Wearing like them a raiment made of fire.
This poem is in the public domain.