And yet even so thine ear should hear me—yea,

Hear me this nightfall by this northland bay,

Even for their sake whose loud good word I had,

Singing of thee in the all-beloved clime

Once, where the windy wine of spring makes mad

Our sisters of Majano, who kept time

Clear to my choral rhyme.

Yet was the song acclaimed of these aloud

Whose praise had made mute humbleness misproud,

The song with answering song applauded thus,

But of that Daulian dream of Itylus.

So but for love's love haply was it—nay,

How else?—that even their song took my song's part,

For love of love and sweetness of sweet heart,

Or god-given glorious madness of mid May

And heat of heart and hunger and thirst to sing,

Full of the new wine of the wind of spring.

Or if this were not, and it be not sin

To hold myself in spirit of thy sweet kin,

In heart and spirit of song;

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