Blossoms shaken from their star forms Back to earth, Flying seedlings warm and waiting Drift in sunlight with the going Of the birds towards the south. Birds are going! They will sing before they go, Fill the orchard with their mirth; Song of harvest, song of summer, song of springtime -- They remember it was April long ago! We are parting, You are going towards the south! Love was birth. Is this dying, Death my harvest, grief my summer, tears my springtime? . . . Well, kiss me kindly, Song is warmest on the mouth! Give me love before you go! |