  April 10th, 1909 Ah! the golden mouth is stopped, That so sweet was with its song, Bright, and vehement as fire. Grieve we, as a star had dropped Out of Heaven's singing throng, For the lord of our desire. Bring we blossoms, lilies bring, Such frail blooms as lured of old Proserpina from the Hours: All this April's lavishing, Flame of sudden crocus-gold, Sudden foam of starry flowers. Ah! the golden mouth is stopped Whence the whole of April's song, All her sudden, wilful fire, All her stores of honey dropped. Yet about our ways they throng, Words he winged with his desire. |
|
