14.4.13

Make-strong old dreams lest this our world lose heart.



Xenia

And
Unto thine eyes my heart
Sendeth old dreams of the spring-time,
Yea of wood-ways my rime
Found thee and flowers in and of all streams
That sang low burthen, and of roses,
That lost their dew-bowed petals for the dreams
We scattered o'er them passing by.
  
Search

I have heard a wee wind searching
Through still forests for me;
I have seen a wee wind searching
O'er still sea.

Through woodlands dim have I taken my way;
And o'er silent waters night and day
Have I sought the wee wind.

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