Three Songs , opus 38

She comes not when Noon is on the roses -- 
Too bright is Day. 
She comes not to the Soul till it reposes 
From work and play. 

But when Night is on the hills, and the great Voices 
Roll in from Sea, 
By starlight and by candlelight and dreamlight 
She comes to me.

O dreamy, gloomy, friendly Trees,
  I came along your narrow track
To bring my gifts unto your knees
  And gifts did you give back;
For when I brought this heart that burns --
  These thoughts that bitterly repine --
And laid them here among the ferns
  And the hum of boughs divine,
Ye, vastest breathers of the air,
  Shook down with slow and mighty poise
Your coolness on the human care,
  Your wonder on its toys,
Your greenness on the heart's despair,
  Your darkness on its noise.

Almond, wild almond, 
Give counsel to me, 
And hush thy fierce lover 
The wind in the tree ! 

Along the night pasture 
I've come through the dew 
To tell thee, wild almond, 
The old songs are true ! 

Like the flower on thy branches 
The heart in me springs 
With airs and upliftings 
And hundreds of wings ! 

I, too, have a lover . . . 
Keep, keep it from them --
The wise ones that eye me --
Thou whispering stem ! 

I deal with him coldly --
I dash him with pride : 
Yet he comes of evenings 
And stands at my side. 

O had he entreated 
I could have said nay, 
But he, he says nothing 
And then goes away ! 

Ah, loves he for ever ? . . . 
And loves me alone? . . . 
These things that men say not 
How can they be known ? 

He may, but he may not,
And I would be free : --
Now play not, now sway not, 
Thou little black tree, 

Almond, wild almond, 
Give counsel to me !