AND now, my dear, the locust trees are in bloom... Under their streaming fragrances I move or stand Rapt as beneath a sweet and terrible doom; And where are you that you cannot see this beauty? Three rivers and a mountain-range apart— Oh, far—too far... The long ethereal way Is blue with summer, and void. And in my heart You cannot hear at all the thoughts that are woven. The orioles cry—the deep sky drinks the sound As it drinks and drinks the fragrance of these trees. The grass stirs lightly over the shadowed ground; And what I desire is all too far beyond me... |