Then there fell the great yearning upon me, that never yet went into words;
While lovesome and moansome thereon spake and falter'd the dove to the
dove.
And I came at her calling, 'Inherit, inherit, and sing with the birds;'
I went up to the wood with the child of my heart and the wife of my love.

O pure! O pathetic! Wild hyacinths drank it, the dream light, apace
Not a leaf moved at all 'neath the blue, they hung waiting for messages
kind;
Tall cherry-trees dropped their white blossom that drifted no whit from
its place,
For the south very far out to sea had the lulling low voice of the
wind.

And the child's dancing foot gave us part in the ravishment almost a pain,
An infinite tremor of life, a fond murmur that cried out on time,
Ah short! must all end in the doing and spend itself sweetly in vain,
And the promise be only fulfilment to lean from the height of its prime?

'We shall never be younger;' nay, mock me not, fancy, none call from yon
tree;
They have thrown me the world they went over, went up, and, alas! For
my part
I am left to grow old, and to grieve, and to change; but they change not
with me;
They will never be older, the child of my love, and the wife of my
heart.