Four Songs

The last red beam of the setting sun / Had sunk in the ocean deep
 . . . . . . . . . .

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A sunny shaft did I behold,
    From sky to earth it slanted:
And poised therein a bird so bold—
    Sweet bird, thou wert enchanted!

He sank, he rose, he twinkled, he troll'd
    Within that shaft of sunny mist;
His eyes of fire, his beak of gold,
    All else of amethyst!

And thus he sang: 'Adieu! adieu!
Love's dreams prove seldom true.
The blossoms, they make no delay:
The sparking dew-drops will not stay.
        Sweet month of May,
            We must away;
            Far, far away!
                To-day! to-day!'

I
The Wind and the Beam loved the Rose,
  And the Rose loved one;
 For who recks the wind where it blows?
  Or loves not the sun?

II
None knew whence the humble Wind stole,
  Poor sport of the skies —
None dreamt that the Wind had a soul,
  In its mournful sighs!

III
Oh, happy Beam! how canst thou prove
  That bright love of thine?
 In thy light is the proof of thy love.
  Thou hast but — to shine!

IV
How its love can the Wind reveal?
  Unwelcome its sigh;
 Mute — mute to its Rose let it steal —
 Its proof is — to die!

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