White Birds

I would that we were, my beloved, white birds on the

foam of the sea

Far from the rose and the lily, and fret of the flames

would we be

And the flame of the blue star of twilight, hung low on

the rim of the sky

Has awakened in our hearts, my beloved, a sadness that

may never die, a sadness that may never die.

A weariness comes from those dreamers, dew-dabbled, the

lily and rose

Ah, dream not of that, my beloved, the flame of the

meteor that goes

Or the flame of the blue star that lingers hung low in

the fall of the dew

For I would we were changed, my beloved, to white birds

on the foam, I and you, to white birds on the foam, I

and you.

Bend low, that I may crown you, flower of the branch

silver fish my hands have taken from the running

stream,

morning star, trembling in the heavens like a white

fawn on the border of a wood

Bend that I may crown you, that I may crown you.

And the flame of the blue star of twilight, hung low on

the rim of the sky

Has awakened in our hearts, my beloved, a sadness that

may never die, a sadness that may never die.

I am haunted by numberless islands, and many a Danaan

shore

Where Time would surely forget us, and Sorrow come near

us no more

Soon far from the rose and the lily and fret of the

flames would we be

Were we only white birds, my beloved, white birds on

the foam of the sea, white birds on the foam of the

sea.