My heart, a hooded pilgrim, turns with tears--
For could I know
That in the temple of thy constancy
There still may burn a taper lit for me,
'Twould be a star in starless heaven, to show
That Heaven could be.

Bent with the weight of all that I desired
And all that I forswore,
My heart roams, mendicant, forlorn and tired,
From door to door,
Begging of every stern-faced memory
An alms of pity--just to come to thee,
No more thy knight, thy champion no more--
Only thy devotee!




Spring will Come


SPRING will come to help me: she'll be back again,
Back with the soft sun, the sun I knew before.
She will wear her green gown, the emerald gown she wore
When the white-faced windflowers blew along the lane.

Spring will come to help me: When her waking sigh
Drifts across my sore heart all the pain will go.
How shall hearts be aching when larks are flying low,