And when it was spring I said,
    ‘Linger not deeper in the coloured trees,
But beautifully flake your head
    With foam flung by the flowering seas.’

And you arose from depths of grass
    That whispered with the wind and wept,
Saying you would let the chill seas pass,
    Seeking no further than your petals that still slept.

And I forgot the driftless foam, and sand, 
    Idling with the radiance of the hours 
Among the quiet trees. And hand in hand
    We strangely sang among the feathery flowers.