star In all our heaven of sky.

Our lives, and every day and hour, One symphony appear: One road, one garden—every flower And every bramble dear.

XI

I will make you brooches and toys for your delight Of bird-song at morning and star-shine at night. I will make a palace fit for you and me Of green days in forests and blue days at sea.

I will make my kitchen, and you shall keep your room, Where white flows the river and bright blows the broom, And you shall wash your linen and keep your body white In rainfall at morning and dewfall at night.

And this shall be for music when no one else is near, The fine song for singing, the rare song to hear! That only I remember, that only you admire, Of the broad road that stretches and the roadside fire.

XII—WE HAVE LOVED OF YORE (To an air of Diabelli)

Berried brake and reedy island, Heaven below, and only heaven above, Through the sky’s inverted azure Softly swam the boat that bore our love. Bright were your eyes as the day; Bright ran the stream, Bright hung the sky above. Days of April, airs of Eden,  How the glory died through golden hours, And the shining moon arising, How the boat drew homeward filled with flowers! Bright were your eyes in the night:  We have lived, my love—  O, we have loved, my love.

Frost has bound our flowing river, Snow has whitened all our island brake, And beside the winter fagot Joan and Darby doze and dream and wake. Still, in the river of dreams Swims the boat of love—  Hark! chimes the falling oar! And again in winter evens When on firelight dreaming fancy feeds, In those ears of agèd lovers Love’s own river warbles in the reeds. Love still the past, O my love! We have lived of yore, O, we have loved of yore.

XIII—MATER TRIUMPHANS

Son of my woman’s body, you go, to the drum and fife, To taste the colour of love and the other side of life— From out of the dainty the rude, the strong from out of the frail, Eternally through the ages from the female comes the male.

The ten fingers and toes, and the shell-like nail on each, The eyes blind as gems and the tongue attempting speech; Impotent hands in my bosom, and yet they shall wield the sword! Drugged with slumber and milk, you wait the day of the Lord.

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