Wind Flowers

Twist me a crown of wind-flowers;
  That I may fly away
To hear the singers at their song,
  And players at their play.

Put on your crown of wind-flowers:
  But whither would you go?
Beyond the surging of the sea
  And the storms that blow.

Alas! your crown of wind-flowers
  Can never make you fly:
I twist them in a crown to-day,
  And to-night they die. 

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The wind has such a rainy sound
  Moaning through the town,
The sea has such a windy sound, --
  Will the ships go down?

The apples in the orchard
  Tumble from their tree. --
Oh will the ships go down, go down,
  In the windy sea? 

Hope is like a harebell trembling from its birth,
Love is like a rose the joy of all the earth;
Faith is like a lily lifted high and white,
Love is like a lovely rose the world's delight;
Harebells and sweet lilies show a thornless growth,
But the rose with all its thorns excels them both.

Two doves upon the selfsame branch,
  Two lilies on a single stem,
Two butterflies upon one flower :--
  O happy we who look on them.

Who look upon them hand in hand
  Flushed in the rosy summer light ;
Who look upon them hand in hand
  And never give a thought to night.

Music, when soft voices die,	
Vibrates in the memory;
Odours, when sweet violets sicken,
Live within the sense they quicken.

Rose leaves, when the rose is dead,
Are heaped for the belovèd's bed;
And so [thy]1 thoughts, when thou art gone,
Love itself shall slumber on.

When a mounting skylark sings
	In the sunlit summer morn,
I know that heaven is up on high,
	And on earth are fields of corn.

But when a nightingale sings,
	In the moonlit summer even,
I know not if earth is merely earth,
	Only that heaven is heaven.

All around the house is the jet-black night;
  It stares through the window-pane;
It crawls in the corners, hiding from the light,
  And it moves with the moving flame.

Now my little heart goes a beating like a drum,
  With the breath of the Bogies in my hair;
And all around the candle the crooked shadows come,
  And go marching along up the stair.

The shadow of the balusters, the shadow of the lamp,
  The shadow of the child that goes to bed --
All the wicked shadows coming tramp, tramp, tramp,
  With the black night overhead.

Whenever the moon and the stars are set,
Whenever the wind is high,
All night long in the dark and wet,
A man goes riding by.

Late in the night when the fires are out,
Why does he gallop and gallop about?
Whenever the trees are crying aloud,
And ships are tossed at sea,

By, on the highway, low and loud,
By at the gallop goes he.
By at the gallop he goes, and then
By he comes back at the gallop again.