Three charms I have to turn a dark world bright —
The thought of white ships sailing out to sea,
The moonlit mountains on a summer night,
And the remembrance of your love for me.

I have known beauty, I have walked with love
And I have held a child against my breast—
How then shall I fear pain or grief or death,
Being so blest?

There is no woman living that draws breath
So sad as I, though all things sadden her.
There is not one upon life's weariest way
Who is weary as I am weary of all but death.
Toward whom I look as looks the sunflower
All day with all his whole soul toward the sun;
While in the sun's sight I make moan all day,
And all night on my sleepless maiden bed
Weep and call out on death, O Love, and thee,
That thou or he would take me to the dead,
And know not what thing evil I have done
That life should lay such heavy hand on me.

Rather a song in my heart
With flashing wings,
Rather a jeweled dream
Than the wealth of kings.

Rather the pain of loving
Than all things sweet,
Rather the thought of you
Than the world at my feet.

I am not afraid of love that grows from a spark
To an all-consuming flame,
Though it wrap my life in a mantle of scarlet pain —
Though it blister my soul with shame.

But I am afraid of love that is born a flame
And slowly dies to a spark.
I am afraid of the bitter ashes of love —
Afraid of the dark!

Rain is going through deep ground to-night,
Your body is in the ground;
The air booms with one shadowy sound to-night,
One sound.

O beautiful tired eyes, O tranquil hands,
My proud pale father, see
Between you and the downpour how Love stands

I hate the man who o'er the wine-brimmed bowl
Sings ever of war and conquest; he delights
Me most who wit with lyric gifts unites,
And to love's charms divine gives up his soul.

Come ho! sweet page, pray fetch for me
A flagon of my favourite wine,
And let it mixed with water be.
(I will be moderate, I opine)
For I am fain once more to prove
The nectarous joys of wine and love.

The god of love I sing
Who garlands bears of many-coloured flowers;
Hearts ever conquering,
Mightiest of masters, subtle power of powers,
Thou rul'st the gods and all
Mortals thy wiles enthrall.

When Love beholds my beard that flows
White as the ocean's snowy spray,
He flies me swift as the eagle's flight
On rustling wings of golden light,
And seems to murmur as he goes,
“Old fellow, you have had your day.”