I sing the dirges pale
Of kisses lost and cold;
On love's thin grass I behold
Weddings of them that ail.
In my slumber voices sing;
How nonchalant they are!
And in streets without sun or star
Lilies are opening.
These things my heart desired,
These flights that backward fall,
Are the poor in a palace hall,
And in the dawn candles tired.
At the grim night's threshold I launch
Mine eyes far out, and know
That the moon, with its linen slow
And blue, my dreams will stanch.