Three Songs for High Voice and Piano

Beautiful must be the mountains whence ye come,
And bright in the fruitful valleys the streams, wherefrom
    Ye learn your song:
Where are those starry woods? O might I wander there,
Among the flowers, which in that heavenly air
    Bloom the year long!

[Nay,]1 barren are those mountains and spent the streams:
Our song is the voice of desire, that haunts our dreams,
    A throe of the heart,
Whose pining visions dim, forbidden hopes profound,
No dying cadence nor long sigh can sound,
    For all our art.

Alone, aloud in the raptured ear of men
We pour our dark nocturnal secret; and then,
    As night is withdrawn
[From these sweet-springing meads and bursting boughs of May,]1
Dream, while the innumerable choir of day
    Welcome the dawn.

I have loved flowers that fade, 
Within whose magic tents 
Rich hues have marriage made 
With sweet unmemoried scents: 
A honeymoon delight,
A joy of love at sight, 
That ages in an hour
My song be like a flower!.

I have loved airs that die
Before their charm is writ 
Along a liquid sky 
Trembling to welcome it.
Notes, that with pulse of fire
Proclaim the spirit's desire, 
Then die, and are nowhere
My song be like an air!.

Die, song, die like a breath,
And wither as a bloom; 
Fear not a flowery death, 
Dread not an airy tomb! 
Fly with delight, fly hence!
'Twas thine love's tender sense 
To feast; now on thy bier 
Beauty shall shed a tear.