Among ... and find more winds than ever blew

The straining sails of unimpeded ships!

A sudden music, Celia, through a poplar-bough,

Where leaves are small and new,

Comes laughing and goes hastening like you.

Beauty is more than hands or face or eyes

Or the long curve that lies

Upon a bed waiting, more than the rise

Of sun among the birds, more than the oar that plies

Under the moon for lovers, more than a tune that buys

Pennies from time. Vision and touch comprise

Yesterday’s promise, today’s token

Of a fulfillment that shall have no need to be perceived or spoken,

Wherein all love is the award

Poured upon beauty and no heart is broken

And no grief is stored.

For never beauty dies

That lived. Nightly the skies

Assemble stars, the light of hopeful eyes,

And daily brood on the communal breath—

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