3 Madrigals

Say not of Beauty she is good,
Or aught but beautiful,
Or sleek to doves' wings of the wood
Her wild wings of a gull.

Call her not wicked; that word's touch
Consumes her like a curse;
But love her not too much, too much,
For that is even worse.

O, she is neither good nor bad,
But innocent and wild!
Enshrine her and she dies, who had
The hard heart of a child.

Let us walk in the white snow
  In a soundless space;
With footsteps quiet and slow,
  At a tranquil pace,
Under veils of white lace.

I shall go shod in silk,
  And you in wool,
White as white cow's milk,
  More beautiful
Than the breast of a gull.

We shall walk through the still town
  In a windless peace;
We shall step upon white down,
  Upon silver fleece,
Upon softer than these.

We shall walk in velvet shoes:
  Wherever we go
Silence will fall like dews
  On [white]1 silence below.
We shall walk in the snow.

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