GOOD-BYE to the beechen girdles,

Then slantwise up the-hill—

And a shimmering silence curdles

To notes that spill

Out from a feathered mote

Or a spark

Of the unseen joy, from the throat

Of light-enfettered lark.

Leaving the past to kindle

Springlight, Persephone

Ended winter's dwindle

In Sicily ;

And out of Pluto's tomb

Engendered

For deathless Love a bloom

—Love stays, though flowers are rendered.

How should one flowing stream-head

Reck neither joy nor pain

Unless heaven's gift were dream-led

To light again ?

High on the hillside welling

From sad earth,

—Pure mirror, sky-compelling,

—Soul's nectar of new birth.