With healing green.

You cannot anger earth,
You cannot cause her pain
Nor make her remember
Your hungry, querulous love.

At last your unwilling body
She tranquilly receives
And turns it to her uses.

The Father Speaks

My little son, when you were born
There died a being, sweet and wild,
A lovely, careless, radiant child,
A passionate woman--her I mourn.

And in her place has come another,
With troubled smile and brooding eyes,
Insatiate of sacrifice
And wholly, utterly your mother.

To Allen

Beauty, the dream that I have dreamed so much
Comes true in your quick smile,
And on your cheek I see her touch
And sometimes in your eyes a while
Immortal beauty's fleeting image lies.