Three Romances

Under the long dark boughs, like jewels red
In the hair of an Eastern girl
Hang strings of crimson cherries, as if had bled
Blood-drops beneath each curl.

Under the glistening cherries, with folded wings
Three dead birds lie:
Pale-brested throstles and a blackbird, robberlings
Stained with red dye.

Against the haystack a girl stands laughing at me,
With cherries hung round her ears.
Offering me her scarlet fruit: I will see
If she has any tears.

The dawn was apple-green,
The sky was green wine held up in the sun,
The moon was a golden petal between.

She opened her eyes, and green
They shone like flowers undone
For the first time, now for the first time seen.

The day is ending, the night descending,
the heart is frozen, the spirit dead;
but the moon is wending her way, attending
to other things that are left unsaid.