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.