Three Songs , opus 117

I would sing with my lips to the lips of a sea-shell,
I would sing to the thrush and the cardinal bird,
I would sing though the singing breezes heard me,
Though the tall field grasses and light rains heard.

For I have a song that is fit for the singing,
And a song unmatched till the world be done,
Though never a heart on the wide world heed it
But mine and another one!

Any is free to happiness who has
The pence to pay,
And many are feasted by happiness
Whom grief would turn away.

Oh! I walk as one apart this night,
And proud in my heart am I,
For it’s grief who ran and clung to me
And would not let me by.

My song is slight as words may be,
And heedless as the breeze,
Light as the shining drops of rain
That shake from the budded trees.

And it will hardly still a grief,
Nor turn a heart from aching,
But there’s a windy hill that knows
What joy was in the making!