Preludes, 5

Not as who gives to some beloved one, —
Some dear beloved one whose altered eyes
May not the face above them recognize, —
The roses he has taken from the sun
To deck her cold, sweet body, saying, " None
Shall give thee gifts hereafter," — one rose lies
Upon the breast that doth not sink or rise,
And in the hand whose pressures are all done

Another rests, — not so to thee, my love.
Give I these songs of thee; I do but give
Because I love, and for thy memory live;
As swaying pines, that winds to dirges move.
Give to the winds again what winds have given,
Give I these songs to thee, my life, my heaven.