Heart of things,
The pulse and passion--
How it sings.

How it burns and flames
And showers,
Lusts and laughs, flowers
And deflowers.


III

Summer came,
Rose on rose;
Leaf on leaf,
Summer goes.

Summer came,
Song on song;
O summer had
A golden tongue.

Summer goes,
Sigh on sigh;
Not a rose
Sees him die.


TO A WILD BIRD